#NationalComingOutDay: 10 Affirmations from queer adults to their younger selves

Today is National Coming Out day in the United States. It’s imperative to remember that not everyone in the world is free and safe to come out today or any other day, and coming out is highly personal. However, National Coming Out Day offers an amazing opportunity to spread messages of joy, success and positivity across the LGBTQ community. It’s a time to reflect on the personal journeys we’ve made, and a chance to let younger members of the community know that happiness is in their future.

In this spirit, I asked members of the queer community for the MAUDS Designs blog on Instagram to share messages they’d love to tell their younger selves.

Here are ten messages of positivity from queer adults. I hope that if there’s one person out there reading and feeling scared or uncertain, this post will help you realise your happiness is coming, and it’s worth hanging on in there. When it comes, it will be wonderful beyond belief.

“Listen to your feelings, not what society is telling you about what you should be feeling.” and “Listen to your mind, body and soul. Trust yourself, because you’re right.”

The voice of society, and sometimes even the opinions of people closest to you, can be overwhelming. Society will make you feel like you have to do things a certain way or you have to feel a certain way. This is called heteronormativity – the assumption that everyone is straight and cisnormativity – the assumption everyone is cisgender.

Just because society assumes people will be straight and cis, just because society assumes women look a certain way and men look a certain way, it doesn’t mean that’s what’s right for you. Listen to your feelings, listen to your heart, and be kind to yourself.

“The people who matter are the ones who love you exactly as you are.”

You will meet some downright awful people who believe they have the right to put you down, judge you or treat you as less-than. They will claim you have less right to express yourself based solely upon your sexual orientation or gender. Attitudes like this can even come from the people who are supposed to love you.

Those people are bigots, they’re wrong and they don’t deserve you. They have no right to treat you badly, they have no right to judge, and they have no right to try and suppress your sexuality and/or gender.

Every person who deserves to be in your life will love you, not in spite of your sexuality or gender, but because that is part of what makes you the wonderful person you are today.

“Find a community!”

You may have a loving family, or you might not. One thing is for sure, finding a loving, diverse community of fellow queer people will help you understand your own journey. It will be easier to accept yourself, and in turn, you can go out into the world and spread that love to others.

“Just go with the flow and enjoy it. You’ve got years to ‘define’ yourself and explore. Own it.”

When we’re young, we can often feel like we need to find the answers to the big questions, like “who we are” right away. The truth is, who we are is a jigsaw and we’ll find pieces of the puzzle are snapping into place as life goes along. Don’t worry if you don’t know all the answers yet. Just be true to yourself, own who you are and be proud of yourself. Billions of moments came together to create you as the magnificent person you are. Enjoy being that person, and know that even though it’s confusing, all the answers will come with time.

“Those feelings you have about Michelle Rodriguez are THOSE type of feelings.”

Your favourite celebrity, that teacher whose classes you really enjoy…

You may just grow up and realise what you thought was stanning was a massive crush. And vice versa, all those celebrities crushes on female pop singers or hot male actors… you might realise in your twenties that you were just stanning them.

And sometimes it’s both!

“Virginity is subjective and overhyped. PIV is not the only type of sex. Don’t rush!”

When you’re in your teens, it seems like the biggest milestone is having your first sexual experience. Everyone wants to “lose their virginity”, but make sure you feel ready and feel safe. This happens at different times, in different ways, for different people. Sex should be fun and it should be something you want to do, not something you feel you should do because your friends have done it.

Sex and virginity does not always just involve penises being put in vaginas and butts. There are many different ways to have sex, and as long as everyone is consenting, that’s all that matters. Society doesn’t get to define what is right for you, or what type of sex you should have. Only you get to do that.

Finally, whether you enjoy lots of sex, or none at all, you are perfect as you are!

“Other queer gals are just as intimidated as you are”

You may feel like everyone else has got it all figured out, but the truth is, for many people it takes time, patience, self-compassion – and even then you might not find all the answers. Know that everyone in the community goes through periods of uncertainty, insecurity and feeling scared. It’s okay. It passes. You are not alone, and you’re doing everything just right.

“Soon you’ll be running towards what you once hid from. And the clothes get better… mostly!”

The things that make you different when you’re young, are the things that people will love most about you once you’re an adult. And most importantly, in time, it will become one of the things you love most about yourself! You may find it hard at first to come to terms with your sexual orientation or gender, but give yourself the kindness and love you give others. You deserve to love yourself, and one day you’ll get there, I promise.

