![\"assisi,](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/oliverberry.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/06\/assisi.jpg?resize=800%2C507\")
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A HAZY YELLOW SUN IS cresting over the hilltop as Monica Raspi sets out on her daily tour of her vineyards at Villa Pomona. It\u2019s early; crows are cackling in the trees and mist cloaks the fields, drifting through rows of glossy green vines that unfold in every direction as far as the eye can see. \u2018This is always the best time of day in the vineyard,\u2019 Monica says, breathing in the crisp morning air. \u2018When the fields are quiet, and before the midday heat.\u2019 She stops beside a row of vines, a tangle of acid-green leaves popping out from the orange soil. Brushing back the branches, she reveals the vineyard\u2019s hidden treasure: clusters of plump, purple-black grapes, skins still frosted with dew. Producing a pair of secateurs from her pocket, she snips off a bunch. \u2018Sangiovese grapes. The soul of Chianti wines,\u2019 she says, popping one into her mouth as she disappears into the vines.<\/p>\n
Even in a country as oenologically blessed as Italy, the vineyards of Chianti command a special status. Sprawling across Tuscany\u2019s hilly spine between Siena and Florence, this is Italy\u2019s oldest and best-known wine region. Viticulture has been a cornerstone of life here since Roman times, and vines cover every inch of landscape, rolling down the hillsides, carpeting the fields, sprouting from gardens, creeping up the sides of farmhouses and barns. Along the backroads, \u2018degustazione\u2019 signs line the verges, inviting customers to sample the latest vintage \u2013 a crucial part of Tuscan wine culture, and something that\u2019s offered by every vineyard, from world-famous villas to humble backyard growers.<\/p>\n
\u2018Everyone in Chianti is an expert. Or thinks they are,\u2019 Monica says, uncorking a bottle and filling up glasses on a table outside her cellar. \u2018But it\u2019s good that everyone here is passionate. Wine is more than a drink here. It\u2019s a way of life.\u2019 She takes a sip and rolls it around her mouth, sucking in air to intensify the flavour. The taste should be fruity and floral, she says, with a sharp, acidic finish from the Sangiovese grapes, and a nutty overtone from the oak barrels in which the wines are aged. It\u2019s especially good with food \u2013 and as if by magic, a plate of cheese, olives and ham arrives from inside the farmhouse, carried by her mother, who ran the vineyard before Monica took it over in 2007. Together they settle down to enjoy their winemaker\u2019s breakfast \u2013 or caff\u00e8 rosso, as Monica prefers to call it \u2013 enjoying the sunshine and the scent of clematis and rosemary wafting across the courtyard.<\/p>\n
For Monica, at Villa Pomona, as in most Chianti vineyards, winemaking is a family affair. The first vines here were planted in the 19th century by her great-greatgrandfather, Bandino Bandini, and the vineyard has been in family hands ever since. It sits right in the heart of the Chianti Classico, a 7,000-hectare area between Siena and Florence known for producing some of the region\u2019s finest, and most expensive, wines. Standards within this hallowed zone are strictly enforced, from blending techniques to bottle designs, and only the best wineries can display the gallo nero, or black rooster, on their labels. The ultimate seal of Chianti quality, his crowing presence is an appropriate symbol for a region which has elevated winemaking to an art form.<\/p>\n
A<\/span>S THE OLD PROVERB\u00a0goes, \u2018friends may meet,\u00a0but mountains never greet\u2019\u00a0and this morning, the Apuan\u00a0Alps seem determined to\u00a0live up to the maxim. For the last two\u00a0hours, a cloak of cloud has clung to the\u00a0mountaintops, obscuring both the valley\u00a0below and the peaks ahead. But the weather\u00a0hasn\u2019t deterred the hikers; they\u2019re picking\u00a0their way along the ridge-lines, kitted out\u00a0with hats and fleeces, braving the cloud in\u00a0the hope of better weather down the trail.\u00a0Their optimism is rewarded; within half an\u00a0hour, the cloud burns off and they\u2019re under\u00a0a clear canopy of blue, surrounded by spiky\u00a0summits and lush slopes daubed with\u00a0wildflowers. It\u2019s a reminder of another old\u00a0mountain adage: if you don\u2019t like the\u00a0weather, sit down and wait.<\/p>\n The weather is the only thing that changes\u00a0at any discernible pace in the Garfagnana.\u00a0Hidden away in Tuscany\u2019s northwestern\u00a0corner, 40 miles north of Pisa, this rural\u00a0valley preserves a way of life that\u2019s hardly\u00a0changed in centuries. Historically, most\u00a0families here would have made their living\u00a0from the land \u2013 farming sheep, growing\u00a0spelt and maize, and harvesting chestnuts, which were\u00a0used to make everything from cakes to\u00a0bread. Quarrying was the valley\u2019s other\u00a0major industry \u2013 seams of white Carrara\u00a0marble streak the mountainsides, of a purity\u00a0and clarity valued by Roman architects and\u00a0Renaissance artists alike.