Italy with a new baby For as all Ryanair passengers know, the airline is, shall we say, unforgiving when it comes to baggage overspills. The prevailing emotion as we packed was fear. Everyone has seen those tearful families at the check-in counter, desperately repacking their bags then giving up and having an argument about whether to leave behind their underwear or their youngest child. Now we faced the prospect of becoming that family. And so we returned to a debate that had been going on ever since we mooted the idea of getting away: wouldn't it be simpler and easier to take a staycation? After all, what we wanted to do, what we really wanted to do, more than anything, was relax after seven months of intensive L-plate parenting. And what could be less relaxing than packing and then getting up for a 6.30am Ryanair flight from Stansted? And even if we didn't mind putting ourselves through the wringer, what about Hugh? Surely nothing would upset his happy routine more than a trip abroad. And if he wasn't happy, what odds on us (or anyone else within earshot) being relaxed? What were we thinking? This point was expressed most eloquently by the alarm that went off at 3.15 on a grim Thursday morning. But then, as is so often pointed out, it is always darkest before the dawn. And having stuffed our bags into the boot, and managed to lever Hugh out of his cot and into the car seat without too much wailing, a hint of optimism began to overtake proceedings. Suddenly this was not a lunatic, self-imposed test of endurance, but an adventure. Could it be, we asked ourselves, that travels with a baby come with all the stress prepaid, rather than pay-as-you-go? Even Stansted wasn't too bad, despite surely being the busiest place in the country at 4.45am. There was a weeping family at check-in but, crucially, it wasn't us, so we just grimaced in sympathy - and walked on by. Best of all, when we finally struggled on board, almost last in the mad rush for seats, and all eyes turned - as we had expected - to the mad couple with the by now almost manically awake infant, those eyes were not filled with undisguised loathing. For we were off to Italy, and as everyone knows, on the list of Italian stereotypical traits, somewhere between "militarily inept" and "flexible attitude to paying tax," it is marked: "love babies." And it's true! They do. So as we looked for a seat, Hugh became like a boxer pressing through the adoring throng on his way to the ring. Hands reached out to offer a little squeeze of affection here, and kisses were blown there. Did these Italians not know that his undeniably sweet face came attached to a distinctly hearty pair of lungs? No matter. Even those squeaks that did emerge failed to raise eyebrows. And so when the aircraft doors were opened at the other end, and the waft of warm air filled the cabin, and we realised it was 10am and we still had the whole day ahead of us, we suddenly felt as though we had made the best decision of our lives. This highly satisfactory state of smugness was only cemented as we picked up our hire car and breezed into Lecce, its sandstone buildings glowing in the golden sunlight. From the terrace of our hotel, we watched as a multitude of swifts darted among the gargoyles of the 16th-century Basilica of Santa Croce. Suddenly the office felt a very long way away. Lunch was an al fresco affair. Hugh's woollen tights were very much off. And when he dozed off in the warmth, there were ice creams and beers for Mummy and Daddy. Lecce in Puglia We could have chosen to knacker ourselves exploring every cultural nook and cranny of this "Florence of the south" but really we just wanted to drift about, soaking up the sun. Every bit as much fun as spending time at the Santa Croce was to sit in the municipal gardens. This is where I first discovered that though travelling with a baby may close some doors, it opens others. Taking up residence on a sunlit bench, dandling our baby on our knee, we were tourists no longer. Instead we became one family among many others doing precisely the same. Nods and smiles of recognition were exchanged. The language of parenthood is, it seems, universal. This came home to us most fully at our next destination, near Savelletri, on the coast about 60 miles north of Lecce. At the Masseria Torre Coccaro, an estate set among olive trees almost a millennium old, we found ourselves gathered around a pool, or by the sea with other families. It