Adventure

When I was invited to travel around the region of Basilicata, my first thought was, “Where’s Basilicata?” Even upon arriving at the airport in Bari, only a two-hour flight from London, I didn’t really know where I was or what to expect.

And while I’d visited Italy three times before, and seen most of the major cities, I didn’t expect to feel so immediately comfortable and welcome in the region. Each day, action-packed with cooking lessons and sailing and zip-lining and festival-going and eating and drinking (and eating and drinking some more), made me fall more and more in love with the region and its people.

The man leaned in close, his face next to mine. I could smell his breath, a mixture of tobacco and a pungent, unidentifiable spice. His arms were stained slightly indigo from the traditional robes he wore. He was a Tuareg, a true “Blue Man” of the Sahara. Though he was only in his mid-fifties, his face bore the wrinkles of a lifetime spent in the unforgiving sun.

“C’est trés difficile,” he said to me, and I nodded. We were sitting by the fire under the desert sky of the Moroccan Sahara, and he was helping me to untangle the necklaces I wore around my neck. I had bought the strands of colourful glass beads in the souks of Marrakesh only days earlier, and he worked quickly and carefully to free me from their knots.

“I can stitch up your chin if you want,” the young woman told me as she pressed yet another alcohol-soaked cloth onto my bleeding face. A monkey peered at me from the window. I could hear the cries of exotic birds. My clothes were still covered in mud, and everything hurt.

“Have you…” I struggled to find the right words; I didn’t want to offend her or seem impolite. “Have you ever stitched a human face before?”

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