They say that you've never really seen a place until you've been there long enough to no longer see it.

And I think that that is true.

It's just that here in Lecce, there is always something to see, especially when Christmas rolls around and the entire town shines like a jeweler's case.

Even Santa Croce seems almost understated in comparison, with all the Christmas lights.

Some of them are even strong enough that you could read a newspaper under them if you tried.

Like wedding rings for those that still can't afford jewelry, young lovers have covered a chosen light post with hundreds of padlocks, each one representing a unique, yet quite similar story.

Our nativity seen is located down in the 1,900 year old Roman Amphitheater, all rendered in life-sized figures.

Like so much of the world, local decorators have opted for a more indigenous cityscape rather than Roman Era Jerusalem, covering the floor of the amphitheater with the famous stone country houses of the Salento. Recent genetic testing has also suggested that Jesus might have in fact been Salentino, as only a local mother would think her son divine, and only a Salentino would think his mother still a virgin.

A few strains of well-placed lights have turned an old department store into something to behold: I catch my image as I pass, my reflection seems to throb.

I stop to take a picture of my tailor's tiny shop, impressed that he's even gotten into the show, this from a man with not a single picture on any of his perfectly white-washed walls. Our eyes meet through the view finder of my camera, and he waves and waves until I enter. I feel like I'm imposing but his friendly tone reveals I'm a welcome distraction.

Inside, he has a small, ancient travel iron turned upside, wedged between two old wooden chairs.

He puts a tiny aluminum espresso perculator on the iron, and we wait for the coffee to gurgle up.

'Lecce', he says at one point. 'I don't suspect you'll ever be moving back to Bologna, will you'?

'No, I don't suspect so', I say, thinking that how hearing someone else say something that you already know seems to make it seem all the truer. We talk for a few hours, until he decides that he's done for the night.

As we walk out together, he flips off the light and I notice the lights again, how they seem brighter, more vivid. We wish each other a Merry Christmas as I walk away, each of us absorbed by the lights again, as if it were the very first time.

On behalf of our little town in Southern Italy, we hope you had a very Merry Christmas,
filled with good food and family.

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