may not have been ideal for a honeymooning couple, but for us it was perfect, and once again there were friendly smiles. Soon Hugh was on dribbling terms with Maurizio, a two-year-old whose preferred mode of transport was a plastic pink toy motorcycle. Little Gianpaolo was another playmate. Had there been a baby girl there, no doubt we would have introduced Hugh and pretended that some infant romance was under way. Ah, how such antics would make the me of a year ago sick, sick, sick. Not anymore. Pleasing new parents like us, desperate to wring every second of pleasure from a break away but equally preoccupied with very young children, must be a challenge for hotels - it's a tough balance to strike between being exclusive and luxurious enough to be indulgent, but child-friendly enough to make parents feel relaxed about their offspring's tears and tantrums. We want, in effect, both the baby bottle and the martini glass. But the Masseria makes the balance seem positively easy. And as a result it is a delicious spot for parents. We emerged after four days feeling like we had been away for twice the time. And just the joy of escaping those household chores that seem to multiply manyfold when you have children made it the right decision not to stay at home. Harry de Quetteville with Hugh For Hugh adapted without blinking - except when his father smeared baby sun cream into his eye. Even then there were no tears. And no swearing unspeakable oaths through gritted teeth either. Everyone was much too content for that. Essentials Harry de Quetteville and family travelled with Long Travel (01694 722193; long-travel.co.uk). Two nights at the Patria Palace Hotel in Lecce, followed by five nights at the Masseria Torre Coccaro in Savelletri costs from £998 per person, including return flights from London and car hire. Getting there Bari and Brindisi (both aeroportidipuglia.it) are among Italy's more pleasant and efficient smaller airports. Brindisi is more convenient for Lecce (35 minutes" drive away) and the Salento peninsula, but it's only served by Ryanair (ryanair.com) from Stansted, whereas if you go to Bari (1 hour 45 mins from Lecce) you also have the option of flying from Gatwick with BA (ba.com) and easyJet (easyjet.com). Hiring a car is pretty much essential if you're staying in a rural masseria like Torre Coccaro. If you're focusing instead on Lecce, the airport buses are a feasible alternative: see pugliairbus.aeroportidipuglia.it for timetables and ticket prices. When to GO You have a good chance of finding sun and warm days from Easter through to the end of October, but June and September are the definitely best months for pleasantly hot weather combined with lack of high-season crowds. Where to eat Cucina Casareccia Le Zie ££ In an open-to-view kitchen, Anna Perrone, one of the "zie," or aunts, prepares tasty treats like sagne torte - rolled up sheets of home-made lasagne in tomato sauce, served with snowfalls of tangy cacioricotta cheese. There's no better introduction to authentic Pugliese cooking than this central Lecce trattoria. Lecce, via Costadura 19, 0039 0832 245178, closed Sun eve, all day Mon, average €30 a head inc wine Osteria Perricci ££ From the "masseria" belt around Savelletri and Fasano, it's a short drive to the charming walled coast town of Monopoli, where Osteria Perricci pulls off a similar act with seafood. Don't miss their speciality, cavatelli ai frutti di mare - little pasta shells topped with baby octopus, clams, shrimps and whatever else the fishing boat landed that morning. via Orazio Comes 1, 080 937 2208, closed Wed, average €28/£24 a head inc wine Angelo Sabatelli £££ For a special occasion, it's hard to beat Angelo Sabatelli, the romantic, candlelit reign of a talented chef who works dazzling variations on the local culinary tradition - but knows that it all needs to taste good too via Aldo Moro 27, contrada dalla Spina, 080 802 396, masseriaspina.com; closed Sun eve and all day Mon, average €60/£52 a head inc wine. Inside Track Few tourists visit Galatina, south-west of Lecce, but in the 15th-century frescoes of the church of Santa Caterina di Alessandria, it has one of the region's most vibrant works of art. Pasticceria Natale in Lecce (via Trinchese 7) does the best gelato in town: don't miss the zabaione flavour. For those perfect white sand beaches, head for the stretch of coast north of Porto Cesareo. 36 Hours in Puglia Roman holidays: readers' tips