Look, Ostuni is a city of picturesque memories, true, but don’t get too excited because these memories are not your own. You are only among the privileged, allowed to watch them unfold without risking getting trapped into your own memory hole, traveling to taste the past from the safety of the present.
Look up, its venerable cracks have unmistakably shed over centuries all misery and now in their mossy contours only beauty remained. Yes, even in pained ruins there’s beauty, because seen from outside every suffering is art.
Look down, but not too deep between the walls because the meanings are buried deep and from their burial mounds chained monsters are lamenting at night… but hey, now it’s a beautiful summer afternoon, simple and shallow where only the stubborn shine of sweating stone and the intricacies of dusty plaster are on parade.
Look beyond them, so you can forget about your own shadows and only enjoy the strange past of someone else, their passion imprinted in eternal stones of rememberance, their souls pushing out leaves of hope, their bitterness fragrancing Alba’s orange blossoms.
Look around, carefully, because this BABB Italian witbier will not last forever. Sip again, breathe in, and before you forget how this world worked, get up to take again that path, your path towards… because the evening is approaching.