Bari. At the Crossroads of Apulia

Today I would like to write about Bari, a large port city located in the Apulia region in southern Italy. It is one of those places that can be visited well beyond the peak summer season. Even in autumn, temperatures here remain pleasantly high, although it is still worth being prepared for occasional rainy days, which can appear quite suddenly at this time of year.

Unlike many of my previous trips to Italy, my stay in Bari was not limited to walking through a historic centre for a day or two. I spent nearly a week around the city while visiting family living several kilometres outside Bari. Because I had a rental car, I was able to see not only the most tourist-oriented places, but also the more contemporary and everyday side the city. It was precisely this double perspective that made Bari far more memorable than I had initially expected. On one hand, there are the very old, narrow streets of Bari Vecchia, full of tourists, restaurants, and historical landmarks, while on the other there are modern districts, broad avenues, heavy traffic, and the everyday life of a large city. And I have the impression that only after seeing both of these worlds is it possible to better understand Bari. In fact, I have noticed that this often happens when I travel for reasons other than tourism. Sometimes it is work, sometimes visiting family, but staying a little longer usually allows me to see a city from a much broader perspective than just its old town and main tourist attractions.

Driving through the city itself was also an experience of its own. It quickly became clear that finding a parking space in the late evening in the centre where I rented an apartment, was not exactly easy. The local driving style required a certain amount of adjustment, as well. I very quickly started appreciating the fact that the car had front and rear cameras, because many parking spaces looked significantly smaller than those I am used to. Bari did not feel unfriendly towards drivers, however – rather, it felt like a city functioning according to its own rules and rhythm, to which you simply have to adapt. What also surprised me in comparison with my own country was the much smaller number of road signs. Very often, especially at junctions, you have to pay close attention to the lines painted on the road itself, because only then do you realise who actually has priority.

At the same time, the car gave us an enormous amount of freedom, especially because some of our trips around the region were made together with my two-year-old niece. Bari became our base for exploring a larger part of Apulia and even a fragment of neighbouring Basilicata. Over the course of several days, we visited places including Alberobello with its famous trulli houses, Matera with its rock-cut districts, and Castel del Monte, which remains one of the most mysterious medieval buildings in Italy to this day. All of these places are located relatively close to Bari, and it is precisely then that you realise how good a base this city can be.

Despite the numerous trips outside Bari, there was also time to explore the city itself at a slower pace. One evening was spent mainly wandering through the historic centre, while on another day I devoted practically the entire day to the historic districts of Bari itself. And it was then that I started noticing that the city is far more complex than the images usually associated with it online might suggest.

Most tourists associate Bari almost exclusively with Bari Vecchia – the oldest part of the city located between the port and the sea. This is where the best-known landmarks are situated, including the Basilica of Saint Nicholas and the Norman-Swabian Castle. Narrow alleyways, stone walls, hanging laundry, and small squares really do create a very typical image of southern Italy. Even despite the large number of tourists, this part of the city occasionally feels almost medieval, particularly once you move away from the main walking routes.

The Norman-Swabian Castle of Bari turned out to be one of the most interesting places in the city. Since I have already described it in much greater detail elsewhere, I will only mention here that it is definitely worth visiting the interior rather than limiting yourself to viewing the walls from outside. The same applies to the Basilica of Saint Nicholas, which remains one of the most important religious sites in the entire region. It is here that the relics of Saint Nicholas were brought in the 11th century, making Bari an important pilgrimage destination and one of the key ports on the Adriatic for many centuries. At the time of my visit, the castle was undergoing renovation works, and one thing that also stood out was the relatively small number of exhibits inside. In practice, apart from the plaster cast gallery located on the ground floor, the interiors were quite empty. Nevertheless, the castle itself still makes a very strong impression. The castle was also closely connected with Bona Sforza, the Queen of Poland. It was here that she spent part of her life as Duchess of Bari before leaving for Kraków and marrying Sigismund I the Old, and she later returned to Bari during the final years of her life after leaving Poland. She was eventually buried in the Basilica of Saint Nicholas, where her sarcophagus can still be seen above the altar.

