Trani

Another day, another side trip out of Bari. This morning I took a train to Trani. I chose that destination solely so I could type “train to Trani.”

I’m kidding, of course. My guidebooks recommend a couple of sights there and it sounds like an interesting seaside town. Furthermore, Trani is close to Bari—30 to 45 minutes by train depending on if you get an intercity or regional train—and the trains are reasonably frequent. Plus, I get to type “train to Trani” here.

I got one of the faster trains and arrived in Trani before 10:30 in the morning. The trip was pleasant, but unexciting—flat with lots of farms and bucolic scenery and dotted with cities and towns along the way.

In Trani

My guidebooks don’t mention a lot of sights to see in Trani. They list four. I saw three. I skipped a minor church.

I almost missed what I think is the best of Trani areas I walked through because my guidebooks didn’t mention it. I’ll get to that later because I stumbled on it only as I was leaving Trani.

Sinagoga Scolanova

I went to the Sinagoga Scolanova, also known as Scola Nova Synagogue in English. first because one of my guidebooks said it was open from 9:00 to 12:30 and again from 3:30 to 7:00 pm. The other guidebook metaphorical threw its hands in the air, refused to give any opening hours, and just said “hours vary.”

I wanted to start by going to the synagogue and checking the hours so I could adjust my day accordingly if necessary. The sign on the gate didn’t give any hours. It just said that private tours can be booked any day of the week except Friday and Sunday afternoons and all day Saturday. But tours have to be booked a minimum of two hours in advance. So, I didn’t get inside.

There a number of reasons I wanted to visit the Scola Nova Synagogue. For one, both of the guidebooks I have with sections on Trani mention it favourably. For another, it’s quite old and has an interesting history. For yet another, the guide at the Jewish Museum I visited in Lecce earlier on this trip mentioned it as the only synagogue known to be currently operating in, I forget if she said all of southern Italy or just the Puglia region. I think just Puglia, but that still covers a lot of ground.

Then there’s the whole culture question. I visit a lot of churches in old cities in Europe for a variety of reasons that I’ve described elsewhere in this journal, but broadly because they’re huge, grand, awe-inspiring, architectural marvels, ancient, and/or beautiful.

But I don’t go to many synagogues in Europe because, for one, they are much, much, much scarcer. For another, even fewer of them have one or more of the above-mentioned qualities. It’s not that I’ve never visited any. I have indeed visited a few synagogues elsewhere in Europe—including five synagogues in Prague. But compared to the number of churches I visit on my travels, it’s next to nothing.

Here’s the thing. I feel absolutely no spiritual need or want for any religious institution or practice. I’m an unrepentant atheist.

But I do have an innate affinity for the culture of Judaism. It might have something to do with the seders I’ve attended, the Chanukah candles I’ve lit, my Bar Mitzvah, and although I thankfully have no recollection of it, maybe even my bris. So I felt visiting the Sinagoga Scolanova would be a partial payment on a cultural debt.

But, unless viewing it from the outside counts, that didn’t happen.

About the history of the Scola Nova Synagogue, an informational sign on a post outside of the synagogue provides more information than either of my guidebooks. It says in Italian and English,

“The Scola Nova Synagogue, believed to be from the 12th – early 13th century, reflects the architectural peculiarities of the place.

Towards the end of the 13th century, it was converted into a Christian church and renamed as St Mary of Scolanova. During this period, an external staircase was built, altering the original entrance and floor.

Despite these changes, the interior preserves the Aron ha-qodesh intact. In 2007, thanks to the union of intentions of Archdiocese, City of Trani, and Jewish Community the building was returned to its original religious use. Today, it is recognised as one of the oldest synagogues in Europe.”

Sign outside the Scola Nova Synagogue

Trani Cathedral

The section heading in the principal guidebook I’m using for Trani lists this sight as just “Cathedral,” nothing more than that. Not Trani Cathedral. Not something fuller. Not the Italian. Just Cathedral.

The Italian website for the cathedral refers to it as “Cattedrale di Trani,” which I believe translates to Cathedral of Trani. So, there you have it.

My guidebook tells me the Cathedral of Trani is dedicated to Saint Nicholas the Pilgrim who was at first thought of as a simpleton for wandering around the Puglia district of what is now Italy crying the Greek equivalent of “Lord, have mercy.” (He was Greek. So the speaking Greek part wasn’t weird and didn’t win him any village idiot credits.)