As for the clothes getting better – let’s just say, glow ups are a thing, and thank goodness for it.

“You don’t need to have same sex ‘experience’ to know who you are,“ and “Your sexuality is valid regardless of who you have or haven’t slept with.”

We’ve all heard people say, “how do you know that’s what you like if you’ve never tried it?”

Yet, as one lovely commenter pointed out – “nobody ever asked for proof that I like men […], they just accepted that because I’m a girl, I like men.”

You don’t have to “experience” your sexuality to know what you like, just like many of us have never won the lottery but we know we’d quite enjoy that!

The biggest take away we could from all the responses is:

You! Yes, you! People in your life may try to deny who you are and what you feel is not right, not genuine, that it’s a phase or even that it doesn’t exist.

Who you are is valid, and real, and good. You are not wrong for liking who you like and loving who you love. You are not wrong to be the gender you are, or aren’t! You don’t have to change, you don’t have to be any more than you are, or any less than you are.

In the words of Broadway actress Sierra Boggess: “You are enough. You are so enough. It’s unbelievable how enough you are.”

Happy Coming Out Day!

Ten Questions I Have, after 4 months in Italy. [Lighthearted]

When I moved to Italy, I did so with a certain sense of arrogance. How different can it be?! I was delusional in my expectations.

Italy is so different. Over the past four months, I have been racking up question after question, and now I’ve reached a list of ten things that have baffled me.

1. The Italian love of Robbie Williams and Mika

Okay, it’s not baffling to love Mika. It makes complete sense. However, they really love him. More than we Brits ever did. It’s really weird to turn on the radio and hear Relax, Take it Easy 12 years after Life In Cartoon Motion debuted.

But not as weird as them playing Robbie William’s Rock DJ. I don’t want to present myself as any kind of authority on this, but he’s not cool, guys. Stop playing Robbie bloody Williams. Another weird one they love to play – Tubthumping – better known as I Get Knocked Down (but I Get Up Again) by Chumbawamba.

How does Italy decide which songs have longevity and which don’t?! Where’s the appreciation for Alexandra Burke or Girls Aloud?!

2. The Bin System

Indifferenziata. Plastica. Organico.

Not being funny but in London I really wasn’t that hot on recycling. Not because I’m a climate change denier, but I was lazy and the urgency was a bit less talked about than it is now. In Italy, there’s no choice. Bins are divided up into mixed, plastic and my least favourite, organic waste. If you put plastic in the organic, it doesn’t get removed. This was a steep learning curve for me when I realised sanitary products do not count as organic waste. The organic always attracts critters, and it’s just so much hard work being an ethical citizen.

3. Inefficiency

You know in the UK you might go to a tiny Tesco Express and there’s one or two open check outs, but six self scan points?

Imagine if Tesco Brent Cross did that.

Now imagine there’s only one till.

Now imagine there are no self scans.

And every single person is bulk buying a trolley full of food.

WHY ITALY, WHY? Open more tills! Get a tannoy and have poor Giovanna who’s always on shift say “cashier to checkout number nine please, cashier to checkout number nine.”

4. Why do people dress up to go to the supermarket?

My monster-in-law once said, “I know that in London people don’t care how they look.”

And you know what, maybe it’s true. Maybe compared to the rest of Europe we’re the scabby cousins, but Italy takes it too far.

In London, I would put on a pair of jeans and a jumper I’ve been wearing for the past [redacted] days and it didn’t matter because all I was doing was walking to the Sainsbury’s Local to buy a box of Ibuprofen and a sack of potatoes.

Mate, in Italy, everyone dresses up like they’re going to the opera. I’m walking around Lidl, €1.46 pack of Fontal and two jars of pesto in my trolley, wearing a pair of sliders and a hippie skirt because all I need to do is stock up for tonight’s dinner. Everyone, EVERYONE, around me is in heels, jeans and a nice top. This only ever happens in London if you’re buying vodka at the kiosk before heading out to pre-drinks.

People here do their weekly shop in heels. I need answers. Why?!

5. Why is it so hard to buy lamb and cheddar cheese?

Does anyone else remember the horse meat scandal that left the UK torn apart. No one knew whether or not they could trust their frozen Findus burgers or if Bojack Horseman was minced up inside. That would never happen here because there’s massive demand for horse meat. You can buy horsey burgers, horsey mince, horsey steaks and there’s a huge fridge full of the meat.

