Correspondances comme un roman The other Bari Perched on the heel of the boot of Italy, the capital of Puglia is more than just another sun-baked city of the Mezzogiorno. Novelist Françoise-Marie Santucci explores this quintessentially Mediterranean city. Illusion Bari is not Bari. Googling “Bari + images” prior to its fruit and vegetable sellers, corner grocery stores and crowds departure held the promise of enchanting landscapes; white of locals shopping. It seems pretty authentic. Then suddenly houses balanced on a promontory of snow-white rocks, aa sign in front of an antiquated bistro: “We welcome tourists!” jagged coastline and, below the streets high above, a tiny beach like something out of a movie set. This magical town is called Orecchiette Their thumbs are as big as children’s fists, they’re Polignano a Mare, some 40 kilometers south of the “real” Bari, getting on in age, but their dexterity contrasts with their placid the capital of Puglia. And the reality, as often happens when expressions. It almost looks as if they had been placed here as you compare it to the dream, is a bit more humdrum. There’s some kind of attraction—and indeed they are; but there’s more no promontory or dazzling little houses, only an unattractive to it than meets the eye: these old women on the narrow Arco road between the airport and the center, and telltale signs of a Basso street in Bari Vecchia are carrying on what their mothers, modern urban area looming—a mix of warehouses, rundowngrandmothers and ancestors before them have always done— shops, graffiti-tagged bus stops and so on. But once you enter handcrafting orecchiette, the small ear-shaped pasta typical of Bari, well, it’s an entirely different story. Puglia. You’d have to film them in slow motion to really observe their quick-fire movements. With one hand, they slice Grid Bari’s layout is rather simple: there’s the old town, Bari a piece off a roll of dough (just flour and water), catch it with Vecchia, up against the Adriatic Sea and the ramparts; then the the other, then press into it with their thumb to fashion a little 19th-century city built by Joachim Murat (Napoleon’s brother- ear, before sweeping it into a tray shielded from the sun by in-law), then king of Naples, beyond the palm-tree-lined Corso a rather haphazardly positioned canopy, where hundreds of Vittorio Emanuele that serves as a kind of border. Beyond orecchiette dry for hours. that lie the more modern districts, which look more bland. The 19th-century part is quite opulent, the buildings Cactus Gargantuan pots line the sidestreets of Bari Vecchia, adding to the effect, including the famous bright ocher-colored overflowing with lush cacti, Mediterranean shrubs and Teatro Petruzzelli. The city’s grid layout makes it easy to get tamarisk in bloom. The art of decorating is everywhere, even around, although the ubiquitous international chain stores take in the most unexpected places. Niches carved into stone serve away a lot of the charm. We quickly return to Bari Vecchia, with as altars to the saints or are filled with tiny votive offerings; 110