LIBD Bari-Palese, Bari, Italy

World Heritage Sites Air Adventures: Cannoli, Chaos & Co-Pilots

Flight Log #02 – August 29, 2025

Edition Title: Bari Bari Quite Contrary—Grounded, Gained, and Genius Dogs

This episode proudly sponsored again by Pane e Plane™—where espresso is strong, waistbands are stretchy, and every bowl of noodles is a touchdown.

Log Entry by Christopher Walken, Guest Co-Pilot

We’ve been grounded in Reggio Calabria, Italy, for a month. Not flying. Just living. “Grounded” is a funny word, you know—you think it means stuck, but what it really means is: you eat. And I did. The city delivered—focaccia, panzerotti, orecchiette, gelato with the texture of fog. Reggio Calabria was an open bakery and every day was a parade. I grew, let’s say, in stature. My pants? Defensive, elastic, heroic. My shadow, impressive. No regrets—each bite a story; every meal, a landing.

Cropduster, though—he’s a legend. Man of pure coffee. Espresso, black, no sugar, no nonsense. Baristas bowed, beans saluted. But even legends get curious. In a tucked-away spot behind a bakery, he discovers Bari’s own ramen—Ramen Pugliese. Broth steeped in porcini, olive oil, a dash of local wine. Noodles pulled by Gino, prosciutto floating above like a lifeguard. Cropduster slurped, smiled, declared it new squadron cuisine. Now he talks about in-flight noodle deliveries with the same reverence he reserves for the perfect crema.

As for Lani and Kai—those dogs. Cropduster’s pride, the squadron’s mascots. Discipline is their middle name. While I bulked up, they trained. Sprinting by the waterfront, chasing pigeons, receiving adoring glances from shopkeepers and kids. Not an ounce gained. Sleek, sharp, Reggio Calabria’s favorite athletes. They finished the month lighter, faster, tails high.

When the Buffalo lifted skyward again, we flew over three marvels—Cilento and Vallo di Diano National Park, a tapestry of olive groves and ancient ruins; Matera’s Sassi and stone churches, history etched into the earth; and the trulli of Alberobello, cones of stone, gravity-defying hats that turn towns magical. The dogs barked approval. I loosened my belt. Bari welcomed us at LIBD, sunlight bouncing off the Buffalo’s wings, runway gleaming like a breadknife.

In Reggio Calabria, a month grounded means you savor, you train, you discover that legendary status comes in all shapes—some run, some roll, some slurp noodles with dignity. I’m heavier, happier, and thoroughly Italian.

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