What is really rare, however, is lamb. Lamb is hard to come by in the UK, which is annoying because I only eat sheep. It is one million times harder to find in South Italy. The only way to get my hands on some lamb is by buying skewers. Needless to say that was the key motivating factor in me becoming 98% veggie (I still haven’t quit parmesan).

Speaking of cheese… it is so hard to buy cheddar cheese. I know what you’ll say: cheddar isn’t real cheese! First of all, shush. Sometimes I just want some Cathedral City grated onto a jacket potato. Plenty of cheese based dishes call for a sharp and rugged cheese and Dutch and Swiss cheeses like Emmental and Gouda don’t do the trick. Fontal tastes like congealed vinegar but it’s the best they’ve got for “all purpose” cheeses. Surprisingly Lidl sells a wider range of foreign cheeses. My local Ipercoop only sells Italian and Dutch cheese, but Lidl sells Brie and Camembert. But no cheddar.

6. Why does the dairy turn so quickly?

I know it’s hot, but I own a fridge. I’d really love it if my butter could last more than one hour before turning weird and unusable. Thanks.

7. The queuing skills and driving skills.

I feel like they kind of go hand in hand.

I had a man try to push right in front of me in the supermarket queue and when I looked at him like, “mate, it literally is not going to happen”, he looked at me like he couldn’t understand what was wrong. What he doesn’t know is I’m prepared to fight for an orderly queue. If it turns into a brawl, it turns into a brawl. It’s not the case that everyone stands in a crowd and then you force your way forward. Nah. First come, first serve. Last to arrive joins the queue at the back. Smooth, efficient, no violence necessary.

As for the driving… just pray for me. I’ve seen people slow to a stop on the blumming motorway. My local super strada has so many crashes you can drive down and see a crash, and drive up and see… a totally different crash!

8. Why is no one as confrontational as I am?

One of my oldest and best friends recently moved to America, and we both mused about how the British have a passive aggressive reputation. It’s true, we might dismiss things with a tut or a glance where necessary, but at the same time, we have a huge culture of “Sorry, I ain’t ‘aving that.”

It comes out when we’re slighted, or someone mis-queues, or any bizarre and similar injustice. And my friend and I were saying it just doesn’t exist in our adoptive cultures. Both of them are known for being loud and aggressive, but in my experience, there’s not a lot of scope for the “sorry, I ain’t ‘aving that.”

Trust me, because saying it has got me into a lot of trouble.

9. Why does ‘prima serata’ happen at 9PM

Prima serata refers to the television scheduling. On each channel, there’s usually a movie or a show/game each evening, around 9PM and another at 11PM. These slots are called “prima serata” and “seconda serata”. First (of the evening) and second (of the evening).

Alright so in my understanding of the word ‘sera’, which means evening, I assumed that it began around 6PM. I thought prima serata therefore meant 6PM. Imagine my horror when I’m waiting to watch The Fault in our Stars (really weird movie, wouldn’t recommend) on Italia Uno when I think it’s about to start, it’s just… MORE CSI. They love CSI. Where’s my movie?! And there was my mistake. Prima serata starts at 9PM. Was I confused? You betcha.

10. Why is it so beautiful?

I know I sound moany. There will be people poised at their keyboard, ready to say, “well if you don’t like it, go back to England!”, not noticing my tongue is firmly in my cheek – hence the lighthearted in the title.

Just because this place is bewildering and new, and sometimes frustrating (primarily the issues with queueing), it doesn’t mean I don’t spend 90% of my time wondering how I managed to live somewhere so beautiful. The weather is lovely, and I can climb up to my roof terrace and see the ocean. My basil plant is still alive and I make a lot of fresh pasta, bread and pizza. I have travelled around Puglia this summer and my question remains constant. I just don’t understand how this place is so gorgeous. How this country can be loaded with such a rich & wonderful history, and how I can be blessed with living here.

But please, I’m suffering without my Cathedral City. Thoughts and prayers welcome.

Baia delle Zagare: There are no words

I’ll start like this.

Puglia, who gave you the right?

Do you ever see a girl so beautiful that you actually find it rude that she’s walking around looking so good with no regard to how she’s breaking our hearts?

That is Puglia. Can you wrap your head around this straight up gorgeousness?

We had spent a few too many days in the house and decided to take a trip around the local area, this time up north in the Gargano.

