It was a lazy morning in mid-August, and the pandemic seemed to have hit pause.
I’d been back home for a few weeks, a rare event that hadn’t happened since I left it when I was 18. I had to go register for a sailing course I’d take in a few weeks, in Santa Caterina. My camera was lying below the car’s seat, trying to avoid sun-rays.
After I was done with the quick paperwork for the course, I had a few hours to spare before lunch. I remembered that road sign that once Eugenio told me “It leads to one of the most beautiful, historical Masseria in Salento”, only a 15mins drive from it.
The main entrance is a road flanked by tall pine trees that announce the end of the desertic, burnt land that lies next to the Masseria. I pulled over, stepped out of the car, embraced the stillness of this entrance. I could hear nothing but the warm wind of August.
I remember thinking how unannounced visits used to surprise people.
I drove on and parked by the entrance. When opening the door, a carcass was lying by my feet. I almost stomped on it, a jaw with a few teeth, of an animal I can not recognise. It’s big and fits in with the surroundings. Maybe a cow.
A piece of bone that a German shepherd, the guardian of the entrance, chews on from time to time.
He faintly barks at me as I walk in, lying down in the only place in the shade he could find, by the old bakery.
I spot a stout bloke who looks older than he must actually be. He’s bespattered with red dirt, but I can make out a white vest and high boots underneath. His hands’ skin though is what gets my attention, it looks so thick it feels like you could peel layer upon layer off of it. He’s sweating as he looks at me, and I can sense his distrust.
What do you want? he asks.
I’m a local. Just taking a look, a few photos maybe.
Come on in, he said.
I peeked around quietly. I remember all the doors half open.
My first visit to Masseria Brusca was pretty much like this. Me peeping around taking pictures of a place whose existence I ignored up until a few moments earlier. The quietness of this place makes it magical. Only a few workers make sure farm products are ready for when people come around to buy a bit of this, a bit of that.
I headed back home and worked on some of the shots, trying to reflect the warmth and the feeling I had. Once I posted them, Bianca got in touch.
Bianca is the daughter of Giovanni, the owner of Masseria Brusca, with boundless love for this place. “Do you want to come over for a tour tomorrow?” she asks.
Masseria Brusca’s story is rich and precious. It’s a tale of faithful love and commitment. A family that dealt with the bandits and pirates of the 18th-century, who would try to loot and burn it in their expeditions.
So I did come back a few days later, for one of their guided tours, where I got the pleasure to meet in person Giovanni. He’s a civil engineer, and as a side projects he runs the operations here, overseeing the production of cheese, wine and oil, and making sure that the farmhouse – with all the statues, gardens, fountains and church – is kept in good shape.
What struck me about Giovanni and his tour was the passion and deep knowledge of every single detail of this place. From the late 18th-century church dedicated to the Immaculate Virgin, to the anecdotes about the inheritance.
Currently Masseria Brusca gives its people a living by producing cheese, oil and wine. Within this charming setup, it’s also been used as a location for various important cinema productions, which allowed Giovanni to rent it out for events of all sorts.
I wanted to tell the story of my experience at Masseria Brusca as it happened, an accident. I’m deliberately leaving out the many historical and architectural nuances, knowing that someone else might be better equipped at doing this. I’m including some information about this below.
If you’re ever driving around Porto Selvaggio, Torre Uluzzo, or anywhere along the southern stretch of Ionian coast in Salento, look for Masseria Brusca. It’s worth the stop.
Here some additional information about the Masseria:
Masseria Brusca – in Nardò, Lecce, a few hundred meters from the Ionian Sea – was founded in the 18th century when the current structure was born out of a series of additions on the original 16th-century building.
Finely decorated with 1700s’ frescoes and surrounded by a charming garden with statues representing the Continents, it features a Neoclassical entrance and includes a late 18th-century church dedicated to the Immaculate Virgin: Masseria Brusca is a beautiful place that strikes the imagination of travelers and poets.
One of them was Raffaele Crovi, who wrote in a lyric of his about Apulia (1934-2007):
“Lands of laurels, mastic trees, hawthorns, / peach, mulberry, oak, and plum trees / encircling spaces / where castles / and farms grow, / from which streets / lead to cities / of shadow and light / that fill the void / turning it into the world…”,
Terre di allori, lentischi, biancospini, / di pesche, gelsi, querce, susini / che accerchiano gli spazi / su cui crescono / castelli e masserie, / da cui partono vie / che conducono a città / d’ombra e di luce / che riempiono il vuoto / trasformandolo in mondo…
from “Diario del Sud”, Manni Editori, San Cesario di Lecce 2005).
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