Despite being considered a simpleton while alive, he was venerated after death (a fat lot of good that did him; it didn’t pay any of his corporeal bills), credited with some miracles, and made a saint.

This story tenuously resonates today. The modern turning points didn’t require death, but we have at least one or two examples of people who were thought to have been simpletons but who managed to get elected to high public office despite that correct designation.

Wait. Stop the presses. Rewind the tape. Excuse me? What? There’s another Saint Nicholas and this one’s not Santa Claus? He’s not the one who has about 65 percent of his bones entombed in his basilica in Bari?

There are two or more Saint Nicholases? How confusing is that? Seriously. The church shouldn’t allow it. If someone is deemed to have been saint-worthy, but there’s already a saint with his or her name, the individual should be required to posthumously agree to change his or her name or forfeit the saint gig.

Stop for a minute and consider the negative implications of redundant saint names. I imagine, for example, the following conversation between a child and the ghost of St. Nicholas the Pilgrim:

Child: “You cheap bastard. Why did you give me only a lump of coal for Christmas? What did that cost you? A penny [or whatever the equivalent was then]?”

St. Nicholas the Pilgrim: “Lord, have mercy. Kid, that wasn’t me. Lord, have mercy. That was the other Saint Nick. Lord, have mercy. Take it up with his ghost. Lord, have mercy.”

Child: “Yeah, right. Another St. Nick? Save that one for the stupid kids. You’re just saying that to get rid of me, you chickenshit weasel.”

Of course, it was probably a mouth like that that placed the imp on Father Christmas’ naughty list. But, really. Think of poor St. Nicholas the Pilgrim. He shouldn’t have to put up with that abuse.

I got off track again as I’m frequently wont to do, didn’t I?

Back to the church. It’s tall, with bare stone walls, few decorations, and is beautiful for its starkness.

According to my guidebook, there’s a crypt below the cathedral. It apparently has a lot of columns and stores the bones of St. Nicholas (the Pilgrim, not the Santa Clause). There was a service gathering when I was in the cathedral so I left without trying to find the entrance to the crypt.

Besides, I’d already seen one crypt with a lot of columns and a tomb with the bones of a Saint Nicholas.

Entry into the cathedral is free, but you can pay five euros to climb up to a mezzanine overlooking the cathedral and, beyond that, the high bell tower. I paid the fee to make my Fitbit stair flight counter happy. (It registered about 85 floors just to the time I left Trani.)

The mezzanine provided a great view of the cathedral.

The cathedral is right beside the sea. The bell tower is, as I said, high. It would have provided amazing views of the sea and nearby castle in one direction and Trani in the other. It would have, that is, if the windows, which were glassless, hadn’t been obscured by a sting mesh which covered the entirety of each window, which it did.

There are small balconies beyond the windows. But there was no way to get out there. And a sign at the foot of the stairs to the tower said in two languages, effectively, don’t even think about going out there.

Trani Castle

Again my guidebook was sparing in its heading for this sight. It just read “Castello‘” I have no answer for why it used English, Cathedral, for the cathedral heading, but Italian, Castello, for this one. “Foolish consistencies,” “hobgoblins,” blah, blah, blah. But if there’s no good reason for an inconsistency is it foolish? I argue not.

But never mind that.

The guidebook did not give a formal name for the castle, just Castello. But when I got close to the castle what did I see blazoned on a banner hanging on its wall? “Castello Svevo di Trans.” That’s what.

The castle in Bari, which I visited yesterday, is also called Castello Svevo. Had I known it was a chain when I visited it I would have formed a completely different opinion of it.

Isn’t it always the way? Big conglomerates come in and open up branches everywhere. Before you know it, you’ve got multiple McDonald’s, Burger Kings, Starbucks, and Pradas* in every city and town in the world, foisting a bland homogeny on society. How long will it be until we see a Castello Svevo on every corner? It’s insidious, I tell you.

(* Yes, I know. One of these things is not like the others. Wanna make something of it? I’m a curmudgeon and could make your life miserable with my whining if you want to try something like that on me.)

Okay, I’m kidding. I didn’t yesterday, but when I saw a second Svevo castle today, I had to look it up. “Svevo” is Italian for “Swabian.” Well, okay then. That explains it. Or it would if I had a clue what Swabian was.

