A postcard from Porto Cesareo
A postcard from Porto Cesareo
In my mind, when I think about the sea, I think of the sea in Porto Cesareo
Having part of my family in Puglia, I have always spent my summer vacations after the end of school at the seaside in Porto Cesareo. In my mind, when I think about the sea, I think of the sea in Porto Cesareo. Since it is almost a 10-hour drive from Florence, there have always been few occasions to go there. The crystal blue sea, the kind that would make the best exotic islands envious, has always been a good reason.
Porto Cesareo for me is:
walk barefoot to the beach
a slice of fresh watermelon, dripping on your chin
Leccese coffee (espresso, ice cubes, and almond syrup)
taralli, pasticciotti e rustici (they are all goodies from Salento)
lunches in the dim-light, spying on those passing by in the street through half-open shutters
the morning routine: walk to the village to buy bread, newspaper, vegetables, and fresh fish
the food market on Thursdays
the afternoon nap after lunch
the afternoon silence, interrupted only by the cicadas singing outside in the hot sunshine
taking a swim in the morning and in the evening just before sunset
a quick dinner, perhaps with leftovers from lunch, but mostly with friselle and tomatoes, mozzarella, or a rosetta bun with mortadella
the evening routine: a quick dinner, and a walk downtown among the candy, souvenir, and trinket stalls
If you think about the sea, where are you imagining yourself? Let me know in the comments.
If you missed the previous Postcards, you can catch up with it here!
What a wonderful memory. Though I have always lived near the ocean in the U.S., it is Nantucket Island on the East Coast that is a place now rooted in memory, blood and soul. Though now it is a destination place for tourists and the ultra wealthy, when I lived there it was a thing of wild, natural, remote and genuine beauty. As children -like most-we always looked forward to the Summer. Days were spent at our favorite beach accessed by descending a set of wooden steps from the cliff to soft, hot sand, with sweet Honey Suckle and Beach Plumb decorating the path down. We swam to a protective sandbar where one could rise out of the Gulf Stream warmed water 40 or 50 yards out and walk for a few paces before swimming back to the shore. Nights where spent with friends riding bicycles through quaint lanes in town cruising through the warm mist and fog at night which lent some relief from the humidity. The sounds of fog horns, sea gulls and sailboat mast lines clanging dominate. Food memories of the local sweet cooked in butter and white wine Bay Scallops, the Bluefish and the fresh clams are irreplaceable. It is the first place that I had my first authentic croissant made by the French family who operated a magnificent patisserie in town. I had my first stack of fresh Blueberry Pancakes covered in maple syrup at a diner which you could smell from 50 paces before entering the door. There are so many memories of the place but what is inescapable is the influence the ecology that the island has. One never forgets that no matter what modern convenience one brings to the place, you are surrounded on all sides by sand and ocean. It is said that no man is an island but I would argue the opposite in my case. Thank you for your post card series.
I grew up by the beach in southeast Florida and I can’t help thinking my childhood food-beach memories are much more prosaic- squished peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches gritty with sand, Publix fried chicken, and generic grape soda out of a can. Well, maybe that was a little poetic, ha ha.