The Gargano is a geographical region of Puglia, sort of like how Salento is. It’s the jutting peninsula near Foggia, that includes places like Manfredonia, Vieste and Baia delle Zagare. It just so happens that it has one of the most jaw droppingly gorgeous stretches of coastlines I’ve seen in Puglia and possibly, so far in Italy.

We decided on visiting Baia delle Zagare based on a couple of pictures and we didn’t do much more research than that.

Getting into the Gargano means heading through several exceptionally long tunnels that wind *inside* the hills, followed by long snaking streets. You begin to see gorgeous coastline at the bottom of the hill, but the roads seem to take you higher.

I don’t know what the secret is. We used our intuition and parked on the roadside where all the other cars were parked.

There’s a little inlet that leans down to the downwards hike. I’m sorry friends but unfortunately I think it’s a necessary part of visiting this bay. You’re going to have to hike.

And it’s not an especially easy or flat hike. I’ve hiked much worse, but I fell on my butt twice. I didn’t bring the right shoes, not realising I’d have to hike. It’s about twenty minutes down, and there are stones marked with arrows and circles to show you the way.

FOLLOW THE STONES. They seem counterintuitive, but follow them unless you plan on reaching dead ends and jumping off cliffs. One woman we came across was furiously arguing with her husband and son that she will not be going any further because “è tutto chiuso! Non c’è il mare!”

Persevere.

We finally reached a clearing that led to a much easier stretch of beach, and finally, finally we were walking on sand.

Celebrate good times, come on!

Is the beach worth the descent?

Yes.

It’s divided into private beach and public, with them strongly urging you not to bathe there because of the falling rocks………

And because someone’s pockets get lined if you sit on a private beach. I’m firmly anti private beaches so I happily sat and bathed on the public beach.

The water is incredibly clear. The beach is clean beyond words.

This is definitely one of my favourite beaches worldwide, and it’s helped by the fact that it’s difficult to get to. For what it’s worth, the uphill climb takes fitness and can definitely exhaust your breath, but trying not to fall going down is much harder.

But like I always say, all beaches that are worth it are hard to get to, and I haven’t been proven wrong yet.

Oh, Paris

 When Alessio is tired, he gets grumpy. I am exactly the same, so it’s a very good job we are rarely ever tired at the same time. I was exhausted after our first night, so I slept straight away and woke up like a daisy. Alessio did not. He had to be prized out of bed and was grizzly. 

Our first task was to visit a food market. I may have dropped the ball with this one. We went to Passy Couvert Market, which turned out to be lovely and made us salivate but there was nothing in the way of breakfast. As a result, Alessio dragged me through it quicker than the time it took me to write this sentence.

Instead we found a little boulangerie and took some bits, for me a nice, soft madeleine and a financier, and for Alessio a huge indescribable object which was really an oversized, glorified pain au chocolat. 

Passy was a busy area for us to walk around, with a lovely set of steps leading us down to a lush garden. 

We strolled around for a while before heading onwards by metro to Ile-du-St. Louis.

Ile-du-St. Louis is quite small, and very quiet, but it was a nice part of town to stroll around before moving onwards to the popular Marais.

Le Marais, like St Germain was a place I had never been to before, despite how much it was well on the tourist track. It was nice and the architecture was beautiful, but the only part that I particularly enjoyed was Rue des Rosiers. 

Unlike the rest of sleepy Paris on this Sunday, Rue des Rosiers was bright and alert, with queues snaking out of the cafés for metres. This district has a lot of kosher bakeries and Jewish owned shops, whose owners rest for Shabat on Saturday, not Sunday. I took a baguette from a gorgeous bakery, and Alessio took a schnitzel baguette from a restaurant where the customers were queueing outside. 

Before we could arrive at Place des Vosges, after several scorching days in both London and Paris, it began to rain. The weather remained warm, but all of Paris sought shelter. Dashing under awning after awning, we made it to the Place des Vosges and we took the time to circle under the sheltered walkways until the rain stopped after a few minutes, and the sun came out, hotter than the last time.

From here, we began an aimless walk around the area, eventually concluding in us walking to the Pompidou museum, and onwards through the second arrondisment to see Les Passages Couverts. It was becoming too hot to keep walking like this, and my head was hurting. We decided to return to the room for a little rest stop, and a famous argument. It wouldn’t be a blog post on Trashgirl on Tour without us arguing at least once now, would it?

