You’ll find Ostuni at the ankle end of Puglia, the heel of Italy,about five miles inland from the swaggering, frankly show-off turquoise-ness of the Adriatic.
Sat atop a rocky outcrop that peers down on the flat carpet of olive farms below, Ostuni is one of those places you see sploshed all over the travel supplements of a weekend newspaper.
Skies bluer than blood in a Bowes-Lyon vein contrasting with artful stacks of white-washed buildings – it’s not called la città bianca for nothing.
There’s a citadel. Check. An old town. Check. It has hazardous marble cobbles coming out of its ears. The surrounding countryside is dotted with masseria, grand old farmhouses that date back to the 16th century, many of which have been converted into accommodation for visiting tourists.