<\/p>\n Today, the Garfagnana is part of a national\u00a0park, the Parco Nazionale dell\u2019Appennino\u00a0Tosco-Emiliano, and is renowned for some\u00a0of Italy\u2019s best hiking. Sandwiched between\u00a0the twin ranges of the Apuan Alps and the\u00a0Apennines, it\u2019s a pocket of unexpected\u00a0wilderness on Tuscany\u2019s northern edge, less\u00a0well known than the Dolomites, but every\u00a0bit as beautiful. Mouflon and mountain\u00a0goats roam the high pastures, and old\u00a0drovers\u2019 paths wind through a landscape of\u00a0lakeside chapels, abandoned quarries and\u00a0shepherds\u2019 bothies. Many of the valley\u2019s old\u00a0farmhouses are now agriturismi, and on\u00a0a clear day, from the top of Monte Prado,\u00a0the Garfagnana\u2019s highest peak at 2,054m,\u00a0the view encompasses three regions of Italy:\u00a0Liguria to the west, Emilia-Romagna to the\u00a0north and Tuscany to the south.<\/p>\n Marco Santino has been hiking here for 20\u00a0years, travelling every summer from Rome,\u00a0where he works as an architect. \u2018It\u2019s another\u00a0world here,\u2019 he says, taking a breather\u00a0against a rock. \u2018If I could, I\u2019d spend every\u00a0day in the mountains.\u2019 He waits for his\u00a0companions to catch up before they settle\u00a0down on the grass for lunch: a walkers\u2019\u00a0picnic of salami, fruit, bread and pecorino\u00a0cheese, all freshly bought this morning from\u00a0the valley\u2019s main town, Castelnuovo di\u00a0Garfagnana. A troupe of goats trots past\u00a0along the trail, bells tinkling as they\u00a0disappear down the near-vertical slope.<\/p>\n Pastoral scenes like these are key to the\u00a0Garfagnana\u2019s appeal. Dotted with tiny\u00a0villages and sleepy towns \u2013 where the\u00a0streets are lined with old-fashioned caf\u00e9s\u00a0and grocers\u2019 shops, and family-run trattorias\u00a0serve up recipes such as wild boar rag\u00f9 \u2013\u00a0this is a region that celebrates a traditional\u00a0life. The local calendar is chalked with\u00a0festivals honouring everything from beer\u00a0to chestnuts, and one village even holds its\u00a0own medieval pageant, when jesters and\u00a0harlequins roam the streets, and locals feast\u00a0on hog roasts and spelt ale, much as they\u00a0would have done hundreds of years ago.<\/p>\n IT\u2019S AFTERNOON IN THE Uccellina hills, and guide Daniele Contarino and his riders are seeking shelter from the fierce heat of the sun under a grove of umbrella pines. Shadows lace the ground like spider\u2019s webs, and through the canopy there\u2019s the cobalt flash of sky and ocean.<\/p>\n After half an hour the trees thin out and the riders emerge near the beach at Collelungo, marooned in swathes of marram grass. Along the coast an old watch-tower stands guard, its battlements burning red in the sun. Beneath, a strip of ivory sand disappears into the distance, fringed by foaming surf. Apart from a couple of walkers and some bleached driftwood, it\u2019s deserted.<\/p>\n In summer, the only way to reach Collelungo (and much of the Maremma\u2019s coastline), is on foot, by sea \u2013 or as in Daniele\u2019s case, in the saddle. Since 1975, this strip of hills, beaches and salt-marsh has been protected as a nature reserve, recognising its unique wildlife and rare ecosystems, and for several months because of the risk of forest fire, much of the park remains off-limits without the company of an official guide. As a result, its coves stay quiet, even when the bigger beaches beyond the park\u2019s borders are heaving.<\/p>\n A little way south lies another secluded beach where Daniele often leads his horse treks, Cala di Forno. Cradled between two rocky headlands and hemmed in by maquis shrubland, it\u2019s half an hour from the nearest road, accessed via a dusty forest track or by piloting a kayak along the rocky coastline. It\u2019s worth the effort: with its white sand and crystal water, it\u2019s a patch of paradise in the middle of Tuscany\u2019s busiest stretch of coast.<\/p>\n But there\u2019s more to the Maremma than beaches. A century ago, this sunbaked strip of land was Tuscany\u2019s answer to the Wild West: a centre for cattle production, with its own breed, the long-horned Maremmana. Traditionally, the cattle were left semi-wild, roaming freely over the hills until it was time to round up the herd. That\u2019s where the butteri, the Maremma\u2019s cowboys, came in. The profession required steely nerves and superb horsemanship \u2013 something that still remains the case, even though the days of wild cattle herding are mostly gone.