Altamura, Matera

With yesterday’s mileage, you’d think we’d need a rest. But no! Off we go, to Matera, by way of Altamura. We’ll spend all day away, culminating with dinner in Matera at Giuseppe Caggiano’s family’s restaurant!

And I have high hopes for Matera. I’ve read about it and have wanted to see it for years. Supposedly, Mel Gibson filmed/directed a Jesus/Bible movie here, but I never saw it, since I loathe Mel Gibson.

The Materans will tell you that Matera is just slightly younger than Petra, Jordan, dating it around 300-500 BCE. The Materans claim to have the third oldest city in the world, but by world, I think they mean Europe. In any case, it’s pretty damn old.

But first, Altamura. It’s a cute little town, bustling with high end shops, and I know it for their bread. It’s a beautifully balanced artisan bread; heavily crusted, and tender flaky white inside. Our local St. Paul (MN) Italian market hired a baker from Altamura, to create signature bread for the market and for its restaurant. After the baker uprooted from his Puglian life and arrived in the US for the opportunity, divulging all his recipes and techniques, he was then deemed useless, and was fired. Welcome to America.

Altamura was setting up for a Festival day; the feast of San Nicola, their patron saint.

Cute old men

Church of San Nicola

Presepe

Spiral staircase

Sentry

Moto

HEY LORI—the family is represented here!!!

Keep reading!

San Nicola fresco

Italian flag colors

HEY LORI!!! Can you believe grandma’s name is here??! I’ve never seen it anywhere, except associated with her! But, we are very close to the mother town along this coast. Perhaps it’s more popular here.

Old orphanage was pretty huge. Sad to imagine.

We enjoyed our leisurely meander of Altamura, but now it’s time for the big reason we came to these parts: The Sassi (cave dwellings) of Matera. It did not disappoint. In fact, I was reeling a bit from the overwhelming history of this place.

Joe opted out of meandering the labyrinthine Sassi, and found a place to eat and drink, as I warned him I’M NOT RUSHING THROUGH THIS.

View from Belvedere

On way to Casa Grotta di Vico Solitario

Animals warmed the cave and held a place near the end of the bed

Loom

Not a toilet… fresh water supply through a hole to the aquifer

Kitchen

High bed

Ice/snow cart

Ice/snow cave

Chute

Rupestrian church—early Christian monks hid in the caves to flee persecution;

set up these crude places of worship

Collision of eras

Bright orange moto in cave dwellings

Primitive caves, if that’s not redundant

Aqueduct

Art gallery

Happy place

Not Banksy but cute

Passage to fresh water caves. The ancient Materans understood the importance of fresh water, and build caves for collection and storage. They always had clean water. They had two water systems; one for drinking, one for washing and irrigation.

Polambaro Lungo

Long drive to locked up primitive cave paintings at Cripto del Peccato Originale

Good sport

Vineyard on way to Cripto del Peccato Originale

Teardrop art outside mother church in Matera

Symbols of death all over the church of purgatory

After Joe’s long wait, and my long labyrinthine trek, we had drinks here

Open space= soccer

Wall in Matera town

After a long, winding, often getting lost, self-tour of Matera, which included the highlights of Belvedere Piazzetta Pascoli, Casa Grotta di Vico Solitario, La Neviera, Rupestrian ‘churches,’ Casa Noah (FAI site), and the cistern Palombaro Lungo, there was one more stop I wanted to make— Cripta del Peccato Originale (Crypt of the original sun). But it was a 22 minute drive to that part of the Sassi. Joe was a good sport.

We drove and drove through fields and vineyards, and eventually saw a small sign saying Cripta del Peccato Originale. We walked down a slippery smooth set of stairs, only to find tightly meshed locked metal gates over everything, with no one in sight. I couldn’t get pics, but I could see the primitive cave paintings through the mesh. There were only two small niches of the art. I was satisfied enough; I saw them, it’s a hot and pretty day, and the sprawling vineyards and fields are serene. We scaled the steps back up to the car.

Suddenly, a van pulled up, and inside was a hatless version of Father Guido Sarducci from the old SNL series. He asked why we were there. We explained, to see the crypt. Oh, he said, I have a tour meeting here at 5:00 pm (it was 4:55). Do you have reservations? No. Do you want me to access reservations from my laptop? €10,50 each? Uhhhh… no. You’re from where? America? But you speak Italian? Yes. We’re Italo-Americani. Ah! You are wops! We must’ve looked horror-stricken, because he quickly asked if he got the phrase right. We explained the Without Papers epithet; he explained he thought wop was a version of Naples’ “guaglione,” and was trying very hard to recover from what he guessed was a major faux pas. He also tried very hard to get us on his tour. But we parted, laughing and exchanging fun pleasantries, just as his tour group arrived.

We drove back to town; I did a quick clothing change and hair/makeup refresh in the car, and we stopped for an aperitivo since there was time before our dinner reservation at Le Bubbole. Fun little spot for drinks.

It was an 8 minute walk from there to the restaurant. Ok, GPS; we’re here. Where’s the restaurant? We looked around the corner, went back, double checked the address—a young couple appeared to be doing the same. They were also looking for it.

I walked into a museum/conservatory and asked a gentleman if he knew of the restaurant. The apparent answer seemed to be no, but he led me outside, hailed another gentleman, asked him about it, and they got all of us there.

Gianluca greeted us. He is a refined and elegant Harry from Third Rock from the Sun, if you can make that mash up happen in your head. Utterly professional and perfect in his role.

The restaurant, if you can imagine this, is what I’d guess could be a cream-colored refined but austere medieval castle. An extraordinary setting.

Giuseppe, I’m sure, had something to do with this—we were treated with an exquisite bottle of wine, which was opened immediately.

Amuse-Bouche, two local breads, two antipasti, diaphanous ravioli with pasta thin as onion skin, a secondo of three preparations of meat from their local black pig, dessert, and two types of dessert wine that were more like amaro than anything cloying or sweet. We. Were. In. Heaven.

Next one, smile!

A few minutes after we got our wine, a woman of manufactured beauty, with probably but a few original parts, sat down at a nearby table and began taking a selfie. I didn’t roll my eyes out loud. I was curious who might be her date this evening. Well shame on me for those judge-y thoughts, because soon I was absolutely in love with this woman. She dined solo, ordering some impressive wines — plural— and eating several courses, with relish. Finishing with a digestivo. Then, after a long and enjoyable dinner, got her perfect figure up off the chair and into the elevator.

We were also finished. The service was impeccable. Warm but professional. We finally wound down our glorious tour of food, and said our thanks to Gianluca and the staff. As we got our coats, Gianluca had keys in hand, asking if we wanted to go to the terrace. The terrace? I got goosebumps.

He brought us up and out. I audibly gasped, and Gianluca chuckled softly. Laid out before us and below was Matera at night. All of the cave windows held lights or candles. The ancient city pulsed like fireflies in the dark; a sliver of a moon above us. “You must return in summer season to dine out here,” suggested Gianluca. Yes; we must, Hisnluca. My stupid phone camera does not do it justice. It was a mystical experience.