Being a Sunday in France, I was very aware that finding a restaurant that was open, good and available for walk-ins would not be a simple task. I woke up a little earlier from my nap to some time perusing the open restaurants to see which ones would be open for us to dine. Alessio began rushing me and telling me to hurry up finding the restaurant before they all closed. So I handed him my phone and told him to find the restaurant, and do it quickly. He couldn’t. Exactly. 

St. Germain seemed to have the most open restaurants, and since I was apparently on a timer, we went there and found a relatively decent restaurant where I took a ravioli quattro formaggi in tomato and basil sauce, and Alessio took a pizza with parma ham. We shared for the most part, and although my plan was to quit being pescatarian in Paris, I am still yet to eat meat because none of the meat dishes have felt worth it yet. In Asia I joked that the way we would break up with each other was to tell the other person we’d become vegetarian. Suddenly, after what I thought was a pleasant meal, Alessio became cold and untalkative.

I prized it out of him that the problem was I has spent the whole time on my phone. After making such a big deal out of finding a nice restaurant and arguing over that, I had spent the whole time on my phone. The whole time? Surely not, I remember only picking it up to show him a friend. I didn’t even have wifi. Unfortunately, my reflex is to laugh in situations where I’m being held accountable for being a dick, and this annoyed him further. I had to sincerely apologise if there was any chance of Parisian sex tonight. And to be a good person. I was sincerely sorry. I do hate when people spend all their time on the phone when we go for a nice day. He was right. 

We went home via the Champs Elysées again, taking time to snap a couples selfie and pretend we didn’t just spend the whole evening falling out. It set the tone for the rest of the evening, where we indulged in the Paris romantic spirit.

That cancelled out the bad mood, and we headed to bed in order to wake up fresh for our final morning.

It was an early start because not only did we need to eat a good, delicious breakfast but we also needed to visit the Parc du Belleville upon a recommendation. Our breakfast would be at Des Gateaux et du Pain, a restaurant that came highly recommended for croissants. When we arrived, we discovered it was sadly shut for another hour. We had to choose between pastries and parc du belleville, and of course, I chose pastries.

It was so worth it. I can now say I’m not sure I’ve had a good croissant until now. The perfect balance of flaky, crisp and chewy, whilst also definitely being filling. 

We had a lot of time to kill, so we found a Richart patisserie to pick up some macarons, and then headed towards the coach terminal.

At Pére Lachaise we realised we still had enough time to rush to Parc du Belleville, so we did, we admired the views over Paris and headed back to Gallieni with enough time to board our smelly, but less eventful coach back to London.

And so we concluded our trip in beautiful Paris. The city of love, history, culture and food. Despite the beauty, something ate at my core. In some of the wealthiest districts, the reality of the refugee crisis couldn’t be more apparent. Walking down the Champs Elysées, you will see rough sleepers begging. Many of them are families with a husband, wife and toddlers. These are toddlers who have to sleep on the street and beg for meals because of the disastrous situation in their country. We gave money, but I know in the end even €50 in Paris is probably not enough to fully nourish a family of four with small children, when you don’t have a bed or kitchen. I don’t know what can be done, I don’t even know if it is within my power to help in the smallest way, but it’s harsh and brought home just how lucky I am – however, there but for the grace of God go I.

I will return home with the memory of what a beautiful place Paris always is, but also the more heartbreaking memory of how many families are really struggling.

‘New’ New York: NY for First Timers

I went to New York for the first time in 2013.

I went again in 2017, and blogged about it pretty extensively.

Much like Bangkok and Rome, New York is one of those places I feel like at home.

So when I got my third opportunity to go to New York, I snapped it up.

This was for my adorable best friend’s twenty first birthday, and it was her first time.

I did what I do best, and created a first time itinerary which took into account our personalities.

We’re both arty, creative girls who love dressing up, pop culture, camp, colourful “instagrammable” places… and carbs.

If you fall into these categories, you might find this pretty helpful! But if not, check out my other New York reports!

Day one:

Manhattan: Grand Central to Little Italy, Staten Island

As my friend said: “Doesn’t Grand Central Station just remind you of Madagascar?”

It was therefore essential to pay the iconic station before taking a lengthy walk down to Little Italy and bustling Chinatown. I love these areas simply because they’re so full of life, colour and diversity, as well as being a huge part of the New York fabric.

From there we took the Subway down to Staten Island. It’s always a wonderful to ride the (free) Staten Island ferry and view the New York Lady herself.