<\/p>\n \u2018Today we work with small herds, but the skills are the same as in my grandfather\u2019s day,\u2019 says Ernesto Buratta, whose family have herded Maremmana for generations. He picks up his hooked staff, known as a bastone, and coils a loop of rope around its end, whirling it round his head before releasing with a flick of his wrist. The lasso curls through the air, landing on a gatepost ten feet away. \u2018It\u2019s harder when the gatepost is running away from you,\u2019 he says, flashing a smile under his white moustache, before mounting his horse and cantering away.<\/p>\n ON THE PIAZZA IN FRONT of the Upper Basilica of St Francis of Assisi, three friars are taking a break from their morning duties with a game of Frisbee. They\u2019re dressed in the garb of the Franciscan order \u2013 hooded robes, tied at the waist with a knotted cord \u2013 the same outfit worn by St Francis himself, only instead of sandals, the friars are wearing brightly coloured trainers. Apart from some early pilgrims and a few pigeons fluttering at the church\u2019s fa\u00e7ade, the town is pin-drop quiet. Famous as the birthplace of St Francis, who founded his namesake order here in 1209, centuries later Assisi remains the spiritual home of the Franciscans. It\u2019s also a kind of monastic finishing school; aspiring novices travel from all over the globe to study here and take their final orders.<\/p>\n Andrew Hochstedler is one of them. An American by birth, he\u2019s been studying to become a friar since 2010. \u2018The history here can be a little overwhelming,\u2019 he admits, taking a break from the game. \u2018I\u2019ve lived here for three years, but even now, I still discover corners of the town I\u2019ve never seen before.\u2019 Assisi\u2019s history stretches back much further than St Francis. The Etruscans were the first to settle here, taking advantage of the town\u2019s defensible position, protected by steep slopes on three sides and the hump of Monte Subasio behind. Many others followed, and walking the backstreets is like trying to decipher an architectural puzzle. It\u2019s a chaotic jumble of styles, built and rebuilt over the course of three millennia. Along one street, columns from a Roman temple prop up the fa\u00e7ade of a Renaissance church. On another, a line of Gothic arches is cut off by the addition of a medieval wall. There are dead ends and blind alleys, bricked-up doorways and staircases leading nowhere. Clues lurk in the walls: coats of arms, beastly gargoyles and saintly images loaded with obscure religious significance.<\/p>\n \u2018There are secrets everywhere,\u2019 says Andrew. \u2018It\u2019s like a real-life Da Vinci Code.\u2019 He points to a T-shaped cross carved above the basilica\u2019s entrance: it\u2019s the Tau, the emblem of the Franciscan order, but also an ancient cipher signifying the resurrection. Lions are another common motif \u2013 leering from gutters and peering out from door-knockers \u2013 but despite their prevalence, no-one\u2019s quite sure what they mean. Some scholars think they represent Christ, others the Holy Roman Emperor.<\/p>\n A few miles southeast of Assisi, along a winding road which veers round the wooded flanks of Monte Subasio, Spello demonstrates another feature shared by many of Umbria\u2019s hilltop towns: a ring of ramparts, gates and watchtowers, a reminder of the days when a hilltop location was prized not for its prettiness but its protection. Walking along its battlements, Spello is transformed into an impregnable bastion, bristling with crenels and murderholes. Watching cars beetle up the hillside and sparrows flit down its sheer walls, it\u2019s easy to imagine the town under attack, surrounded by siege engines and trebuchets.<\/p>\n Off to the southwest, along quiet lanes that meander through corn fields and cypress trees, lies Orvieto. Perched on a spur of rock high above the plain, this hilltop town had another solution for times of trouble. Beneath the town\u2019s cathedral, a network of tunnels burrows through the limestone, providing escape routes during a siege. Right beneath the townsfolk\u2019s feet, centuries of cobwebs drape the walls of this labyrinth of passageways, staircases, and galleries, where every step returns a ghoulish echo. Guides recount tales of people who entered the tunnels, and whose ghosts are still trying to find their way out.<\/p>\n But Umbria\u2019s hilltop towns are far from museum pieces. Life carries on as it has for centuries. Old men drink their morning grappa at pavement caf\u00e9s. Cats stalk along the cobbles, and couples marry at the town church under Renaissance frescoes. Mopeds putter along alleys where housewives string their washing between the buildings, the blare of an afternoon soap drifting from open windows. And at least once a week, the town square hosts a market, where everyone gathers to exchange produce, money, and \u2013 most importantly \u2013 the latest news.