Italy Bound – Goodbye Mountains, Hello Taranto

Day 27 to Day 29 – The Last Great Twisties and an Unexpected City

11.06.26 – 13.06.26

There comes a moment on every long motorcycle trip when you realise a chapter is ending.

Not the trip itself.

Just a chapter.

For me that moment arrived somewhere in the hills of southern Italy.

Because Day 27 would be my last proper mountain riding day before heading further east and eventually changing the rhythm of the journey completely.

No more endless mountain roads.

No more villages hanging precariously from hillsides.

No more daily pothole lottery.

At least for now.

And honestly?

The mountains decided to give me one final gift before I left.

A riding day so good that it almost made me forget all the terrible roads, landslides and navigation disasters from the previous weeks.

Almost.

Day 27 – Oriolo to Taranto

11.06.26

The morning started with a strange feeling.

Part excitement.

Part nostalgia.

Part relief.

Excitement because there were still great roads ahead.

Nostalgia because this would be the final mountain riding day in southern Italy.

And relief because I knew what came afterwards.

Sleep.

Actual sleep.

Not the kind of sleep interrupted by smokers, modified scooters or mystery noises from neighbouring rooms.

Real sleep.

At least that was the plan.

But before any of that happened, there was riding to do.

And mate…

What a ride.

One Last Dance Through the Hills

The route for the day formed a giant loop around Monte La Creccia.

Following roads like the SS481, SP2 and parts of the SS7, it delivered exactly what a motorcyclist dreams about.

Perfect tarmac.

Proper curves.

Good visibility.

Almost no traffic.

The scenery itself wasn’t necessarily the most spectacular of the entire trip.

No towering Dolomite peaks.

No dramatic cliffs.

No epic coastal panoramas.

But honestly?

Sometimes the road itself is enough.

And today the road was absolutely brilliant.

The old RT settled into a perfect rhythm.

Third gear.

Fourth gear.

Lean left.

Lean right.

Repeat.

The kind of riding where you stop thinking entirely.

Where your brain quietly shuts up and lets instinct do the work.

Motorcycle meditation.

The best kind.

For kilometres and kilometres the road simply flowed.

One corner naturally leading into the next.

No interruptions.

No surprises.

No potholes waiting to destroy expensive rims.

Just riding.

Pure riding.

The sort of roads that make you smile inside your helmet for no reason.

The Curious Case of Miglionico

Eventually I rolled into Miglionico.

Now Miglionico itself is actually a charming historic town with roots stretching back centuries.

It is famous for its medieval castle and beautiful views over the surrounding countryside.

Tourists seem to love it.

Which probably explains why I didn’t.

Not because it was ugly.

Not because it was bad.

Just because it was busy.

Very busy.

And after several weeks hiding in remote villages and empty mountain roads, my tolerance for crowds had dropped dramatically.

The strangest discovery was a place called “Bar Centrale.”

Now when you hear “Bar Centrale” in Italy, certain expectations appear.

A smiling owner.

Fresh coffee.

People talking loudly.

Some old bloke arguing about football.

Normal Italian life.

Instead I found vending machines.

Coffee from machines.

Food from machines.

Drinks from machines.

Honestly it felt like a science-fiction version of Italy.

And not a particularly good one.

Sorry.

Not my thing.

I travel partly because I enjoy meeting people.

The woman serving coffee.

The old guy sitting outside.

The local who tells you about roads nobody else knows.

A vending machine can’t do any of that.

And its coffee usually tastes like disappointment.

So after a quick look I moved on.

Ancient Greece Lives Here

As the route gradually descended towards Taranto, something interesting became noticeable.

The landscape began revealing traces of a much older history.

Long before Rome became famous.

Long before Julius Caesar.

Long before the Colosseum.

This entire area belonged to the Greeks.

Many travellers don’t realise that southern Italy was once heavily colonised by Greek settlers.

Beginning around the 8th century BC, Greek cities were founded all along the southern coast of Italy.

The region became known as Magna Graecia – “Greater Greece.”

These weren’t tiny settlements.

They were wealthy, powerful cities.

Centres of trade, culture, science and philosophy.

Some even rivalled cities back in Greece itself.

The influence remains visible today.

Architecture.

Food.

Place names.

Local traditions.

And of course archaeological sites scattered throughout the region.

Riding through southern Italy sometimes feels like travelling through a living history book.

You just need to know where to look.

Arrival in Taranto

Eventually the roads flattened.

Traffic increased.

Civilisation reappeared.

And finally I rolled into Taranto.

Now Taranto is one of those places that many travellers overlook completely.

Which is surprising because historically it was one of the most important Greek cities in Magna Graecia.

Founded by Spartan colonists around 706 BC, Taranto became a major naval and commercial power.

For centuries it played a crucial role in Mediterranean trade.

Even today its location is impressive.

The city sits between two bodies of water.

The Mar Grande and the Mar Piccolo.

Essentially surrounded by sea.

Strategically brilliant.

Beautiful in places.

Confusing in others.

And very different from what I expected.

I had booked a B&B close to the coast but still near the city centre.

The plan was simple.

Three nights.

Rest.

Recover.

Enjoy some Italian dolce vita.

Because the previous nights hadn’t exactly been sleep-friendly.

After checking in and looking at the sea for a while, I already knew one thing.

Tomorrow would be a walking day.

And that often reveals more about a city than any motorcycle ever can.

Total distance today:

310 kilometres.

One of the best riding days of the trip.

A perfect farewell to the mountains.

Sometimes that’s difficult.

Sometimes it isn’t.

Today it wasn’t.

Because after weeks of riding, my legs were demanding equal treatment.

So instead of wearing motorcycle boots, I became a pedestrian.