At the same time, Bari does not end with its medieval quarter. Between the main railway station and the seafront lies a completely different part of the historic city – more ordered, significantly wider, and filled with elegant townhouses and representative streets. This district, developed mainly during the 19th century, presents Bari not as a medieval port, but as a modern Italian city shaped during the period of Italian unification. The most characteristic features here are the broad avenues, particularly Corso Vittorio Emanuele II and Corso Cavour. The architecture of this part of the city feels far more monumental and organised than in Bari Vecchia. Townhouses dating from the 19th and early 20th centuries dominate the streetscape, often featuring neoclassical and eclectic elements. While walking through this part of Bari, I occasionally had the impression that I was in a completely different city from the one located only a few streets away.

And perhaps that contrast is what I remember most strongly. Bari is not merely a postcard-perfect medieval town designed purely for tourists. It is a large, living city with a very long history, which for centuries served as an important port and a meeting place of different cultures present around the Adriatic. You can see medieval, Norman, and Byzantine influences here, but also the 19th-century ambitions of a modern city.

The history of Bari is much older than it may initially appear while walking through the modern city. Thanks to its location on the Adriatic coast, the settlement developed as a port already in antiquity and from the beginning remained connected with maritime trade and contacts between the Italian Peninsula, the Balkans, and the eastern Mediterranean. During the Roman period, Bari, then known as Barium, became one of the more important ports in southern Italy, although for a long time it remained overshadowed by larger cities of the region.

Towards the end of the 4th century was the empire administratively divided into western and eastern parts. Because Bari was located within Italy, it became part of the Western Roman Empire. After its collapse in the 5th century, however, the political situation in southern Italy remained unstable for a very long time. The city repeatedly changed rulers and came under the influence of the Lombards, Byzantium, and for a certain period also the Arabs. The Byzantine period turned out to be particularly important because Bari became one of the main administrative centres of Byzantium in southern Italy. As a result, the city remained closely connected for centuries with the trade and culture of the eastern Mediterranean, maintaining contacts between Italy, the Balkans, and the Greek world.

In the 11th century, Bari was conquered by the Normans, who began extensive expansion of the fortifications and strengthened the city’s role as an important commercial and military port. Part of the oldest fabric of Bari Vecchia dates precisely from this period. At the same time, the arrival of the relics of Saint Nicholas from Myra in 1087 transformed the city’s position within medieval Europe, turning Bari into one of the most important pilgrimage destinations on the Adriatic. The Basilica of Saint Nicholas was built specifically to house these relics. Saint Nicholas himself is also a much more historically significant figure than modern popular culture might suggest today, when he is associated mainly with Christmas traditions. For centuries he was one of the most important saints in Christianity, particularly venerated in the Byzantine world and eastern Christianity. This is also why the basilica in Bari continues to hold major importance for both Catholics and Orthodox Christians.

The Normans created a powerful state that included Sicily and much of southern Italy. The last Norman heiress of this kingdom, Constance of Sicily, married Henry VI of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, the son of Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. Through this marriage, the Hohenstaufens gained rights to the Kingdom of Sicily and, after the death of the last Norman ruler, took control of the entire state, including Bari. Their son was Frederick II, who spent part of his childhood in southern Italy and became very strongly connected with the region. One of the most important rulers of medieval southern Italy, he expanded and rebuilt several fortifications across the region, including the castle in Bari and the famous Castel del Monte.

After the decline of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, Bari later became part of the Kingdom of Naples. The Kingdom of Naples was a historical state that controlled most of southern Italy for many centuries, with Naples serving as its capital. It emerged during the Middle Ages and existed in various forms until the 19th century, when Italy was unified into a single country. Over the centuries, the kingdom itself was ruled by different dynasties, including the Angevins, Aragonese, and later the Spanish Bourbons. The city was repeatedly rebuilt and fortified, while its strategic position ensured that it played an important commercial and military role.