<\/p>\n In the hills above Norcia, truffle-hunter Nicola Berardi parks up in the woods and steps out into the cool forest air. He opens the trunk of the car, and his two dogs Nina and Lulu jump out, yapping with excitement. \u2018As you can tell, they are happy workers,\u2019 Nicola says, filling his pockets with dog treats. \u2018They must be curious to make good truffle dogs, but they get over-excited.\u2019 He barks an order, and the dogs sit obediently at his feet, each earning a biscuit as a reward. Then with another command, he sends them bolting down the hillside, their barks cracking like gunshots over the quiet woods. The truffle hunt has begun.<\/p>\n It doesn\u2019t take long before the dogs make their first discovery. On the edge of the wood, one of the dogs begins to sniff around the roots of a young oak tree, and frantically starts to dig with her front paws. \u2018Good dog, Nina,\u2019 Nicola says, pulling her away as he excavates the soil carefully with a small trowel. \u2018We must be careful not to damage the truffle as we dig. To fetch the best price, they must be perfect.\u2019 He scoops his hand into the earth and emerges with a knobbly black mushroom the size of a cricket ball. \u2018Not bad,\u2019 he says, holding the truffle to his nose before stowing it safely in his jacket pocket. \u2018Now let\u2019s see if we can find more.\u2019<\/p>\n Black truffles, or tartufi neri, are just one of the ingredients that have made the name of Norcia synonymous with fine food. Hidden away in the Sibillini hills, this old walled town is renowned across Italy for the quality of its ingredients \u2013 from organic honey to ricotta and rare-breed pork. It\u2019s a poster town for the Slow Food movement, championing the use of home-grown products and organic farming. The valley even has its own trademarked lentil, the lenticchia di Castelluccio, renowned for its delicate texture and nutty flavour.<\/p>\n One man who knows how to get the most from Norcia\u2019s ingredients is Emanuele Mazzella, head chef at Palazzo Seneca, the town\u2019s top hotel. While his staff are hard at work getting ready for lunch service, he\u2019s holding a cooking class in the kitchen, demonstrating how to make two classic Umbrian dishes: zuppa di lenticchie, a rich lentil broth, and agnello al tartufo \u2013 roast lamb with truffles. The kitchen thrums with the sound of whizzing blenders and clattering pans as he meticulously trims his lamb joint, stuffing it with butter, herbs and truffle shavings before tying it up with the perfect butcher\u2019s knot. That\u2019s the secret to cooking, he says: use the best ingredients, and treat them with love.<\/p>\n Outside, it\u2019s lunchtime in Norcia\u2019s narrow backstreets, and its trattorias are packed with diners. Seating themselves at long wooden tables, under stuffed boar\u2019s heads and gnarled roof-beams, diners dip chunks of bread into bean soup and rabbit hotpot, or twirl ribbons of wild hare pasta onto their forks. At the rear of the restaurants, woodfired ovens blaze and smoke in the gloom, staining the ceilings charcoal black.<\/p>\n Just along the street, one of the town\u2019s norcinerias, or butcher\u2019s shops, is doing a brisk lunchtime trade. Dressed in a white apron, the butcher engages his customers in debate about the day\u2019s choicest cuts, only pausing to slam a cleaver through a beef joint, or shave a slice from a leg of ham. On the street outside, baskets are stacked with wheels of pecorino cheese, bulbs of garlic, bags of risotto rice and salamis the size of saplings. The choice \u2013 and the smell \u2013 is overpowering.<\/p>\n While lunch gets into full swing in Norcia, up in the hills, Nicola and his dogs have finished their hunt. It\u2019s been a good morning \u2013 well over a kilo of truffles in just a couple of hours. Now he\u2019s heading home for his own favourite lunch \u2013 black truffle omelette. \u2018Food is such an important part of life here,\u2019 he says, as he unloads his haul into a hamper on the front seat, and Nina and Lulu settle down in the boot to gnaw on a well-earned bone. \u2018It keeps us connected to the land, and brings people and families together. And if you ask me, nothing is more important than that.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Rich food, rolling fields, world-class wine: few regions sum up la dolce vita more than Tuscany and Umbria. This travel feature covers the vineyards of Chianti, the Garfagnana mountains, the hilltop towns of Assisi, Orvieto and Spello, the cowboys of the Maremma, and \u00a0truffle-hunting in the hills above Norcia in the Sybillini national park. It […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1013,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"footnotes":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[4],"tags":[105,108,106,107,103],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Maremma<\/h2>\n
Assisi, Spello & Orvieto<\/h2>\n
Norcia<\/h2>\n