THE LIFE OF A HOUSE
Slow Life in Salento
WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHY: BEATRIX TORMA
I stepped out of the gate and bumped into Franco. "Come on, lets take a walk. Ill show you something youll like," he said, and the next moment we were standing in front of a whitewashed house with thick, curved walls. The sun was setting, but it wasnt dark yet. The sound of quiet chatter filtered through the open door. No lights were on inside. They got used to not having electricity in the houses for a long time, and now that they had it, it was still better this way. Faces were visible in the strip of light filtering in through the windows. No one got up when we arrived, yet two glasses appeared, and we sat down. This intimate, early evening world was Laurita and Mauros house.
I stepped out of the gate and bumped into Franco. "Come on, lets take a walk. Ill show you something youll like," he said, and the next moment we were standing in front of a whitewashed house with thick, curved walls. The sun was setting, but it wasnt dark yet. The sound of quiet chatter filtered through the open door. No lights were on inside. They got used to not having electricity in the houses for a long time, and now that they had it, it was still better this way. Faces were visible in the strip of light filtering in through the windows. No one got up when we arrived, yet two glasses appeared, and we sat down. This intimate, early evening world was Laurita and Mauros house.
Salento is the southernmost tip of the Puglia region, where the mainland, the "Finibus Terrae", ends. The characteristic red soil of the peninsula, spread between sandy and rocky shores, is adorned with olive trees, prickly pears and vegetable gardens, while we stumble upon the memories of megalithic cultures.
None of them wanted another house
By the sea, yes, that would be nice. They sometimes dreamed of that. But the sea is just a few minutes from the village, so they didnt see the point. Laurita and Mauro have loved each other since their teenage years, now they are in their fifties. They secretly exchanged letters, they took their first train together, they got to know life together. When they decided to buy the rundown house without comfort, all hell broke loose. That the children (they were over 40) were out of their minds, even Laurita, a schoolteacher, how could they do such a thing when all the relatives had already moved into modern houses. But it was all in vain, because by then Laurita and Mauro had made up their minds and wanted the rundown house more than anything else, through sleepless nights.
"We didnt decide anything, the house led us"
Mauro uncovered and cleaned the old tiles, the built-in fireplaces in the walls, the starry ceilings, which are characteristic of Salento houses. They renovated the interior shuttered windows and collected the old roof tiles piece by piece. Laurita ran from school to Lucianos bakery for lunch, from where she rushed straight to the house.
Salento is the southernmost tip of the Puglia region, where the mainland, the "Finibus Terrae", ends. The characteristic red soil of the peninsula, spread between sandy and rocky shores, is adorned with olive trees, prickly pears and vegetable gardens, while we stumble upon the memories of megalithic cultures.
None of them wanted another house
By the sea, yes, that would be nice. They sometimes dreamed of that. But the sea is just a few minutes from the village, so they didnt see the point. Laurita and Mauro have loved each other since their teenage years, now they are in their fifties. They secretly exchanged letters, they took their first train together, they got to know life together. When they decided to buy the rundown house without comfort, all hell broke loose. That the children (they were over 40) were out of their minds, even Laurita, a schoolteacher, how could they do such a thing when all the relatives had already moved into modern houses. But it was all in vain, because by then Laurita and Mauro had made up their minds and wanted the rundown house more than anything else, through sleepless nights.
"We didnt decide anything, the house led us"
Mauro uncovered and cleaned the old tiles, the built-in fireplaces in the walls, the starry ceilings, which are characteristic of Salento houses. They renovated the interior shuttered windows and collected the old roof tiles piece by piece. Laurita ran from school to Lucianos bakery for lunch, from where she rushed straight to the house.
They would have lunch among the ruins and when the day was over, they would plan further in the night by the light of the street lamp, marveling at something each day. How once men moulded clay into roof tiles by pouring it on their thighs, hence the curved and tapered shape of the tiles. Mauro learnt the technique of making “cocciopesto”, a Roman-era moulded casing of lime and powdered bricks, which insulates well in humid climates. From beneath the broken chairs, demijohns and rubble, emerged the beauty of life embodied in the cement tile flooring. Floral meadows intertwine with three-dimensional, geometric patterns, with brown and red tiles, while on the other side we step into the kitchen, a landscape of ochre and olive-green autumn. The soul of the house is the old cement tile flooring, preserved in its original state, leaving it with space and possibility.The furnishings are pieces of rural Salento peasant culture, lamps from the fifties, a few, almost symbolic pieces, where light, air and a good feeling mingle. They took joy in the centuries-old teachings of the house about customs, ingredients, the culture they lived in and yet did not know. Soon they brought a table, chairs and an old sofa so that they could enjoy the Sunday lunch cooked at home and take their siesta here, in the rundown house, worthy of the house and Sunday.
They would have lunch among the ruins and when the day was over, they would plan further in the night by the light of the street lamp, marveling at something each day. How once men moulded clay into roof tiles by pouring it on their thighs, hence the curved and tapered shape of the tiles. Mauro learnt the technique of making “cocciopesto”, a Roman-era moulded casing of lime and powdered bricks, which insulates well in humid climates. From beneath the broken chairs, demijohns and rubble, emerged the beauty of life embodied in the cement tile flooring. Floral meadows intertwine with three-dimensional, geometric patterns, with brown and red tiles, while on the other side we step into the kitchen, a landscape of ochre and olive-green autumn. The soul of the house is the old cement tile flooring, preserved in its original state, leaving it with space and possibility.The furnishings are pieces of rural Salento peasant culture, lamps from the fifties, a few, almost symbolic pieces, where light, air and a good feeling mingle. They took joy in the centuries-old teachings of the house about customs, ingredients, the culture they lived in and yet did not know. Soon they brought a table, chairs and an old sofa so that they could enjoy the Sunday lunch cooked at home and take their siesta here, in the rundown house, worthy of the house and Sunday.
The stone and adobe houses, with closed walls from the outside, shine in the sun with their white, gnarly organic perfection. The alleyways almost always meet forming a small, enclosed space (corte). The “cortes” are symbols of community life where people share food, water and washing soap. The houses in the alleyways have small windows built high up to protect them from the heat, cold and prying eyes, while letting in the light.
The heat was slowly subsiding and I wanted to open the small window. Standing on the chair, I hopelessly prayed to the saint watching from the wall niche to help me open the window at an unreachable height. Then I noticed a hanging string which I pulled. The small window opened. They opened it as they always have, with a strong string tied to the latch of the window.
The house of Laurita and Mauro, the place where they live slowly.
camascia.com
The stone and adobe houses, with closed walls from the outside, shine in the sun with their white, gnarly organic perfection. The alleyways almost always meet forming a small, enclosed space (corte). The “cortes” are symbols of community life where people share food, water and washing soap. The houses in the alleyways have small windows built high up to protect them from the heat, cold and prying eyes, while letting in the light.
The heat was slowly subsiding and I wanted to open the small window. Standing on the chair, I hopelessly prayed to the saint watching from the wall niche to help me open the window at an unreachable height. Then I noticed a hanging string which I pulled. The small window opened. They opened it as they always have, with a strong string tied to the latch of the window.
The house of Laurita and Mauro, the place where they live slowly.
camascia.com