In the 19th century, Bari began expanding rapidly beyond its medieval walls. New representative districts with broad streets and elegant architecture inspired by the urban planning of modern European cities started to appear. It was during this period that much of the present-day centre of Bari took shape, creating a very visible contrast with the dense and narrow streets of Bari Vecchia.

Today, Bari is one of the largest cities in southern Italy and the capital of the Apulia region. Walking between medieval Bari Vecchia and the 19th-century avenues of the newer districts, it becomes very easy to see how the city evolved over the centuries. For me, however, Bari turned out also to be a very convenient place from which to explore the wider region. You can easily spend several days here focusing entirely on the city itself, but Bari works equally well as a starting point for further journeys around Apulia. And perhaps it is precisely this combination – everyday urban life, a historic centre, and an excellent location – that makes Bari stay in your memory much longer than you might initially expect.

Bari. At the Crossroads of Apulia

Sassi di Matera. A City Shaped by Stone and Time

In today’s post I want to take you to a truly stunning place you may well recognise from the big screenMatera, a city in southern Italy’s Basilicata region. It’s been used as a film set for productions such as Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ and the James Bond film No Time to Die.

Matera spreads across a limestone plateau above the deep Gravina gorge, carved over thousands of years by the river of the same name. On one side, rugged hills and rocky slopes frame the view; on the other, sun-drenched plains typical of southern Italy stretch away into the distance. While much of modern Matera consists of newer buildings, its soul and greatest treasure is its historic heart – a place that feels like stepping into another world.

The historic district of Sassi di Matera is among the world’s oldest continuously inhabited settlements, with the first dwellings dating back as far as 9000 BC. Early settlers used natural caves in the soft limestone cliffs as shelters. The local limestone, known as tufo, is so soft that it can be carved with simple tools – perfect for hollowing out small cave homes.

As the community grew, people began joining single caves together, carving corridors and passages, enlarging chambers, and adding simple stone walls at the entrances to create façades. Typically, each of these early homes had a single front room and a series of chambers receding into the rock. The roof of one cave often became the terrace or floor of the next, creating the distinctive cascading look that still defines Matera today.

During the Middle Ages, as building techniques advanced, façades were reinforced and extended with dressed stone, and arches, vaults and retaining walls were added. Interiors were converted into proper homes, with extra floors and courtyards, and original rock walls were faced with stone to strengthen them. Over time, the line between built structure and natural cliff blurred – it’s often impossible to tell where the rock ends and the masonry begins. This organic process produced a unique architectural landscape: a labyrinth of rooms, passages and stairways embedded in the hillside.

One of the most extraordinary aspects of the Sassi is their historic water management system. Matera sits on a dry limestone plateau with no natural springs, so for centuries residents captured every drop of rain. Roofs and terraces were carved with grooves that channelled rainwater into rock-cut cisterns, reservoirs and underground canals. The settlement functioned like a vast rain-collecting machine – water cascading from the upper levels down into lower tanks. The largest cisterns were supported by stone pillars and vaulted ceilings, resembling underground cathedrals, and could store enough water to last for months.

Ventilation and daylight were equally cleverly managed. Because many rooms extend deep into the rock, they were designed with ventilation shafts, skylights and small openings to let in fresh air and natural light. This stopped damp and smoke from building up and kept the air circulating constantly.

Believe it or not, there are countless articles in international water research literature that explore how this city managed to collect and store its water. What’s more, when you visit Matera, you can even join a guided tour that takes you inside and shows exactly how this ingenious system once worked.

Over the centuries, as building methods improved and new districts developed higher up the hill, many residents left their cave homes behind for more modern dwellings. By the mid-20th century, only the poorest lived in the Sassi, often in dire conditions.

After the Second World War, the area was severely overcrowded. Whole families lived with their livestock in damp caves without sanitation, running water or electricity. Conditions were so appalling that in the 1950s the Italian government declared the Sassi a national disgrace (la vergogna nazionale) and relocated their inhabitants to newly built housing on the city’s outskirts.

