Explore with Fran : Magical Matera

Dolce far niente

Leaving Gallipoli was hard. It is the sort of small Italian town that you could lose yourself in for months. The slow vibe. Easy pace of life. And how vibrant it feels when the sun goes down. No expectations. High rewards. Dolce far niente. Picking up a sentence or two of Italian each day. As your “buon giornios” start to connect with your “come stais?” one day you find yourself thinking in Italian.

Leaving Puglia for Basilicata

Isn’t that the dream? It is certainly one of mine. That dream will have to wait. Today we were headed out of Puglia. Although, I didn’t realise this when we booked the trip. Basilicata is a close neighbour of Puglia and is home to one of the oldest cities in the world. A city that stops you in your tracks. Takes your breath away. Has you entranced and almost hypnotised.

Matera is truly magical. It looks like no place you have ever been. It looks uninhabited, and rather eerie. This is until you get up close and discover how wonderfully the people of the city have maintained the history whilst converting many of the stone cave dwellings into bed and breakfasts and restaurants. This bereft looking town is actually a hive of activity.

Arriving by car in Matera

With no private cars allowed into the old town, once again, we parked some distance away. And from arriving into the newer part of town, with no glimpse of Matera in sight, we could have been, and indeed were, in any small nondescript Italian town. Nothing against Italian towns but many do look rather uninspiring. Buildings that looked perfunctory rather than perfect. Architecture from the 60s and 70s. Could we really be close to the magical Matera that I had seen and heard about from television programmes?

As seems to be common in Italy, we had been sent a homemade video from the host of our accommodation, directing us where to park. With Victoria driving and me trying to match the video to the streets as they quickly passed me by, it took us a couple of attempts before we got our bearings. The tension was eased somewhat by the running commentary of our host, in broken English.

“Here on the left. Parking. Possible. Here, also. Possible. There, by blue lines. Not possible.”

Having found a space that was indeed possible, we trundled our bags over the cobbled streets, turning a corner, and literally realising we were there. Right there. A low wall offered us views right across a valley. A valley of stone. And if you looked really carefully, focused your eyes, you could see little doorways and windows cut into the stone. How many thousands of years had Italians enjoyed the very same view?

Has Djokovic moved to Matera?

Our host, an uncanny Novak Djokovic lookalike was on the balcony, waving across to us as we crossed the piazza, looking confused at the Google Map on our phone, trying to work out which direction we should be walking in. Novak came down and took one of our bags as we climbed three flights of stairs. Hard work, and worth it, seeing the balcony the accommodation had, with unhindered views across Matera, towards the stone hills that look as though they have dead black eyes, staring right back at you.

“Novak” was a very friendly chap, and was happy to hear that as a result of his very helpful video, it was “possible” for us to find a free parking spot for the next 3 days. In what appeared to be a pattern on this Italian trip, we were checked in by our host, given some information, and they quickly departed. Never to be seen again. A few hours later, over a cold glass of Soave, you could be forgiven for thinking that Novak was an apparition.

The “shame” of the Sassi

As recently as the 1950s, Matera was dubbed the “shame of Italy” as a result of the overwhelming poverty in the town. Some 16,000 people were forcibly moved out of the Sassi (stone buildings) and into new housing. “Modern” apartments that can still be seen close by. They look like an aberration. And this left Matera as an empty shell.

It would have stayed this way. Perhaps forever had it not been for some enterprising locals. Seeing the opportunity offered by this they created a local group, intent on restoring and maintaining the history of a town that gets to play ancient Jerusalem in films. When Matera was listed as a UNESCO heritage site in 1993 they knew that a corner had been turned.

Fixer Uppers in Matera

With the government offering 30 year leases, at minimal cost, for people to purchase a “fixer upper”, there are now over 3000 locals living in the Sassi. This number swells as the word continues to seep out amongst tourists, with Matera starting to become a little like the gold rush of years gone by. The town was one of the busier ones of our travels around Southern Italy and I couldn’t help wondering if there is a tipping point for towns like Matera? The effects of over tourism on small Italian towns would soon become very evident to us during a visit to Taormina in Sicily.

The tightrope walk of tourism

Having the “right” amount of tourism is a fine line to walk. The town relies on tourists. They need to be drawn in. And Matera alone is enough of a draw. As the secret gets out, and spreads further, as happens exponentially quick in this age of social media, the risk is that you are dealing with another Santorini. Lines of people queuing up to get the perfect shot. Aggressive influencers asking you to move as you are “in their shadow of the photo”. Yes, this actually happened to me in Santorini. I will let you decide whether I moved for them or not.

That said, as travellers, we definitely benefit from social media. For large parts of this trip, Victoria had been doing Insta(gram) research. The fruits of which do find us in some spectacular places. In Matera it was Zipa cafe bar. Cut into the rocks, high up in Matera. We found a bean bag and had a drink amongst the rocks.

Maintaining our traditions in Matera

Right now, the town did not feel over touristed. Puglia, and as now in Basilicata, still felt a little under the radar. We were able to stroll around Matera through the day, and then come out for dinner in the evening without a reservation. We followed our Italian ritual of the passeggiata before the customary Aperol Spritz.

Each evening we became cave dwellers, the restaurants cut deep into the rock, and down flights of stairs. The effect was a restaurant not affected by the intense heat of the day. A restaurant where we got to sample some of the cuisine the region is famous for, cucina povera. Cuisine of the poor. I particularly enjoyed the bread soup. Using stale bread in a rich tomato broth. Delicious.

Strolling back through the dark streets of Matera we reflected on the amazing history of this place, and how, had things been different we would not have Matera to marvel at. There was a suggestion, which sounds incredulous with the passage of time, to concrete over the whole town back in the days of “shame”. Serenaded by a guitar strumming singer in the piazza, I am very grateful that Matera will be here, to be enjoyed, for generations to come.