There’s a place where you can rediscover some of life’s satisfactions. A place close to the sea, close to the sky, close to the shade of the olive trees.
The perfect place for rest and reflection and relaxation while time goes by, but isn’t wasted.
This historic memory here side-by-side with a modern tale. A house that gazed, unnoticed, on passers-by.
But because life is not only governed by chance, two passers-by were sharp-eyed enough to notice it. Then they took a closer look, then studied it in detail and then made their minds up.
This had to be the place. Picca Picca, which in the local dialect means “a little bit, a smidgen”. A gentle, soft place, a home, a refuge. That’s how it was and that’s how it is.
The olive trees are like ancient sentinels, unchanging but each one different from his fellows.
They inspire respect and encourage reflection. They are indifferent to the changing seasons
They are corkscrewed into the earth, gnarled and wrinkled, as if they never want to be separated from it.
They bear witness to the passage of time and the all-powerful force of nature.
Like the stone, the rock and the flame red earth, a symbol of life and the memory of the past.
Two houses, three bedrooms, places of leisure and pleasure, islands of treasure, rooms to retire and meditate.
A swimming pool, cool blue heavenly, stretching put between the olive trees.
Indoor there is peace, quiet and refuge.
Outdoor liberty
The feeling of really living and not just surviving.
A place which exemplifies the literal meaning of vacation as a period empty of commitments and pressure.
Picca Picca is designed to help you exploit these days of freedom.
It is surrounded by the perfumes of Salento, exploiting the innocent wisdom of this ancient land and waits patiently to welcome passers-by who cannot help but notice it.
From dawn to dusk, beginning with breakfast which is like a warm caress, Picca Picca is there, a feast for your eyes, your mind, your heart.
The shifting sea is just two kilometres away and the town is litterally yards round the corner, Italy doesn't end here, but another word begins.