Day two:

Brooklyn and Joanne Trattoria

Brooklyn is one of my favourite parts of New York for shopping and wandering. Last time I visited, I took a street I didn’t mean to and found myself tangled in a festa del giglio – a South Italian festival of the “lily” – which is actually a huge metal tower.

We started off the day with a unicorn bagel, before weaving in and out of the endless wonderful thrift stores of Brookyln. My personal favourite will always be Bulletin Broads. Finally, we had a look at the view over the bay of Manhattan.

The evening was dinner at the famous Joanne Trattoria, restaurant owned by Lady Gaga’s parents. We didn’t quite get a sighting, but it was an enjoyable meal all the same!

Day three: Woodbury Common

Woodbury Common is the enormous outlet village outside New York city. There’s a bus that runs from Port Authority station to Woodbury and back. It’s great for anyone who likes labels, but doesn’t want to pay through the nose.

Day four:

Central Park, Museum of Ice Cream and New York Comedy

I’ve always said I’ve never really been into Central Park. I can name off the top of my head so many more parks in the world – and in New York especially, that are just so much more likeable. I didn’t change my mind.

We took breakfast in a diner and strolled around the kooky Bergdorf Goodman, before doing something I definitely can admit was not a good use of our time.

We queued for the Museum of Ice Cream Pop Up. It wasn’t at all a museum, it was just a bunch of backdrops and we queued for hours for that.

In the evening we planned to head to a comedy show for a famous comedian, but unfortunately this was cancelled and we got Amer K instead – who was very funny, and absurdly handsome too.

I feel obliged to mention that I flew into and out of Newark. Getting in is fine, you change a couple of times – once at Jamaica, again at Penn Station and then onwards to wherever you need to be.

I gave myself about three hours to get to the airport. Naive.

Penn Station is literally the most massive airport I have ever experienced, walking from one end to the other takes about six years. So when it tells you the line is CLOSED and you have to walk all the way to the other end of the station, then you sit on the train for an hour and it’s still not moving… By this point you have one stressful hour to get to Newark before you need to be checking in.

I spoke to some locals and they urged me to take a taxi. $100 down the drain. Grrreeaaat…

All things considered, I’ll always love New York, I’ll always love revisiting familiar places and showing people around cities that aren’t mine. Next time I’d love to venture into checking out some of the bigger museums, too.

Trani & Strozzapreti

There was a day where I had two job interviews in one day – spoiler alert I am now an English teacher.

In between the two interviews, we killed time and went to the nearby city, Trani.

Trani feels like it’s made for tourism, in the best possible way. It doesn’t bend over backwards for tourists, but it’s beautiful, lined with restaurants and has little roads to explore. It’s the same story, after all. All it takes to impress me is that.

And fruit stands.

What I really liked about Trani is that it’s quiet. Perhaps it was the time of day or day of the week, the streets are very quiet.

And the prettiness is not limited only to the historic centre either. It’s very picturesque indeed.

I happen to also know that Trani has plenty of events going on, so although I wouldn’t head back in a hurry for a stroll, I really do think it’s worth arriving on an evening where there’s a concert and having a stroll and a meal near the harbour.

After both interviews were done, I decided to do what I came here for.

Making

Home made

Pasta

I livestreamed the feat on instagram, and I’d love to share the process with you!

Strozzapreti Amatriciana – all meals serve two very hungry carb lovers, but realistically probably serve eight lol

Buon appetito!

The Big One: Polignano a Mare

If you live in Italy or have even the vaguest knowledge of Puglia, you probably know Polignano a Mare.

If you haven’t been there, you certainly have a mate who has.

It’s kind of a big deal, and in no small part to the very famous Grotta Palazzese – the restaurant where you too can dine precariously for just £200 a person!

Yeah.

Now I know what I said in my last blog post. I readily admit I’m easily impressed. But Polignano a Mare left me a little bit boh.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against the place. I’d go back. But it is so busy. As you can see. Here’s me, feeling my oats with about ninety other people.

I suppose I just don’t see why it’s so popular. I even took a picture of this very relatable bin.

I later learned the significance of indifferenziata – more on how the bin system makes my life here that bit more confusing later. That’s not to say there aren’t nice scenes because there are.

The water is the most tantalising shade of blue and that might be why. There’s also a pretty decent centro storico.

I’d just describe it as aight, I suppose. Worth a stop. And if you have money to burn and something to prove to your friends, why not reserve a table at Grotta Palazzese.

