How I Spent a Weekend in Pisa - A Well Deserved Break from Brindisi and Puglia

Here's an excerpt, a preview of one chapter from my newest book, Brindisi and Me: What I Learned from Two Years Living in Southern Italy.

The book is being released on June 30th, after 4.5 years of being worked on. Truly, I started this memoir back in October of 2020. It's a relief to finally complete this work and share it with readers everywhere. 

_________________________________________________________________________________
The grind of the school year for teachers and the routine many follow make it a challenge to be out and about when the weekends come. More often than not, one of those weekend days is the time to recharge after a busy week, dealing with the ups and downs of school, and the joys and challenges that come from working with children. Some educators can overcome this and can be out and about on a school night. This might mean going to the movies, having dinner, or simply working out at the gym. Younger teachers will often attempt to burn the candle at both ends, going out dancing during the wee hours of the morning and then fighting the good fight during the school day.
​
One of the challenges of being in Brindisi or Italy and Europe, in general, is that much of the nightlife and activities don’t get going until later in the night. If you are a morning person, it can be challenging to adopt nocturnal habits after dealing with an entire school day.

Full disclosure: I am not the best person to advise on what to do at night in Brindisi. I’m not the right person to talk about which restaurants, bars, and dance venues are the ideal places to visit. While those are critical cultural spots to make connections within the local community, it’s not what my journey was focused on. 

Having shared this, my weekends would have been more adventurous, especially with exploring the Pugliese countryside, had I visited Lecce and the nearby masserias, olive groves, and wine vineyards during my first year, rather than my second. We all made choices, and I was focused on staying in, paying off debts, and exploring everything within walking distance or that I could visit on my bike.

Interestingly enough, I use my aunt in Washington, DC, as a perfect example. She has been in the DC area since the late 1960s. In comparison, she is familiar with many cool locations and places to visit. She would be hard-pressed to tell you the last time she went into the Capital or frequented a museum or a particular restaurant that wasn’t a few miles from her home.

More often than not, when you live in a place for an extended period, initially, it’s pretty standard for people to explore and try all the new things they can find. Then, as the years progress, once they are settled in place, routines are set. People would rather do what makes them feel secure as opposed to going to a dance club in DuPont Circle. If you have visited the Naval Academy twenty times, why do you have to go a twenty-first time? The same applies to various monuments and locations. I think this happens frequently. It’s only the new people who see more of the surrounding area, while those who have grown up in the region are set in their ways. 

Perhaps I’m wrong, but that’s just been my observation. With that in mind, my familiarity was with the side streets and venues within Casale, rather than the city center of Brindisi. It wasn’t until two years ago that I was able to truly explore the old city and gain a deeper appreciation for Brindisi, which continues to grow on me. The same is true with Bari, Lecce, Ostuni, and other notable spots that are a short train ride away.

I intended to see so much more of Italy when I moved there. I wanted to visit San Marino, Trieste, and Venice, among other spots. There was that urge to play the role of a proper tourist, and yet I was not a tourist but a physical resident in Puglia. 

To that end, my school vacations were spent traveling abroad. I wasn’t as interested as other teachers were in exploring different parts of this beautiful nation. Frankly, I wanted to take a break from hearing Italian and from the trash. I tried to get a glimpse of Poland, England, and Serbia. And even when I visited those places, I wasn’t going to the hotspots. Suppose you ask Americans today where Serbia is, good luck in getting the correct answer. When I visited England, I didn’t go to London; I went to Southport. This is a small seaside community north of Liverpool that boasts the largest pier in Europe and is known for being the city that influenced Napoleon III in planting all those trees along the Champs-Élysées. A similar story with Poland took me to Gdansk and Sopot, where I wanted to experience the rich history of the area and visit the largest wooden wharf in Central Europe.

This doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel drawn to visit Tuscany, especially places like Siena and Florence, or to explore Verona or the mountains. I find that you don’t necessarily want to see the areas set up for tourists. They treat you differently, and that’s a fact.

When I finally left Brindisi and stayed in Italy, it was for a weekend trip to Pisa. I was going there for a conference that was supposed to last the weekend, and I figured I’d be able to walk the streets, get a feel for another region, and perhaps even see some green. If there’s one thing that I missed from living on the heel of the boot, it was the lack of lush green grass and sharp, beautiful, methodical mountains.

