The first thing that strikes you about Puglia is the light. It arrives at dawn as a gentle caress over limestone walls and spreads across endless olive groves like liquid gold. This is Italy’s heel, where the Adriatic and Ionian seas converge in a symphony of turquoise and sapphire, where ancient civilizations left their fingerprints in stone, and where every grandmother seems to possess culinary secrets passed down through centuries.
Puglia doesn’t shout for attention the way Rome or Florence does. Instead, it whispers invitations through narrow whitewashed alleys, beckons from rocky coves where the water runs so clear you can count pebbles at twenty feet, and seduces with the aroma of wood-fired focaccia emerging from centuries-old bakeries. This is a region that rewards slow travel and curious hearts, where the rhythm of life still follows the sun rather than the clock.
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