Since I have nothing to prove and I’m loath to spend money, you won’t be getting a review out of me any time soon.

A Game of Beauty: Alberobello and Monopoli

Look, is it ever a surprise when I fall in love with the cities around here? Or any cities?!

Admitting Gallipoli was a bit crap was the first time in ages that I wrote about disliking a place. So I’m just going to drop the spoiler from now.

I loved Alberobello and I loved Monopoli.

Predictable, much?

These two cities, the insanely popular Alberobello and the relatively popular Monopoli were two of the first places we visited when we arrived in Puglia. We were staying in a spacious airbnb in the tiny Sammichele di Bari, which is only about a 20 minute drive from Alberobello.

Alberobello is a UNESCO city famous for it’s Trulli. What are trulli?

These conical shaped abodes unique to the central Puglian region. Seriously, these bad boys are everywhere.

Some years ago I had a dream of living in Puglia, in my own little trullo. I’d have a lemon tree and make my own pasta.

I mean presently I’m quite alright with my spacious Molfetta apartment, fresh lemonade made with the help of my juicer and maritati from the supermarket but I suppose I’ve come pretty close.

Back to Alberobello, it’s very pretty, there’s no denying.

But at the same time, anywhere that’s pretty becomes popular, and anywhere that’s popular hears the enticing jingling of kaching, and it becomes exceptionally touristy.

That’s not an indictment, and it doesn’t take anything away from the place, but when you’ve seen other gems that Italy, and Puglia in particular has to offer, Alberobello’s instagrammable beauty – and I cannot stress this enough, it’s gorgeous and I loved it – loses its edge a little.

I visited Monopoli on the same day and I was hit, for the first time, with a sensation that has recurred again and again since moving here:

I am so lucky to live here.

I mean that. What is Monopoli? Seriously. What gives this city the right to go around looking so gorgeous? Look at this place.

All the puns in the world about not passing go and not collecting £200 ignore one thing.

Damn, gurl! You look good. Like, real good.

Monopoli has an advantage over Alberobello, in that it has the sea. I feel like Monopoli is the far superior place to spend a weekend or five days, and then if you wish you can drive to Alberobello for the day.

Monopoli is much quieter and less touristy, and it has my favourite thing – pretty streets to get lost within.

Monopoli is in fact up there with Lecce, Leuca and – call me biased – Molfetta in terms of favourite little towns in Puglia. And just to be clear, it’s top two, and probably not number two.

Remember to subscribe to the blog, as my next post will be about tourist fave, Polignano a Mare!

Turi, or not to be: A South Italian wedding

“Why on Earth did you move to Puglia?”

The infernal question.

There’s a whole world of cities for young people in their late twenties, and we chose Puglia. Perché?!?!?

Three different answers:

1. Why not?

2.

3. Alessio’s sister was marrying a Puglia native and since we were heading that way, might as well stay. Peak laziness.

Her wedding was in Turi, a town between big hitters like Casamassima, Putignano and of course, Bari.

It is an incredibly small town, with a local population of six thousand, all of whom seem to be very close knit.

My first impression of the town was one of indifference. It has its pretty moments, like this seriously photogenic lemon tree but in terms of visitor sites, it’s definitely not becoming a tourist hotspot any time soon.

And that’s okay.

Turi is the type of city that’s for its residents and those passing through for a wedding at the nearby sala ricevimenti.

In the daytime, Turi is pin drop quiet. Like most small towns in Puglia, the siesta is long and if you’re new to the place, you will find it always coincides with the exact point in time you want to buy some tomatoes on the vine or a bottle of water from the supermarket.

As evening breaks through, Turi starts to come to life. The youngsters begin their passeggiate around the city, stopping to take a caffé at one of the handfuls of bars or gelaterie.

If you’re lucky you might even be there on a day the Church is celebrating one saint or another.

By sunset, the streets are now lined with elders. They place their sofas in front of their houses, set tables in the walkways between their houses, bring out a radio or another mode of playing music and spend dinner time eating with their family and sharing stories with their neighbours.

The night is Turi’s time.

The darkness unveiling another life to the city is not the only Easter Egg in this city.

The first discovery was just a Wikipedia away. The town jail is plopped in the middle or the city, with very little giveaways that it functions as a prison. One with an impressive bit of history attached – Marxist Antonio Gramsci was in fact imprisoned here during the Fascist era.

The second hidden secret is in the architecture. Turn a corner and you find yourself in an art deco, streamline moderne paradise.

