Puglia is not paradise, but it's on the way. Or at least that's how the Crusaders saw it. For them, Italy's south-eastern corner - the heel on the Italian boot - was the stepping-stone to heaven, the quickest route to the Holy Land. And they were not the only ones. Saracens and Normans, Spaniards and Swabians - they all saw Puglia not for what it is, but for where it leads. For as long as anyone can remember, Puglia has been the place you pass through to get somewhere else: it's the Didcot of the Adriatic.
We Brits are no better. As any self-respecting ex-InterRailer remembers, Puglia's twin ports - Bari and Brindisi - are the climb-aboard points for the nightboat to Greece. But when it comes to the cities themselves, who noticed? Even the most recent brand of traveller to pack out Puglia's ferry fleets - Albanian émigrés returning to Kosovo, ready to join up with the KLA - were probably too fixated on their destination to see the town that helped get them there.
These days the Puglians are getting tired of directing the world's tourist traffic - they want to have some of it for themselves. They've started promoting their region, offering it as the unspoiled corner of Italy the holiday industry forgot. They insist that Puglia has it all: a coastline of sandy beaches, rugged countryside, great food, local wine and a fair clutch of medieval architecture. Better still, they'll tell you, Puglia is where all Italy's best stuff comes from. The guide books fizz with bragging data: the region produces 80% of all the pasta eaten in Europe, most of Italy's fish, more wine than Germany and a larger volume of olive oil than all the other Italian regions combined. The well-dressed women of Bari will whisper proudly that the man behind Costume National, Italy's chicest label, is a Puglian. As befits a heel, Italy rests on Puglia.
So an open mind is a requisite travel aid when heading for this most unexplored of Italy's regions, along with a cast-iron promise that you're not just passing through. If your inner child starts asking, "Are we there yet?" the compulsory answer is: "Yes."
In that spirit, a 48-hour spin around Puglia can be an unexpected pleasure. Even the industrial port of Bari has secret jewels hidden away. The weekend crowd strolling along the waterfront of the Lungamare treat it like their very own Riviera. Windsurfers jostle with amateur fishermen for the best stretch of water, while cyclists breeze past slow, ambling couples and ice-cream-clutching families. Some new, well-appointed hotels are popping up, but the most striking buildings are probably the local police station and military academy - both monuments to the neo-imperial swagger of the Mussolini era.
Beyond the Lungamare - whose long, concrete promenade resembles the Malecon that dominates Havana - Bari itself is worth a wander. The wide boulevards, ornate fountains and creaky trams add to the whiff of faded, southern European grandeur. Bari is a tough, sweat-work town but it has a dusty kind of elegance, too - a reminder that nearly two centuries ago the King of Naples had regal ideas for the place, ordering his architects to add the avenues and piazzas that would make Bari a regional force to be reckoned with.
Still, the greatest lure is the district where all the King's grids and plans made not a dent. At the end of the Corso Cavour stands the old city, a dense maze of mud-brown backstreets. Three turns and you could be in another country: Greece, perhaps, or somewhere even further east. The narrow passages, courtyards and arches might have been transplanted from Jerusalem or Tangier. The farthest corners feel as if they have been undisturbed for decades - until you see the graffiti lauding the hallowed name of Manchester United.
The coastal drive southward can be frustrating - it's hard to hug the shore and avoid the no-view blandness of motorway - but it's a quick enough run to Monopoli and, from there, a turn inland. Before long, the countryside has become photogenic again. It's pretty but unmanicured, clear evidence of a rural economy where the land still has to work for a living. But what stays in the memory is the signature structure of Puglia: the trullo.
Built like stone mudhuts, these whitewashed homes fill the skyline like a chain of man-made beehives. The bigger trulli consist of several circular rooms clustered together, each one with its own stone-tiled, cone-shaped roof, topped off with a sphere or, occasionally, an ornamental symbol at the peak. No one's quite sure who put them here - some say it was the Cretans, as long ago as 2000BC, but there is a distinctly Moorish feel to them too, especially when the rooftop ornament is an Islamic-style crescent, forming a skyline of mini-minarets. Nor is anyone absolutely certain why they were built, or why they are only to be found in Puglia.
Some say the circular shape makes for a cool haven from the punishing southern Italian heat. Whatever their origins, the trulli are just like their name, dinky and sweet. It's hard not to cheer every time you see one.
For the true trulli fanatic, Mecca is Alberobello, home to the largest concentration of the mysterious structures in all of Puglia. There are around 1,500 of them crammed into this tiny village, turning the residents into trulli obsessives. You're never more than a few yards away from a local entrepreneur offering you a trullo-shaped object: a beehive-shaped bottle of syrupy, overpriced liqueur or a cigarette-lighter for the coffee table.
Every now and again, the trulli have to take second place to the other local religion. We coincided with Santa Lucia day, which saw the entire village converge on the Piazza Del Popolo to watch a brass-band procession from the church, followed by a home-made firework display. The sight of old men perched on wooden folding chairs, teenagers checking out the talent and seven-year-olds playing street football could have come straight from Cinema Paradiso. It may be a cliché, but it was a treat to stumble across it.
And that's how it tends to be in Puglia. Free of the guilty obligation to see world-famous sights, you can just pootle around the windy country lanes and wait for a pleasant surprise to pounce on you. So, Martina Franca may look like a dot on the map just south of Alberobello, but peek round the tower blocks that mark its approach and you'll find a Moorish network of cobbled streets, whitewashed walls as well as some striking baroque squares.
Or you'll head north up the coast from Bari toTrani. The tourist guides tell you about the 11th century Duomo, consisting of three churches built on top of each other like an upside-down wedding cake, but they don't mention Trani's real delight: a piazza of pink and yellow colonial-style buildings, all looking out on a decidedly unpretentious marina. The sailboats, the pink sunset and an evening glass of Puglian wine - you won't want to leave.
With competition from Rome, Venice, Tuscany and Umbria, no wonder nobody's had time to notice Puglia. But it's worth a look - even if you're just passing through.
Day 1
9am: Breakfast on the terrace at Il Melograno, near Monopoli: like Puglia itself, a charming place that's off the beaten path.
11am: Drive into trulli country, stopping eventually in Martina Franca. There, have lunch at the Caffe Tripoli in Piazza Garibaldi, which is worth finding just for the art-deco sign outside - and for the tapas-style hors d'oeuvres, good coffee and fine sorbets.
5pm onwards: On to Alberobello for the ultimate in trulli spotting, and for an evening in honour of local saint, Santa Lucia. Dinner at Il Poeta Contadino, a kind of illuminated courtyard with Puglian specialities, including the local ear-shaped pasta, orecchiette.
Day 2
11 am: Take the coast road to Bari. Stroll the Lungamare, linger over that day's fix of ice cream.
2pm: Check out the city. Peek at the Cattedrale di San Sabino and the Basilica di San Nicola. Get enjoyably lost in the old city.
4pm: Head north to Trani. Wander through medieval streets, imagining the port's clearly commercial, cosmopolitan past: Via Cambio, Via Sinagoga. While away the late afternoon people-watching from the palm-fringed terrace of the Orangerie. Lights flicker on the water; mobile phones chirrup.
8pm: Dinner of fresh, just-caught fish at La Nicchio on Corso Inbriani. The sun sets, and the drive home beckons.
The practicals
Italian Expressions (020 7435 2525) has five nights, including Alitalia floghts, car hire and hlaf board at Il Melograno, from £1045 per peraon, seven nights from £1317 per person. Prices are based on two people sharing a double or twin room.