 Brindisi at times has an oasis feel, and yet it also evokes those desolate, desert climate and terrain vibes. That in itself was odd because when precipitation would come and nourish the ground, it felt less like the blowing sands of the Sahara and more like a tropical destination. Yet after my first shift in seasons from fall to winter to spring, the change in scenery, especially in Pisa, was therapeutic.

Brindisi to Pisa is a short flight. It was around ninety minutes at best. I was able to get into the Galileo Galilei Airport, also known as Pisa International, if you’re not interested in a bit of history. Out of Brindisi, I believe this was a 4:30 flight, so I was on the ground roaming the streets shortly after six in the early evening. Ready to explore one of the most significant tourist areas in all of Italy and a mainstay for photographers, I did my best to visit this historical city in Tuscany, home to Galileo, by doing what all Italians do: walking the streets.
I looked at Google Maps and even printed off a sheet giving me directions to my hotel, which was three miles from the airport. I knew the general vicinity and that my room was on the backside of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Even if I got lost, I could go to the tower and head directly west towards the water. In between those two spots, the hotel would be waiting. 

If you want to get to know a place and get a feel for any location, get lost. Seriously, lose your cell phone and any maps or directions that you have, and just will yourself to wherever you need to be or want to visit. While I wish this were my plan, it was also out of necessity, as there was a similar lack of road signage, just like in Brindisi. Once I crossed over the Arno River, I meandered toward the northwest.  

Let me tell you what I discovered: a meaningful walk along the majestic Arno, which served as the divider between the part of Pisa closer to the airport and the other half that led to famous monuments, churches, and my favorite landmark, the horse track. Strolling through a city park that lined the river, I stumbled across a statue of Galileo Galilei with his finger out, pointing towards the stars.

I had no idea that Galileo was from Pisa, to begin with, nor did I expect to stumble across this famous person in history. Mesmerized by that fact and by the gardens that were springing up along the river with fresh flowers and buds, it was a wonderful moment. Springtime in early May is an ideal time to visit. You get off-season rates but with fewer people and bearable weather. As I relished in the scent of flowers, I knew the trains went north of my location and were parallel to the tower and my hotel. Wanting to be different, I avoided the popular roads with the occasional sign directing me to the Tower of Pisa. 

Instead, I went underneath a tunnel and back onto a main thoroughfare where I could take in the mom-and-pop restaurants and stores. This wasn’t like when you do a search on Google Maps and type in “restaurants,” and they say “Italian restaurant” or “Chinese restaurant.” These were places that you had to zoom into the actual city streets for them to list the name.

They were also restaurants and venues that followed the siesta schedule and embraced later hours. This doesn’t mean those visiting Pisa wouldn’t stumble across these hidden gems. Still, you are in for a different experience several blocks away from the horde of tourists fighting to get to McDonald’s next to the famous tower. 

Shortly after passing a small bistro, I contemplated how close it was to my hotel and whether it would make sense to stop by and grab a bite to eat. Admittedly so, it was getting close to seven, and I wanted to check into the hotel and get settled first. The meandering continued until I found myself on Route 551. 

I did a double-take, crossing the street to make sure that the aggressive drivers couldn’t calculate how many points one could get for hitting an American. With the traffic beside me, I took in the smells and the sounds, and smiled when that open field came into view. There was the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and from a vantage point I never considered. There she stood, the backside of the tower, from a perspective of an undeveloped grassy knoll with the surrounding churches standing guard.

To be frank, I was dumbfounded. Why had they never developed this area? I wasn’t complaining either. If anything, I was relieved they hadn’t because shortly thereafter, on the left as I cut through and around some bushes, I arrived at Allegroitalia Pisa Tower Plaza, a five-star hotel and resort that had an awesomely inexpensive rate because it wasn’t in season.

Sure, the pool wasn’t open, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t getting the same caliber of room and the same quality of treatment that people would otherwise receive in June, July, and August. Having said that, if you want to visit Pisa, I suggest you visit in early May. The weather is warm but comfortable, and the monument area, if that’s what you’re drawn to, is a short walk from the train station. You can stay in Pisa for a day or use it as a central location to explore other parts of Tuscany without any drama.

You’re still gonna get some people, but it’s not the massive crowds that you would expect during the summer months. And for the more adventurous, you could get off the beaten path literally and follow the horse path that I found on Viale delle Casine. This was the street off my hotel, which I found to be the most enjoyable part of my entire trip, and hands down my favorite part of Italy until I visited a masseria.

