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   ill in Lecce
Saturday, July 11 2026

location: room 115, M.S. Monet in Otranto, Italy

This morning we were docked in Otranto, at the tip of the heel of the boot of Italy. By this point in the cruise I was weary of walking the narrow streets of medieval cities no matter how beautiful they were and initially said something about not wanting to do anything today. But then it turned out that today featured the one excursion on this cruise Gretchen had signed up for early (she'd added the Blue Eye excursion as more of a last minute impulse because of the promised swimportunity). So that was how I found myself climbing into the back of a stuffy tour bus whose air conditioner seemed ill-suited to summer in the Mediterranean. Kelly and Brian had been waitlisted for this excursion, but nobody dropped out so they couldn't end up coming.
The excursion was to the city of Lecce, a 40 minute drive to the northwest. When we arrived there, we were met by our guide, a very round woman who looked like she might wobble but would never fall down. She led us past a neoclassical obelisk to Porta Napoli, a 16th Century Triumphal Arch featuring a spectacular coat of arms in bas relief that included a fierce two-headed eagle. Our guide told us that there had once been a city wall that had been adjacent to it that Mussolini tour down in hopes of finding Roman ruins, but there didn't turn out to be any. From there, we walked to the Teatro Paisiello, a theatre that had initially had to overcome strict rules about secular entertainment in conservative (and very Catholic) southern Italy. That conservatism was also on display in the design of balconies, which was the only place apparently suitable for married women to appear on their own in public. (The railing was flared at the bottom to accommodate their skirts.) But no matter what the rules are, humans gonna human, and eventually a code developed whereby if a woman placed a red carnation on the balcony, it meant something to her non-husband romantic suitors, though exactly what I wasn't quite sure. Eventually some communities actually banned red carnations and surely another cryptic form of communication arose from its ashes.
During a break when our tour guide was getting our admission tickets to the Lecce cathedral, it was clear that I was coming down with something. I could feel a nascent problem in my throat and my body felt run-down and weak. I hate trodding through cities behind a tour guide even when I am perfectly healthy (oh the things one does for marriage!) but you can imagine how it felt doing this while not feeling well. I told Gretchen, and her advice was to drink lots of water. But water doesn't really work in my body the way it works in hers.
The cathedral was lovely inside, with lots of intricately carves stone and a spectacular brownish ceiling surrounded by golden trim. Our guide told us the somewhat sordid history of the place, which started out as a minor cathedral in the 1200s. But then the bishop Luigi Pappacoda took over, and he thought the cathedral too modest for his ambitions. Unfortunately for him, according to the Catholic rules at the time, cathedrals could only be expanded if they contain relics, and this cathedral didn't have any. So Pappacoda fabricated a saint out of whole cloth named Orontius and claimed some relic related to him was in the cathedral. This allowed the expansion of the cathedral to take place, but evidently the Vatican still considers Orontius a fiction.
Our guide also told us about how the native limestone was worked and treated so that it would last for centuries. It supposedly needs to be kept damp while it is worked or it will crumble into dust. But once carving and such is concluded, it then needs to be painted with milk to seal all the pores with milk fats. This widespread local use of milk is, however, unrelated to the name of the city.
The last place we went in Lecce was to a the edge of an archeological site where a Roman amphitheatre was partially unearthed, though there were other historical examples of architecture nearby, including some leftover from Italy's fascist period. At this point, our guide turned us loose to go shopping or whatever for about a half hour. This immediately sent Gretchen beelining off to some nearby neighborhood. In my weakened state, all I could really do was find some shade to sit in. I did so not far from a solitary homeless man who had spread out a little nest for himself on the hard stone sidewalk in the shade and was fast asleep. I ended up having a fairly good time just watching people stroll by.
Towards the end of our time near the partially-excavated amphitheatre, I saw Gretchen having a fairly long conversation with Eric and Gila, the health vegans who had been banging on our wall that first night. Over the subsequent days, everything Gretchen has learned about them has made them seem more and more repulsive. For starters, she considers what they told others about the noises they'd heard from our cabin to be lies; they'd reported that it had sounded like we were "recording a podcast." But then it turned out that they also have a real estate empire, though theirs consists of 400 units and they don't think much of their tenants, who tend to be economically marginal. It also turns out that Gila is a lawyer who has been working as a prosecutor against juvenile defendants, a job she claims she "loves." Despite all those negative feelings, Gretchen chatted with them for a good while.

Back at the boat, I decided not to go to lunch and had Gretchen fetch me some food from the buffet. My appetite was plenty good as I wolfed down some sort of noodle, not caring that it clashes with several large spoonfuls of lentils. I then napped my way through most of the afternoon.
At dinner time, I stayed back in the room a second time Gretchen once again brought me back some food, concentrating on breads. I feeling fairly chipper by the end of the day, with less of the weakness and no real problem in my throat. The expected sore throat had never materialized. But being from all the socializing was its own form of rest that I would've been craving even if I had not been sick.


The obelisk in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


The Porta Napoli in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


Detail of the Porta Napoli in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


A pigeon on a balcony in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


Stone ladies in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


Box seats in the Teatro Paisiello. Click to enlarge.


Gretchen in the Teatro Paisiello. Click to enlarge.


Decorative stone brackets in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


A statue landmark on a corner in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


Some sort of critter sculpture on a wall in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


A pigeon on an angel sculpture in Lecce. Click to enlarge.


That kid looks like the most Italian kid ever, but he's an American from our boat. Click to enlarge.


The Lecce cathedral tower, here supporting the sun. Click to enlarge.


The Lecce cathedral exterior. Click to enlarge.


More of the Lecce cathedral exterior. Click to enlarge.


The Lecce cathedral interior. Click to enlarge.


The intricate stone work inside the Lecce cathedral interior. Click to enlarge.


A painting of the last supper on the Lecce cathedral ceiling. Click to enlarge.


The Lecce cathedral ceiling. Click to enlarge.


An odd painting in the Lecce cathedral. Click to enlarge.


Our very spherical tour guide telling us about how to work the Lecce limestone in the Lecce cathedral. Click to enlarge.


A partially-constructed papier-mâché sculpture, another Lecce specialty. Craftspeople like how easy it is to work and how light the results works are. Click to enlarge.


The partially-excavated Lecce amphitheatre. Click to enlarge.


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