Basilicata moodboard

I just got back from a research trip for a tour I’m organizing with, and for, my friend Adele in the deep south of Italy, Basilicata.

It was my first time in the region, and although our schedule was packed with meetings and visits, I traveled there without a fixed idea of what I should find. I had done plenty of research before leaving, but once I arrived, I let the place reveal itself.

Italy is my home country, and somehow it never stops surprising me. I have yet to find another geographically tiny country that holds so much diversity in landscape, traditions and food not to mention languages and dialects.

Since I’m from Florence, I couldn’t understand a single word of the local dialect. But I did managed to retain 3 beautiful words that I kept hearing and they somehow became the perfect representation of the trip: mier, wine, ciucce, donkey, and rupo, cliff. ( I’m sure I misspelled all of them!).

Here is a moodboard with some videos and impressions that stayed with me.

I definitely won’t forget:

The warmth of the people and the level of hospitality. Everywhere we went, we were met with genuine kindness, including an unexpected birthday gift for baby Isaac from the owner of the apartment where I stayed. She must have seen his birthday on the passport during check-in.)
Elena Fucci, an oenologist and winemaker working in a land rich in tradition and folklore. I loved how she talked about terroir, how every element of the land around an extinct volcano, the Vulture, shapes her wine. She said :“You can grow tomatoes in the desert, but that doesn’t mean tomatoes are the full expression of the desert”. Her wine is the full expression of the Vulture. In a food system where products are so often disconnected from their origins, seeing someone defend terroir so passionately was striking.
Elena and Andrea, olive oil producers who left stressful, chaotic lives in Milan and Rome to buy an old olive grove near the Lucanian Dolomites. Their story reminded me how farming can be a legacy passed down through generations, or a radical choice made by people seeking a completely different rhythm of life. I won’t forget the quiet and silence in their grove.
A personal realization: one day I want to live somewhere where I can grow grapefruits in my backyard. Is it just me??Anyone?
Matera bread. A huge loaf of pillowy bread made with semolina flour. I learned all about its story, the hard work of the women who made it, the stamp used to mark each loaf with the husband’s initials, so it could be recognized at the communal oven. I even managed to bring one back in my suitcase. (And I highly recommend you do the same!)
The ghost town of Craco, inhabitated only by three ciucce (donkeys), its silence and stillness were unforgettable.
The old town of Matera. The third oldest continuosly inhabitated town after Aleppo and Jericho. I was in awe. Matera touched me in the same way Macchu Picchu in Peru or Varanasi in India did. Believe me when I say that once you see it you can’t forget it.