The Griffon vultures soar over the town circling up from their nests on the cliffs on the far side of the valley; through a telescope from our balcony we can see one downy young at the front of a small cave with an adult in constant attendance. The local pair of ravens have a nest on the higher cliff and drift over to harass the local pair of crows which in turn harass the local pair of magpies. Overhead, small parties of honey buzzards and bee-eaters, disinterested in the local comings and goings below, travel north on their spring migration. The honey buzzards drift across the sky until they find a thermal then circle up on the vortex of rising air before drifting on again. The bee-eaters are largely invisible, except that their frequent, high pitched, short burst bubble of a ruip call gives them away as they maintain constant contact with each other as they head for breeding sites somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Swifts scream down the streets in pairs and trios at astonishing speed appearing simply to show off their flying skills to one another; pairs often circle the sky in tandem like speeding skaters before breaking off and getting lost in the general chaos of the larger flock before coming in for another bombing run. Pairs nest under the eaves of the old houses and churches; this place seems to be specially designed for their pleasure. The more humble swallows dodge and weave everywhere, staying close to the buildings and greenery and running down the huge numbers flying insects with a deft, mid-air twist. In the early mornings they sit quietly on electric wires like sentinels; an echo of the many figures that adorn the churches. The old houses also provide nest sites for great tits, grey wagtails and spotless starlings; in the early mornings in late April a beautiful male, blue rock thrush, a bird of precipitous cliffs, sings its melodious song from the highest rooftops and perhaps nests on the ruins of the Norman castle that still stands on the summit of the town.

Down the road, the valley is full of olive groves and small allotments full of fruit trees and freshly rotovated ground ready for the first vegetables of the year. There is evidently a large amount of self sufficiency here; the vegetables in the local shops are all locally grown and delicious. San Marco d’Alunzio is close to heaven.