Let me paint you a picture of the beauty, the natural beauty that I did not expect to see in this area. Looking to the right of my hotel, a short ten to fifteen-minute walk under the train tracks would lead you into the tourist mecca with prices to match. You can buy your Pisa hat, postcards, a shot glass, and a t-shirt. More importantly, you can get that elusive selfie pushing or kicking over the tower. If you want to experience more culture, you can walk around the other structures and see the impressive churches that surround the tower.

Perhaps you won’t fall victim and go to McDonald’s or any restaurant within a four-hundred-meter radius of this tourist hub. Instead, you might just find yourself on one of the many side streets, around the lush and serene city parks with vintage cafés and small shops with character. If you’re like me and just want to avoid people, you wouldn’t dare walk towards the tower in the daylight hours. Truly, if you want to get the place to yourself, seven in the morning is ideal for this traveler. Some eager tourists shared the space, but it was doable and not overwhelming. When the tourist bus arrives, you can be long gone, enjoying nature or the sea. 

I don’t think many people realize this, but Pisa is right on the water. If you look at a map, it’s clear, but for some reason, I overlooked this fact. It wasn't until we were descending to the airport that it clicked that this city was nestled along the Mediterranean. My hotel was situated in a truly special spot. Instead of going right to the tourists on their Italy tours, I went left and walked along vast fields, horse trails, and a beautiful forest.  

The mountains loomed in the distance. Their sharpness reminded me of Mount Chocorua and Cathedral Ledge in my native New Hampshire. The vast fields that lay out in front of the mountains were a green reminder of the Mount Washington Valley and North Conway. Without realizing it, I had stumbled upon an area that was a picture-perfect replica of my home region.

The fields with their crops and tall grass sang to me. Like on the Arno River, there were beautiful and vibrant flowers littered around small villas and homes along this horse-trodden path. It was as though we were back in time, seeing these stucco-covered homes, and yet the distant sound of the train served as a reminder that we weren’t in the middle of nowhere.

I continued on this horse path until I came to a large gate of what appeared to be a nature preserve, lined with trees that I knew would lead to the sea. If I’d been in Pisa for more than a weekend, there’s no doubt the sea was the next progression in this journey. And yet, I was content in that moment to turn around and walk back in the light rain. 

The most memorable aspect of the return trip was recognizing the horse training grounds. This was where many boarded and trained their steeds. With my parents dabbling with horse racing in the 1990s, this was another wink to my past and brought a smile to my face.
I saw a restaurant at the stables' entrance and wondered whether it was worth the effort and time to explore. From the outside, it didn’t look special. It was meant for the people who trained the horses, who needed a warm meal and convenience. This was not a tourist hot spot, let alone a place for people coming in off the street. 

And yet, here I found Ristorante Le Scuderie. This was a no-frills, working man’s place with wooden tables, some benches, and chairs. It was the perfect venue for people trekking in mud or dirt.

I sat down at a table near a window and looked at the people who were there before their siesta break. There was no fine china. For that matter, my menu was nothing complicated, with only a few items to choose from. This was a place where you get a home-cooked meal, and that’s precisely what I did. I ordered clams with linguine, perfectly balanced with olive oil, basil, and oregano. I paired it with an old-school Coca-Cola and enjoyed every single bite.

Watching the rain fall and hearing the melody of grown men conversing about their day, I imagined working with the horses and how they would be there, heading back to the stables or perhaps home after their meal. I imagined their conversations leaning towards family or soccer as well. I could only understand a few words here and there, but it was nice because I felt like I was with my people, and yet I was able to enjoy this meal in this moment by myself.

Like the countryside right out the door, the meal reminded me of growing up on the Seacoast and of our dear family friend, Miss Angie, who always cooked the best Italian meals. As with the calzone that melted my taste buds and my heart, on my first few days in Italy, this meal in Pisa renewed my soul. You might think I’m exaggerating, but this weekend rejuvenated me after a long winter season. 

Just getting out of Brindisi and seeing another part of the Italian countryside, another city, was soothing. I didn’t feel like a tourist, but like a fellow countryman, save one who couldn’t speak the language well. This was also true the night before, when I ate at the hotel by myself because I had gone to eat at seven thirty. No other customers appeared until well after eight thirty. By then, I was on my liquor dessert, ready to call it a night. 

At the hotel, I got my first taste of being wined and dined in Italy in a well-to-do manner. I even came down dressed up, wearing the remnants of my school outfit, which was a collared shirt and dress pants.

