Palazzo Daniele in Puglia
A scene in Puglia
Setting:
A grand Palazzo in a nondescript town in the southern-most tip of Salento, that has hosted powerful popes, prestigious priests, and poor villagers looking for bread. The vaulted ceilings are covered in frescoes, the floors are tiled, the furniture is minimalistic, and the ancient walls are hung with edgy art.
Zoom into a living room:
Lamps in various corners of the room coupled with a fire in the fireplace create soft halos of warm light and gray shadows. A blonde couple sits cross-legged and barefoot on the blue couch playing backgammon. A woman sits alone at a small table next to the fireplace, clicking away on her phone. A girl wearing glasses daydreams on the Moroccan carpet, a stack of art magazines on her lap. African jazz comes floating out of an old-fashioned transistor radio perched on a bookcase. A small table positioned in a corner under a spotlight is draped in a linen tablecloth, and a couple sits together, the girl in a white dress and the man in blue. Their bodies look tired, like they’ve had a long journey, but their eyes are bright and sparkling. The man is checking the stock market on his phone, the girl is flipping through a canvas bound book of photography on the colorful, art-deco houses of Salento. A man in an apron emerges from the kitchen with two bowls of ear-shaped pasta that he places on their table with a brilliant smile. “Welcome to Palazzo Daniele” he says in Italian.
A while later:
Their meal has ended, the room emptied out, the fire is dying in the fireplace. Everything seems to have shifted into slow motion. The jaunty jazz has slowed into a soulful crooning in a language neither of them can decipher and the last orange embers from the fire tumble off the logs languidly.
The girl in the white dress is looking dreamily across the table at the man in blue.
The man in the apron looks out from the shadows of the kitchen, and although there is a soft smile on his face, there is a strong ache in his heart. He thinks of a woman far away who looks at him the way this woman is looking at this man, in a way that says:
“You are my sun, my moon, and my stars.
You are my anchor, my compass, and my sense of home….”
Her look says even more than that, but the man quickly turns away and exits the Palazzo through the kitchen door. The girl in the white dress takes her partner’s hand and leads him through the Palazzo to their room.
End of scene
The next morning while J. was still sleeping, I made my way to the living room to read.
The coffee tables are scattered with magazines like Monocle and Wallpaper, and books on Salento style. The maroon carpet and sky blue couches are the only non-neutral colors to be seen. As I settled onto the wide couch with a magazine, Francesco Petrucci popped up with a small group of guests and asked if I would like to join in while he explained the history of the palazzo. Francesco is one of the owners and he now lives on the roof when he is not internationally jet-setting.
I eagerly agreed.
The house was built here in Gagliano del Capo in 1861 as the Daniele family home. Francesco shared memories of visiting his grandparents here, and described the old décor: regal and stuffy with velvet curtains and chandeliers. When Francesco decided the palazzo was too big for him he started the one-year renovation and conversion into a hotel with the second owner Gabriele Salini. The concept behind the renovation was to shift the focal point of the structure from the front of the house to the back area, and to strip it down to create a minimalistic vibe.
Art is a major theme here and Palazzo Daniele is decorated with the work of well-established, international contemporary artists. I inquired about one of the pieces of artwork which turned out to be by a South African artist of Armenian descent, whose work focuses on issues such as genocide and migration. She uses harsh mediums to reflect the harshness of the themes; the one in question was created with gasoline and salt.
I excitedly filled J. in over breakfast by the pool. To get outside to the pool you are invited to walk through the kitchen which has an open-door policy for guests and is equipped with shiny Smeg appliances. Giovanni, the manager, who has an excellent eye for detail, had already informed us with precision that ‘there isn’t a restaurant, there is a kitchen’. Based on a combination of what local produce has arrived in the kitchen that day and what your personal preferences are, the chef will whip up a meal for you. Breakfast included a spread of baked goods, quiche, banana bread, croissants, ricotta cheese, pistachio yoghurt, apricot and pineapple juices.
Back in our bedroom, the walls are a faded sand color, the vaulted ceiling frescoed. The décor is minimalistic with the focal point of the room being the bed, dressed from head to toe in glorious, cream colored Italian linen from Society Limonata. Swooning over the understated elegance of the linen, I immediately went online to find out how to outfit my bed back home in the same luxury. I immediately changed my mind once I saw the prices. Two sleek black spotlights frame the bed and provide orange halos of reading light. There is no TV in the room, but there is a Marshall radio, which at the moment, is playing Amy Winehouse.
The bathroom is all white, sand, and cream colored. The towels are sleek sheets of linen and the bathrobes gray, textured cotton that look like they’ve been washed over a thousand times. Products are Grown Alchemist, in generous black bottles, smelling of damask rose, sage, peppercorn and chamomile. The shower is strong, the water hot.
Outside the designer walls of Palazzo Daniele, the vibe of Gagliano del Capo is very different. There’s a tiny bar on the corner, which seemed to be a popular hangout for the townsmen and a gelateria across the street that also serves as the local viewing point for soccer matches. The houses are small and squat, painted in pastel colors with iron balconies. Their crudeness highlights the elegance of Palazzo Daniele, and yet at the same time, they had an accidental art-deco look that almost reminded me of South Beach, Miami. I was secretly happy when J. got lost a few times driving through the winding streets as I had more time to gaze out the window at the quirky little houses.
Pulgia is a more raw and earthy than other regions of Italy I’ve visited, and its many beaches and seafood gives it an almost Greek vibe. The soil is red, there are wildflowers scattered everywhere, and an interesting mix of trees: cypress trees, palm trees and dramatic umbrella-like acacia trees that looked like they had been plucked straight out of the Serengeti. Puglian cuisine includes purple prawns, fresh figs, plump tomatoes, creamy burrata, orecchiette pasta, chickpea dishes, horsemeat and lamb entrails. At the age of six I developed my obsession with horses, and so every time we would sit down at a restaurant J. would quickly scan the menu and give me a ‘Black Beauty’ warning. We also skipped out on the lamb entrails.
Back at Palazzo Daniele, J. and I were invited to an art exhibition that was taking place at a nearby artist’s residency. The location was a bit mysterious, in a local home, and we wandered down a narrow street in Gagliano del Capo following vague signs until we reached a lovely house draped in white jasmine, with a tiny white car and scooter parked outside. We showed ourselves in and there were crowds of people spilling out into the garden, playing backgammon, drinking wine, and gazing at the art installations that involved tapestries with pearls and keys, mobiles, and red ropes wound around live olive trees. Being a guest at Palazzo Daniele means you are immediately welcomed into a community of art lovers…
A scene in Puglia
The girl in the white dress knew the time had come to leave this grand palazzo in the southern-most tip of Salento. The man in blue went to bring around their miniature Italian car while she wandered through the grounds one last time. She imagined the history held within the frescoed walls, the stories of love and loss lived out under this roof, the characters that had grown up in these rooms or just passed through- she now being one of them… This is what she thought as she meandered towards the exit, pausing under the neon yellow sign that says very aptly: ‘questa casa non è un albergo’.
End of scene
For more photos and information about Palazzo Daniele, please visit their website: https://palazzodaniele.com/