I didn’t. So I looked it up. According to Wikipedia, for whatever that’s worth, Swabians are Germanic speaking folk native to the linguistic region of Swabia, which is “mostly divided between the modern states of Baden-Württemberg and Bavaria, in southwestern Germany.” I don’t think they’re building any more castles these days as the Duchy of Swabia collapsed in the 13th century.

The castle is impressive. There is a central courtyard and three backyards. There are some big and cavernous rooms and some smaller rooms. Unlike the Castello Svevo in Bari, there isn’t much descriptive text, videos, or displays inside. A video about the history of the castle runs in a room not much past the ticket desk that provides the history of the castle.

A couple of the rooms had a temporary exhibit of artworks from the private collection of the late Queen Margherita (she died in 1926). She’s so famous that she had a pizza named after her. If you don’t know the story, you probably think I’m joking about that. I’m not. I read it in one of my guidebooks before even starting this trip. What is now called a Margherita pizza was the queen’s favourite pizza. So the pizza makers of Naples named it after her.

I’m hoping that burnt toast will be named after me. Burnt toast isn’t my favourite kind of toast, but it speaks to my cooking skills.

Most of the works in this temporary exhibit date from the late 19th and early 20th century. The artworks, that is, not the pizzas. There were no pizzas on display.

Many of the other rooms are also open to the paying public, such as me. But they’re mostly empty. That’s not a terrible thing. Some of the rooms are cavernous, and more impressive for their emptiness. And the bare stone walls are evocative.

There was a period after it stopped being a castle when the Castello Svevo di Trani served as a prison. After it stopped being a prison they stripped out most of the prison infrastructure, returning it close to its castle state to serve as a tourist attraction. However, they left a row of prison isolation cells just to retain a smidgen of the prison history for us tourists.

The best part of the castle is the sentry area. It’s a flat area up top. The castle, like the cathedral, is right at the sea. The two are separated by a large, mostly empty, piazza-like area. The view of the sea and the cathedral from the sentry area is beautiful

In general, it’s a nice little castle, well worth a visit.

Not Lunch

When I finished with the castle, it was a few minutes after noon. That’s way too early to eat lunch in Italy. Restaurants are open for tourists, but I think the locals severely judge tourists who eat then. And their judgement isn’t at all favourable. My guidebooks didn’t mention much else to do in Trani, so I pulled out my phone and looked for the next trains back, figuring I’d have a late (for me) lunch in Bari.

There was a train at 1:08 pm, another one not that long after that, and then nothing until a little before 3:00 pm. I used my phone to book a ticket for the 1:08.

I still had about an hour to get my train. Because I had my ticket, I only had to get to the station early enough to look on the screen to see which of the three platforms at the Trani station my train would board from and then get to that platform. The train station was only about a 15 minute walk away, so I had a little time.

Consequently, rather than take Google Maps’ fastest route to the station, I walked along the shore a bit. I had to go in that direction at some point in the walk to the station. But doing it at the start just wasn’t the straightest line possible.

I’m glad I made that choice. By the castle and cathedral, beyond the shore is mostly just sea. There is an L-shaped pier, and a lighthouse further along the way. But walking along the shore I came to a very pretty marina that wasn’t clearly visible from near the castle and cathedral.

Back from the marina is a large piazza with a bunch of restaurants with many tables on the piazza. By then, it was 12:30. All of the restaurants’ tables were set, but almost all of them were empty of customers. Those customers who were there were drinking, not eating. So, it was still too early for lunch.

When I turned up from the marina toward the station I unexpectedly walked through a very lovely, narrow, pedestrianized shopping street. It almost made me wish I was taking a later train so I could spend some more time there. I say almost because, as pretty as it was, the crowds swarming that street were more than I wanted to deal with.

I caught the train I booked.

This left me with a terrible dilemma. It was one of those conundrums that, if you don’t solve it correctly, it could have serious, life-altering consequences, and not of the good kind.

The problem was, I’ve developed a tradition of, when I post two entries in one day in this journal, I usually sign off the morning one with a brief note about lunch. The title of this entry is “Trani,” but I wouldn’t be having lunch here. I’d be having it back in Bari. So, do I break the tradition of lunches closing morning entries or do I break the theme of this post by including something that didn’t happen in Trani?

I agonized over this. I hemmed; I hawed. I to-ed; I fro-ed. I teetered; I tottered. I backed; I forthed. Eventually, i’d padded this entry so much that putting in anything about lunch would make it too long. So, that’s it for now.