Against the bakery’s gleaming wall of tiles, huge loaves of bread lie on racks like failed pottery experiments. But it’s the consistent shape that tells me I’m too harsh in my aesthetic judgment. The rounded bread with a distinct overlap on one side is called u skuanete, or “overlapped bread.”

The inconvenient size and shape is going to make it difficult for me to carry a loaf around for a week.

On the roads leading into Altamura, in southern Italy’s Puglia region, signs welcome visitors to the City of Bread. Made here on the Apulian plateau (known as the Murgia) for centuries, the coarse-grained bread’s first mention in writing is in a reference by the Latin poet Horace in 37 B.C.: “Their bread is exceedingly fine, inasmuch that the weary traveler is used to carry it willingly on his shoulders.”

That wasn’t only Horace’s opinion. The beloved bread is depicted in cathedral portal scenes of the Last Supper, and is shown as accompanying travelers on their journeys. Much more convenient for travel, the loaves etched in stone are wreath-shaped (ciambella), and one church doorway shows Joseph toting a ciambella loaf on a stick as he leads a donkey carrying Mary.

The food of the Altamura region — from the famed bread to a local mushroom called the cardoncello — is credited with shutting down a McDonald’s restaurant after less than two years in operation. “We were used to better food,” says Tonio Creanza, who leads culinary and art restoration workshops in the region. The area has a rich farming and shepherding culture, and about 40 percent of Italy’s olive oil comes from here. It’s a place for handmade and hand-foraged cuisine — from bread and pasta to cheeses and wild plants.

Tapping on the bread’s

amber-colored crust, still warm from the wood-burning oven, I hear music. Well, the dull thud of freshly baked bread sounds like music to me. While I anticipate that my weeklong participation in one of Creanza’s workshops won’t leave me hungry, I decide to test Horace’s theory.

Still a little woozy from jet lag, I fit the poet’s description of the weary traveler. I’m not planning to carry the loaf on my shoulders, but after a little rearranging, I can fit a smaller one into my shoulder bag. Let’s see how long this lasts.

The rustic bread I have crammed in my bag with my camera is known throughout Italy for its thick crust — allowing it to last one to two weeks. It’s said that the bread was originally created for shepherds and farmers who worked in the fields and hills of Apulia for days or even weeks at a time.

Serious dough

Like the Forno Antica Santa Caterina, where I got my overlapped loaf, traditional bakeries with oak-wood-burning ovens are named after the nearest church and dot the town of Altamura. Bakers have a little flexibility in loaf shape, but tradition rules. That’s the end of the road when it comes to innovation in Altamura bread.

Because the bread is a Denomination of Protected Origin in Europe, it must be made exclusively from the durum wheat found on the Apulian plateau and the hills of nearby Matera. In addition, the baker must use local water and natural yeast, and ensure the bread has a thick crust (averaging between 3 to 5 millimeters). No matter the bakery size — tiny ones inside the town’s ancient walls and larger companies near the inviting City of Bread signs — all have to abide by the rules.

I peek into a wood-burning oven, where bread and tins of focaccia are baking. The smoke from the oak fire hangs in the air above them. It’s so thick it seems tangible, as if I can reach in and push it to one side. But the heat makes my eyes water, and I can’t entertain the notion for long. The baker rips a morsel from a loaf fresh from the oven and hands it to me.

“Careful,” he advises. “It’s hot. But it’s the best in Altamura.”

The porous, flaky inside is light on my tongue. I finish the piece off with a crunch of the crust. I point to the loaf in my bag, obtained only moments earlier.

“How long will this last?” I ask.

“About 10 days,” he says. “You can take it home with you.”

Slow food, shepherd style

The next day, my bread and I take a walk in the wide-open spaces of the Murgia plateau, along with a group of Tonio’s workshop students. Just 4 miles north of Altamura, we wander through wild fields of yarrow, alfalfa, fennel, thyme and oregano that are scattered among limestone outcroppings. As we get closer to our destination, I hear the deep tones of pastoral bells and bleats of sheep. Standing amid a flock of 100 sheep in the light rain, the shepherd holds a closed umbrella.

Despite the damp weather, it quickly becomes easy to follow along with Graziantonio Creanza (no relation to Tonio) as he leads his sheep along the Murgia, identifying grasses good for making the cheese and milk for which the region is known. As he gives instructions to his dogs, he reaches down and pulls wild arugula from the tangle of herbs on the ground.

We wander toward a ridge where small tables have been set and two local workshop participants, Fausta and Santina, have begun to prepare cialda calda — a traditional dish popular with farmers and shepherds (called cialledda calda in the local dialect). On a camp stove, they boil a pot of salted water, and then cook a handful of vegetables (potatoes, tomatoes, onions, garlic and celery). Next, eggs are poached in the same water, the hot water is poured over chunks of stale Altamura bread and all is mixed together, garnished with parsley and drizzled with olive oil.