And a fairly ambitious one.

Ten kilometres of walking.

That’s usually how I explore cities.

No guided tours.

No hop-on-hop-off buses.

No carefully planned sightseeing routes.

Just walking.

And seeing what happens.

Following the Coast

The morning started along the waterfront.

The sea breeze kept temperatures comfortable.

The walk felt relaxed.

Easy.

Pleasant.

The sort of start that makes you think:

“Maybe I’ll really like this city.”

Then I reached the famous Castello Aragonese.

One of Taranto’s most recognisable landmarks.

The castle dates largely from the 15th century and was built to defend the city against attacks arriving from the sea.

Today it remains impressive.

Massive stone walls.

Strategic location.

And naturally plenty of tourists.

Lots of tourists.

Apparently everyone had the same idea.

The Famous Bridge

From there the route continued across the famous Ponte San Francesco di Paola.

This bridge is one of Taranto’s engineering landmarks.

It’s a swing bridge.

Meaning it can open to allow ships to pass between different parts of the harbour.

When completed in the late nineteenth century, it was considered an engineering masterpiece.

Today it remains one of the city’s defining features.

And yes.

It’s actually quite interesting.

Even for someone whose primary interest involves motorcycles rather than bridges.

The Historic Centre Shock

Then came the old town.

And honestly?

This is where things became strange.

Now I’ve visited plenty of historic centres in Italy.

Verona.

Small Tuscan villages.

Mountain towns.

Ancient cities.

Usually they follow a familiar pattern.

Beautiful buildings.

Atmosphere.

History.

Character.

Taranto’s historic centre felt different.

Not charmingly historic.

Just… neglected.

Many buildings looked abandoned.

Some lacked roofs entirely.

Others appeared partially collapsed.

Construction work everywhere.

Tourist shops everywhere.

Crowds everywhere.

And somehow the combination didn’t work for me.

Maybe others love that atmosphere.

Maybe some people enjoy urban decay mixed with souvenir shops.

Personally?

Not really.

I found it disappointing.

The Price of Tourism

Another thing became obvious quickly.

Tourist pricing.

Suddenly everything cost more.

A lot more.

An Aperol Spritz?

Six Euro.

Outside tourist areas?

Three Euro.

Sometimes even less.

Food prices?

Similar story.

Twenty-five Euro menus appeared everywhere.

Now Taranto is famous for seafood.

Very famous.

The city’s location and fishing tradition have made it one of Italy’s seafood capitals.

But honestly?

I wasn’t paying tourist prices for fish.

Patience.

Some smaller town would eventually offer the same fish for half the price.

And probably with better atmosphere.

The Church That Charges for Light

Then came one of the strangest moments of the trip.

The Cathedral of San Cataldo.

Beautiful church.

Historic.

Interesting.

And dark.

Very dark.

Why?

Because if you wanted the lights switched on, you needed to insert two Euro.

I’ve visited churches all over Europe.

Big ones.

Small ones.

Ancient ones.

Modern ones.

Never before had I encountered a pay-per-light system.

Honestly I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be impressed.

The concept felt wonderfully Italian somehow.

Fortunately another church offered a better experience.

The Chiesa di San Domenico Maggiore.

Fewer tourists.

Nice atmosphere.

And best of all:

No coin-operated illumination required.

Finding the Real City

After enough disappointment I decided to simply keep walking.

And that’s when things improved.

A lot.

Leaving the tourist centre behind, I eventually discovered modern Taranto.

Pedestrian zones.

Shops.

Cafés.

Restaurants.

Normal people living normal lives.

No cruise ship crowds.

No souvenir sellers.

No tourist menus.

This felt real.

Authentic.

Comfortable.

Exactly the kind of place I enjoy exploring.

Eventually I found excellent panini.

Some delicious Italian desserts.

And finally the city started making sense.

Maybe the secret is simple.

Skip the tourist hotspots.

Walk further.

That’s usually good advice everywhere.

Heat Wins

With a full stomach and tired legs, the afternoon heat eventually won.

Southern Italy in June is not interested in negotiations.

At some point it simply tells you:

“Go inside now.”

So I obeyed.

Returned to the room.

Opened a cold drink.

And spent the rest of the day relaxing.

Not a bad outcome.

Day 29 – Taranto

13.06.26

Today was exactly what it needed to be.

Nothing special.

No adventures.

No epic discoveries.

No motorcycle riding.

Just recovery.

Photo editing.

Blog writing.

Food.

Drinks.

Sleep.

The glamorous side of motorcycle travel that nobody puts on Instagram.

And honestly?

Perfect.

Sometimes after weeks on the road, the greatest luxury isn’t a five-star hotel.

It’s simply doing nothing.

Reflections on Taranto

Looking back, Taranto wasn’t what I expected.

Not better.

Not worse.

Just different.

The history fascinated me.

The Greek heritage.

The castle.

The bridge.

The hidden corners of the modern city.

All interesting.

The old town?

Not really my thing.

The tourist crowds?

Definitely not my thing.

Still.

Ten kilometres of walking taught me more about the city than any guided tour probably could.

And that’s why I travel this way.

Not chasing landmarks.

Not collecting famous sights.

But wandering around until a place reveals itself.

Sometimes you find hidden gems.

Sometimes you find vending-machine coffee.

Sometimes you discover churches that require coins for electricity.

And sometimes you simply sit by the sea, drink a coffee and realise you’re now almost at the heel of Italy’s boot after thousands of kilometres of riding.

Not a bad feeling at all.

Tomorrow the journey continues.

The mountains are mostly behind me now.

The coast lies ahead.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, the next surprise is already waiting.

#dustysocks