For decades the Sassi lay abandoned and crumbling, until restoration efforts began in the 1980s. Painstaking and costly, this process eventually paid off — and in 1993, the Sassi di Matera were awarded UNESCO World Heritage status as a unique example of continuous human settlement from prehistoric times to the present.

Today, many former cave dwellings have been transformed into boutique hotels, art galleries, restaurants and small museums showing what everyday life in these cave homes once looked like. Many retain their original layout but are now styled with minimalist design and luxurious furnishings – combining rough limestone walls with sleek modern décor. You can even spend the night in some of these hotels: from the outside they look like ordinary stone houses, but inside they reveal extraordinary cave interiors now infused with comfort and elegance.

At this point I need to add a bit of a personal touch. Matera, in a way, was simply lucky – after years of abandonment, it was brought back to life and turned into a UNESCO-listed gem. As a teenager, I spent a few years in a country in North Africa on the edge of the desert where people once lived in cave homes carved into the mountains. They were forced out and given modern blocks instead, but many never adapted. I still have black-and-white photos (unfortunately not suitable to be digitalised) of those homes from over forty years ago — and with the conflict and war there now, they’re unlikely to ever become the kind of place international travellers could safely visit, explore and truly experience.

Matera’s historic heart is made up of three districts clinging to the same rocky slope. On one side is Sasso Barisano, on the other Sasso Caveoso, with Civita perched on the ridge between them, crowned by the city’s cathedral.

Sasso Barisano takes its name from nearby Bari, as it was historically the entrance to Matera from that direction. It has more buildings with conventional façades, narrow lanes, and even a road that cars can use. Sasso Caveoso lies on the opposite side of the ridge, lower down, and feels far more ancient – its dwellings are mostly carved directly into the rock, resembling the original cave homes. From Barisano you can’t even see this hidden district.

Between the two lies Civita, the rocky spine of the hill, topped by the cathedral which dominates the skyline and can be seen from miles around.

As we visited Matera, we came by car from Bari, so we naturally entered through Sasso Barisano. We didn’t have much time and we were travelling with a curious little two-year-old traveller, full of ambition yet still bound by her toddler limits. It was November, well after the main tourist season. Almost all houses and sites were closed, and the city felt still and hushed. And don’t be fooled by the fact that there’s no one in my photos — it was simply a time when the streets of Matera were completely empty.

We began our walk near the Church of Saint Augustine, perched on the edge of Sasso Barisano. From there we wound our way through the narrow lanes of Barisano, climbing ever higher until we reached Civita and the cathedral at its peak. We didn’t make it as far as Sasso Caveoso — that district lies lower down on the far side of the ridge and was beyond our reach this time.

In photos below you’ll mostly see Sasso Barisano and Civita, but if you look closely at the rocks across the gorge — and beneath the Church of Saint Augustine — you’ll spot openings in the cliff that look like the entrances to the most ancient and primitive cave dwellings.

The Sassi di Matera are not just picturesque houses revived for visitors — they are evidence of how human settlement adapts, collapses and gain new meaning over time. At times the attention can feel superficial, driven more by the setting than by the story behind it. Yet maybe that curiosity is not a bad thing. Even if we start by simply admiring how striking it looks, it can lead us to something deeper – to understanding how people once lived here, and how much history still echoes through these stones.

Sassi di Matera. A City Shaped by Stone and Time

The Rape of Proserpina by Bernini. When Marble Comes Alive

I’ve been to the Galleria Borghese twice, and both times I found myself standing in front of The Rape of Proserpina far longer than I expected. The first time, I didn’t really know much about Bernini — I’d heard the name before, but it didn’t mean much to me. That changed the moment I saw this sculpture up close. It was only then that I started noticing the details: the way Pluto’s hand presses into Proserpina’s thigh, the twist of their bodies, even the tears on her face. Back home, I looked more closely at the photos I’d taken, zooming in on things I hadn’t seen in person — and that’s when Bernini’s name truly stuck. Since then, I’ve promised myself that next time I’m in Rome, I’ll go back just to see this piece again — and take even more photos.

