Nina Trulli Resort is the bliss of the white that filters the other colors, of details studied one by one, of rooms that have oddly changed their purpose. As if an imaginary giant were playing the “what-if” game with a miniature model of trulli houses: what if the storage room of the old masseria became a kitchen with an open pantry; if the reception desk were placed in the deconsecrated church; if a trough were placed under the arbor for one’s bathing pleasure; if the ladders up to the roofs were instead entrances with enchanted itineraries with upside down cones like gigantic bowling pins
around wich to trace improbable obstacle courses or the rest peacefully in their shade. As if that hypothetical giant were instead a child, and these were his toys, his lightheartedness, his joy. And they say at Nina Trulli Resort was nothing other than a return to the freshness of childhood, to the purity of simple things, to the beauty sought by instinct. To be revealed at the and of the vacation as the greatest luxury possible, a place that has been above a balm for the deepest self.