At Venosa one thinks of Roman legionaries fleeing from Hannibal,
of Horace, of Norman ambitions; Lucera and Manfredonia call up
Saracen memories and the ephemeral gleams of Hohen-staufen; Gargano
takes us back into Byzantine mysticism and monkery. And now from
Altamura with its dark record of Bourbon horrors, we glide into the
sunshine of Hellenic days when the wise Archytas, sage and lawgiver,
friend of Plato, ruled this ancient city of Tarentum. A wide sweep of
history! And if those Periclean times be not remote enough, yonder lies
Oria on its hilltop, the stronghold of pre-Hellenic and almost legendary
Messapians; while for such as desire more recent associations there is
the Albanian colony of San Giorgio, only a few miles distant, to recall
the glories of Scanderbeg and his adventurous bands.
Herein lies the charm of travel in this land of multiple
civilizations - the ever-changing layers of culture one encounters, their
wondrous juxtaposition.
My previous experiences of Taranto hotels counselled me to take a
private room overlooking the inland sea (the southern aspect is already
intolerably hot), and to seek my meals at restaurants. And in such a one
I have lived for the last ten days or so, reviving old memories.