The Galleria Borghese is one of those places that stays with you — not because it’s large (it isn’t), but because almost every room contains something unforgettable. Housed in a 17th-century villa within the Borghese Gardens, the gallery was originally the private collection of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, an early and enthusiastic patron of Bernini. Today, it holds several of Bernini’s masterpieces — including Apollo and Daphne, David, and The Rape of Proserpina. There’s also an outstanding collection of paintings by Caravaggio, Raphael, and Titian. The Rape of Proserpina is displayed in Room IV, also known as the Room of the Emperors.

If you’re curious, I’ve shared more thoughts, tips and photos from the gallery in other entries on this blog (see buttons below).

Gian Lorenzo Bernini was one of the central figures of Baroque art in 17th-century Rome — a sculptor, architect, and all-round creative powerhouse. He worked for both the Catholic Church and secular patrons, including none other than Louis XIV of France.

Bernini was incredibly young when he created The Rape of Proserpina — just 23 years old. The sculpture was commissioned by Cardinal Scipione Borghese, the man who in fact commissioned and assembled the collection that became the Galleria Borghese. It was made between 1621 and 1622, at a time when Bernini was already gaining a reputation for making marble appear soft and alive. The piece became part of his private collection — and remains one of its most impressive works. (Like another one made by 15 years old Bernini.)

The story comes from Roman mythology, adapted from the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades. (The Romans adopted many of the Greek gods and stories, often giving them different names — so Hades becomes Pluto, and Persephone becomes Proserpina.) Proserpina, the daughter of Ceres (goddess of the harvest), is abducted by Pluto, god of the underworld, who falls in love with her and carries her off to be his queen. Her mother’s grief causes the world to go cold and barren — a mythical explanation for the changing of the seasons.

The theme of abduction was often used in Baroque art, not only for its dramatic potential, but also because it allowed artists to explore movement, struggle, contrast, and emotion — all key elements of the style. In Bernini’s hands, the myth becomes something almost painfully real: not just a story, but a moment frozen in motion. And Bernini was a master of using marble to imitate different textures: flesh, fabric, hair, even tears.

One of the most striking things about The Rape of Proserpina is how physical it feels. The sculpture isn’t just dramatic — it’s tactile. Pluto’s fingers press into Proserpina’s thigh with such convincing softness that it’s easy to forget you’re looking at solid stone. Her hand pushes against his face, her hair flies back, her foot twists as she’s lifted — every detail adds to the sense of motion and struggle. There’s even a tear on her cheek (though I didn’t manage to capture it in my photos). Pluto’s body is full of tension — defined muscles, a strong stance, even a vein on his thigh standing out as if pulsing. And then there’s the drapery, barely covering their bodies, adding both modesty and theatrical tension. It clings and flows at once — heightening the drama of the scene.

Nothing is flat or static — the figures spiral upward, locked in movement. From some angles, the sculpture looks as if it might tip over or keep turning. That’s exactly what Baroque art often aimed to do: capture a single moment in all its energy and tension, and make it feel alive. The drama is heightened further by how the sculpture is displayed — raised on a pedestal, so you look up at it. That slight upward gaze gives it even more presence and intensity.

If you walk around the back of the sculpture, you’ll spot Cerberus — the three-headed dog of the underworld — curled behind Pluto’s leg. It’s easy to miss, but it’s a quiet reminder that this isn’t just a struggle between two people, but a story about the boundary between worlds. At the base, partly hidden, lies Pluto’s sceptre — a small but meaningful symbol of his role as ruler of the underworld. It adds a calm note of control beneath the chaos above.

But words can only go so far. Let’s let Bernini speak for himself — below are a few photos of this incredible sculpture taken from different angles.

Even after seeing the Rape of Proserpina twice on site, I still feel like I haven’t fully taken it in. It’s the kind of sculpture that reveals something new each time — a fold, a gesture, a tiny detail you didn’t notice before. Photos can’t replace standing in front of it, but they can help you see more than you did the first time.

The Rape of Proserpina by Bernini. When Marble Comes Alive