Nestled just beside Lecce, a town exists so small and quaint and stuffed to the brim with Churches, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d walked onto an Italian film set, listening for the call of Action. Palazzos for sale, with darling frescoes – some complete, more slightly crumbling – set against the backdrop of undulated stone and marble steps and clock towers who’s bells ring every 15 minutes. Inquisitions of Priests stroll through town in threes and fours, older tourists with bike shorts turn unsuspecting corners and locals greet each other from across the square. Set amongst the main piazza is an information desk which would lead you to believe the town bustles in the summertime but in this cloudy September week, the town feels like it’s the perfect level of ‘full’, with a ratio of tourists to locals that can only be described as feeling natural…undiscovered.

Just on the perimeter of the old town sits Palazzo Tafuri, an elegant boutique hotel that rivals the most beautiful of those in wider Italy, but exudes a quiet elegance that makes every corner feel like a surprise, rather than an expectation. I arrive on a sunny September day and meet Davide against the Terracotta and powder blue facade, who shows me into the hotel and offers me a prosecco on arrival. I have few steadfast rules in life for myself. Sane people drink coffee first thing in the morning. Never allow shoes on the bed. One must own something sexy to sleep in. Always pack a spare pair of underwear in your carry-on. Only smoke with French people and always accept a ‘welcome prosecco’ when one is offered to you. And so I sit, with my bubbling mandated beverage and take in my new surroundings and the perfect hush of a palazzo’s quiet.

The hotel boasts enormous ceilings, original 17th century frescoes and an unbelievably elegant spa area but also has only 16 suites, making it more on the boutique side. Over my three night stay, in the moments I wish for interaction, the friendly guests greet each other and chat over a coffee or a sauna session but in other moments, it feels as though I have the whole palazzo to myself. My room is number 10, set atop the grand staircase and with a view out over the town. I’m a sucker for an Italian flag and a bell chime and my room excels in presenting me with both of those luxuries. Each room is equipped with Sicilian Ortigia toiletries and weighty cotton robes and the lighting, with the design by Belgian interior designer Vincent de Cat and Salento architect Claudio Colaci, follows the curves of the palazzo in a way that is distinctly southern Italian… Apuglian even. 

After a few weeks traveling and being on the move consistently, I arrived to Nardò not quite knowing what to expect. I’ve been go-go-go at such a pace that I must admit, my first evening feels a little jarring. When I leave to wander the city walls for the first day, the team let me know that it may feel quiet in the mornings but comes alive in the afternoon. What time is the afternoon, I ask. 

‘Seven O’clock’, Davide tells me. Ahh, the italians. 

But town is a perfect bustling Italian centro. I sit with a coffee and spremuta and my journal. It’s not long before an Italian Bisnonna asks if she can join me at my table. I apologise for my rusty Italian but welcome the company and we have a conversation so heartwarming, we leave with an embrace and swapped details to email one another. Gratefully, she tells me I am young and have plenty of time to have babies – a typical italian conversation but perhaps not a typical italian nonna’s view of a woman in her 30s. I spent a dinner in a local restaurant where I chat to a young graphic designer born and raised in the area. His parents’ friends encourage him to venture north in Italy to further his studies but he says he’s not so sure. I meet an Icelandic woman who partakes in the local incentive to buy property and restore it, with a reimbursement from the local council. 

During my stay, I do a beautiful amount of nothing. I take my coffee and passeggiata in the square, shop the gorgeous local ceramics and come very close to buying up a store before I remember my Ryanair bag weight limit. I spend time in the sauna and swimming in the pool, reading my book, taking naps, coming to the bar to drink negroni’s at aperitivo hour. I befriend the amiable staff and meet the chef, Antonio Capoccello, whose pride in his work is self-evident. While the menu changes regularly, I have full confidence that the deliciousness of the meals I ate during my stay would remain week on week. I chat with the local sommelier who remembers my favourite negroamaro and seems to appear with the bottle at just the right moment each evening. 

Perhaps surprisingly, the captain of this elegantly Italian ship is indeed a Frenchman, of Paris. Athanase de Joussineau, with a background in NGOs and hotel curation in the African Island of Madagascar, is a presence in the hotel. Calm, warm and disarmingly charming, it’s easy to see how the hotel is garnering a return customer presence. I do laugh at his distinctly french pronunciation of the town’s name and his Parisienne accent laying over the Italian language that the rest of the team communicate in but, though he has lived in Italy a shorter while than the rest, the hotel lacks no air of authenticity or renowned southern Italian charm. 

When it comes time to leave, I find myself lingering at the sauna and with the local kitten who, it seems, thinks Palazzo Tarfuri is his home also. The town claims itself a protector of the local cats so I guess this gorgeous green eyed feline has claimed his stake cleverly. 

I don’t know when I’ll be back in Nardo. It’s not the first place people think of for Puglia but I have no doubt in the years to come, I’ll be claiming that I ‘found it first’. Whilst the jewels of Polignano a Mare and Monopoli are famed for a reason, particularly in these shoulder seasons, it makes sense that people expand their exploration to these other little towns that offer so much and provide space for true rest and relaxation, for negronis and negroamaros, for pasta so good you wonder if it’s appropriate to have two bowls. If you find yourself in the south of Italy, I recommend you stop by the Palazzo for a night or two. And if you do, say ‘hi’ for me. Tell Athanase I sent you…you can thank me later. 

*Photography by Lex Duff