Avoiding their cocktail bar, I asked to be seated, and so they put me at a table for two in front of this magnificent window, which spanned the entire room and looked out onto the back of the Tower of Pisa. It was the exact picture I had when I had come in off the road only an hour earlier. Wanting to indulge, I ordered various things I had never tried before. The one course that stood out was the Chianti beef. It was unbelievable and one of the best meals I’ve had, considering the flavor and the overall taste of the meat itself.

If I hadn’t enjoyed my simple homey clams with linguine the next day, I would say that the Chianti beef was my favorite meal of the trip. Still, the fact that my lunch at the horse racing restaurant brought me back to the memory of my youth and a time of innocence was too hard to beat.

My third meal may sound like a disappointment, but when I walked off to see the tower, I noticed a Chinese restaurant near the campground. It was a bit farther down. For some reason, I always enjoy trying Chinese food in different countries. When I was visiting my parents in Panama, one of my last meals there was at a Chinese restaurant in David. 

I like going to Chinese restaurants for two reasons. For one, you get a good amount of food for the price, and there are usually many options to choose from. In Italy, restaurant bills add up quickly. Whether I was playing tourist or not, I needed to compromise on what I was willing to pay. The previous night’s meal cost seventy euros, while my wonderful lunch cost ten euros. I didn’t want to break the bank, so the Chinese buffet for another ten was a solid play. 

On a different trip, I found a quaint Chinese place outside the Vatican. Only a short walk from my boutique hotel, it was equally convenient. With the hours of service time varying so much, I wanted convenience. After walking the streets for twenty minutes and ignoring the multitude of pizzerias, with no desire to eat Italian, this small, mom-and-pop Chinese restaurant, which seated at most twenty-five people, was a good call.

This place was cool for several reasons. Aside from having the place to myself, they made good dumplings. I enjoyed them so much that the owner brought me extra dumplings to sample. I thought she was bringing me another order of the same dumplings I ordered, but this was their vegetarian option. While they weren’t as good, they were decent and free — two positives when one is traveling. As for the service, they were attentive and eager to check on me, which was a nice change from dining out in other Italian establishments where the staff do their best to ignore you for as long as possible. 

In Pisa and Rome, I had good luck with Chinese. While that’s not the purpose of this chapter, I will say that if you like people-watching, aside from the Vatican, this is where you'll find more locals eating. Consider the cost, functionality, and a night out that suits everyone. At the Pisa place, it was just me and a bunch of families.

I think it’s essential to emphasize how food truly drives everything. As travelers, of course, we all want to taste the local cuisine, but there are always so many options, and I know for myself that to truly get a taste for the area you’re in, you need to step outside and be willing to go in a different direction.

The weekend trip to Pisa felt like a trip back home. Even though I felt like I returned to New Hampshire, I equally longed for Brindisi. By Sunday morning, I was ready to go back to my apartment in Materdomini and sleep in my bed again. I secretly prayed that my neighbors and their children were not home and that the werewolves that lived above me had disappeared. Regardless of those wishes, I was ready to return to my new stomping ground. Even though I already dreaded leaving the green of Tuscany, I felt pulled and eager to see the Adriatic and the olive trees. 

Still, in Pisa, what I remembered the most was how clean everything was. It was such a contrast to Brindisi. Yet, in a way, the city, even with its beauty, felt like a hospital room. Be careful to touch anything; don’t mess things up. In Brindisi, it was okay to touch, smell, and embrace.

Leaving my hotel, I walked back to the airport but this time through the center of Pisa, around the monuments, and then down well-worn cobblestoned streets. The air was fresh, and the cooing birds and the vibrant colors of all the flowers put me at ease. Yet as I walked back to the airport, I couldn’t help but think that as much as I felt a kinship with Pisa and the surrounding area, so much so that I was recentered at my core, I felt like the area didn’t speak to my soul the way that Puglia did and continued to do upon my return. 

I will admit that at the airport, when I saw several people in line waiting to board our flight a whopping eighty minutes early, unlike my first flight to Brindisi, where I was annoyed and dumbfounded, on this occasion, I just had to laugh. The ever-growing line, with little space between people, marked the transitional point from Tuscany to the southern part of Italy. While I wasn’t that eager to get back, I can understand why they wanted to be the first in line, ready to board that plane and return to where the spirit of Italy spoke to them the most.  

​_________________________________________________________________________________
If you liked what you read, check out the entire book when it comes out June 30th in paperback or digital form. Or better yet, preorder a copy with the link below.

---

Order Here