The architecture of the area doesn’t make any sense at all! Out of nowhere, Miami style art deco. But it doesn’t go unappreciated. This modern heart of the city made my soul sing, because I’m a freak for art deco architecture.

I know, I know: a jailed Marxist and a bit of South Florida dropped in the middle of a tiny Italian city does not a hotspot make, but I think in every small city, it’s important to get to the heart of the place and understand why it ticks how it does.

Living La Vida Locorotondo & Martina Franca

How did everyone enjoy Ferragosto?!

For the uninitiated, Ferragosto occurs every 15th August. This holiday celebrates the day the Virgin Mary ascended into Heaven and is routinely spent barbecuing and drinking with friends.

The United Kingdom, having famously severed ties with the Catholic church doesn’t do much to celebrate Assumption Day, and I’m not Catholic, so the this Ferragosto was my first ever. To pass the day, we headed to the local beach just a little outside the centro storico for a splash. The native Pugliesi had brought out tables – whole dining tables – to accompany their beach picnics! Those who didn’t head to the beach spent the public holiday at the bars dotted around the city, and there was even a marching band that passed by!

Ferragosto is no small deal. In fact, many of Italy’s businesses have closed for two weeks around this time for the ferie. Not everyone is feeling the festive spirit, however:

He says: Jesus is pouring his judgments on the world that is full of sin. Convert to Jesus Christ. Mary, Padre Pio, the saints can’t save anyone. Only Jesus went on the cross for everyone

Strong sentiments.

The day before Ferragosto, we had to head to pretty Alberobello to sort some admin stuff. Alberobello is well trodden ground for us, although I realise I haven’t actually dropped the blog post about it! Since we were near central Puglia, we decided to check two cities off our bucketlist- Martina Franca and Locorotondo.

The first stop was Martina Franca, primarily on the bucket list because the name is so pretty.

Martina Franca is the second largest city in the Taranto province, after Taranto itself. It’s a pretty city with a rich history – Martina Franca’s population was 1/3rd Jewish until the ruling powers did what they do best: expelling and murdering the population. Sadly, South Italy’s history is riddled with these stories.

Driving into Martina gives you a peek into just how pretty this city is. This gorgeous boulevard leads the way down to the arch that welcomes you into the heart of the city.

At the tip of the arch displays some very typical Pugliesi architecture, that characteristic baroque blended with something quintessential South Italian.

Walking through the arch leads to the main piazza, and there’s no mistaking who they’re commemorating this summer:

It took Alessio longer than it should to realise Andy Warhol did not build a fountain in the middle of a medium sized city in South Italy.

In fact Warhol’s impact is dripping through the city to commemorate the running exhibition, advertised with engaging quotes affixed around the city. My favourite of which being the very self-aware quote below.

Martina Franca doesn’t really need quotes, though. It’s pretty on its own merits.

As is probably evident, the weather was having one of those bizarre Puglia tempo tantrums (get it?) where the weather rains miserably, then gives way to scorching sun minutes later.

In the meantime – thank God for portici. All of us caught in the rain waited it out under the little walkways until it was dry enough to head out again.

We strolled through the bleached white city streets you can come to expect in Puglia, before heading on to the city’s neighbour.

Locorotondo seems to get a bit overlooked in favour of Alberobello, but anyone staying in the area would do well to bring a car, because you can only do so much in Alberobello, and Locorotondo, whose name gives away the round shape of the settlement, is a very cute place to pranzare or fare aperitivo.

It’s small, and it’s very easy to lose yourself in the web of labyrinthine streets and dead ends.

The city looks over the Val d’Itria, but I’m a little hard pressed to call it as scenic as other places I’ve seen.

Turn instead towards the city and enjoy the beauty to be found within.

The pretty houses where you can see curious nonne watching the tourists walk by as their tv flicks through a show on Italia Uno. The little restaurants with their red gingham tablecloths where you can enjoy the king of pastas, orecchiette, paired with the local favourite, cime di rapa.

If pushed to give an answer, I’d actually admit I preferred Locorotondo. Something about its compactness and the beautiful, unmistakable smell of laundry wafting from the inhabitants drying their laundry off washing lines that jut out onto the street gives this city the edge over the indisputably lovely Martina. And maybe the fact the sun came out for Locorotondo, too.

Stay tuned for blog posts on the region’s tourist big hitters: Monopoli, Alberobello and Polignano a Mare