At the last moment, Fausta bends down and picks a handful of thyme and oregano from near her feet. She scatters the fresh herbs on the finished bowl of food and declares lunch ready. I may not have exerted much energy in walking through the Murgia following the herd, but merely watching the lunch preparation makes my stomach rumble.

Over steaming bowls of soup, Graziantonio explains that he and his wife rent a 17th-century masseria (farmhouse) nearby, with a shed for the sheep. In a spare room, they make cheese from the sheep’s milk — from ricotta to a hard cheese called Canestrato Pugliese.

“If you come early,” he says, “you can watch us tomorrow morning. But don’t be lazy in bed. Morning is the best time for cheese.”

Life of a troglodyte

While morning is best for cheese, I’m convinced that late afternoon is best for visiting nearby Matera — a honeycomb of settlements carved into the side of a ravine. Inhabited since the Paleolithic period, the town has become popular with travelers who want to stay in cave hotels and eat in cave restaurants.

The Sassi (Italian for “stones”) homes are dug into the limestone that runs throughout this region, and the late afternoon sun glints off the edges of walls, almost making the ocher-colored stone glow. Looking across the ravine from the Madonna Delle Tre Porte (“Our Lady of the Three Doors”), an ancient church also carved out of rock, the Sassi sprawl out in front of me and remind me of an Escher drawing. Here, a stairway. There, a wall of windows.

Behind me in the cave church, 15th century frescoes feature fresh-faced images of the Virgin Mary. The bright paint figures hide in darkness until illuminated by the flashlight app on my cell phone. The Marys seem delicate, dotted with holes where rock has fallen or been carved away. But the fact that they’re still here, valued for their history much as the bread in my bag, adds to the region’s simple wealth.

Carrying the loaf of Altamura bread around, I’m beginning to feel a little like the school-age kids who are given an egg to teach them about caring for children. At the end of each day, I have pulled the bread — pockmarked with holes from my snacking throughout the week — from my bag and placed it gently on the dresser in my room at the Masseria La Selva. Each morning, I have wrapped it up again and pushed it into a corner of the bag that it shares with my camera.

As I wander the streets of ancient (and modern) Matera, silent except for occasional footsteps on the stone and melodic church bells ringing at sunset, I decide that this is the moment to finish my bread. There are two handfuls left, enough to enjoy the daylight fading and lights flickering on across the city. The crunch of the crust echoes in my ears, and I don’t hear the old man behind me until he taps my shoulder.

“Pane di Altamura?” he asks.

I nod, my cheeks bulging with bread.

He smiles and exclaims, “Magnifico!”

Jill K. Robinson is a freelance writer in Half Moon Bay. E-mail: travel@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @dangerjr

If you go

Getting there

International flights from San Francisco to Bari cost about $1,500 and can take approximately 15 hours, depending on connections.

Where to stay

Hotel San Nicola: Via Luca De Samuele Cagnazzi 29, Altamura. (39) 080 310 5199, www.hotelsannicola.com/en. Comfortable historic hotel conveniently located in central Altamura. Nightly rates start at about $100.

Sextantio Le Grotte Della Civita: Via Civita 28, Matera. (39) 083 533 2744, www.sextantio.it/grotte-civita. Get an idea of what it’s like to live in the Sassi caves with a stay in a grotto room. Rates start at about $175 a night.

Where to eat

Antica Osteria Pein Assutt: Corso Umberto I 66/58, Altamura. (39) 080 311 8313. Delicious local dishes abound in this cozy restaurant. Main course, side dish and glass of wine are about $12.

Il Falco Grillaio: Via Domenico Ridola 17, Matera. (39) 083 533 1128. Grab a seat in this osteria for crispy pizza, fresh cheese and roasted meat dishes. Dishes start at about $6.

What to do

Messors: www.messors.com. Culinary and art-restoration workshops last 10 days and are full of in-depth cultural experiences. Rates start at $2,630 and include tours, meals, lodging at the Masseria La Selva and ground transportation to/from Bari airport. The workshops are also available through GoVoluntouring (www.govoluntouring.com).

Matera Environmental Education Center: Masseria Radogna, Km 583 on route SS 7, Matera. (39) 083 533 2262, www.ceamatera.it. Guided tours and excursions covering ancient and modern Matera. Tours start at $13.

Crypt of the Original Sin: www.artezeta.it. In a ravine just outside Matera lies the “Sistine Chapel” of ancient rupestrian (rock) wall paintings. Get a guided tour from Artezeta, with rates starting at about $10 per person.

More information

Puglia Department of Culture and Tourism: www.viaggiareinpuglia.it/hp/en.