Heading to Umbria

Leaving Montespertoli with no regrets the next day, we headed further south to Montefalco in Umbria, a town that was starting to build a name for itself with a local wine called Sagrantino. We were looking forward to the visit as this was an exciting old wine that had recently been 'discovered' and we were to visit the company mostly responsible for introducing it to the market – Arnaldo Caprai.

Arnaldo Caprai was a name well known in the silk industry. They manufactured predominantly silk ties and other silk items. Arnaldo had started the winery many years ago as a hobby and it had now passed down to his son, who I must admit was doing a very good job.

Marco Caprai

The winery was very interesting, there was an experimental vineyard where they trialled all sorts of training methods for the vines and had rows of many different grape varieties, a wonderful tasting of their range of wines and when we had finished, a visit to the barrel store underground.

We walked around the vineyard and learnt about different clones and what grows well where, we had the tasting – lots of different vintages and various experimental blends and finally we were to see the barrel store underground. Great.

Young vineyards

Acres of vines

One of our group, a gentleman well known in the wine industry,  had a problem walking around. He used a stick to assist him when he walked around and said he would stay upstairs while we saw the cellars, he would be too much trouble. A very generous act by a kindly old man or was it?

We looked around the cellars for about 15 minutes and came back up stairs.  We noticed there wasn’t a skerrick of wine left in any of the glasses or bottles, someone had gone round and emptied every glass, we thought of the obvious – the staff had been around and cleaned up but why leave the empty glasses? Apparently they hadn’t as we soon realised,  ‘John’ had helped himself to the leftover wine in the bottles and glasses and was fast asleep all on his own. We discovered later that he was an old soak. (I have since seen him several times and he has given up drinking and he's actually a nice guy).

We continued our magical mystery tour the next day. ICE (Instituto Commerciale Estero) had promised us a truffle hunt unfortunately they hadn’t confirmed with the owners of the company that it would take place. Apparently it was the wrong time of year for truffles and instead the company, Urbani Truffles,  had organised a lunch for us. This five course extravaganza was a fantastic feast of dishes all made with aromatic truffles, each plate more delicious than the last – even the dessert was truffled gelato with 'fruita delle bosco' (fruit of the forest). None of us missed the truffle hunt or complained about the hospitality and it is a meal I will always remember because of the generosity of the people involved and the food.

That night was to be our last in Umbria and we had been invited to a dinner starring Italy’s famous Castellucio Lentils. The dinner, which was attended by the Italian Minister for Agriculture and other big wigs, was to be prepared by a world famous chef (who nobody had ever heard of) and like the truffle dinner,  every course would contain lentils. I felt sorry for the chef having to come up with five different dishes with this pulse which is really quite boring.

He succeeded for the first three dishes but faded quickly on the fourth, but his dishes were not the only thing creating excitement.

We had a female journalist from Phoenix, Arizona on the trip. She had never travelled before and we had to stop the coach every couple of hours because she got car-sick.  Dressed like Holly Hobby, the cartoon character, in her denim dresses and flat shoes and big straw hat, she had been the target of jokes the whole way through. She seemed to ask silly questions at inappropriate times and she was a real ‘innocent-at-large’.

Her column in a regional Tuscon paper was used as a filler and we wondered why she had been invited as there were a lot of better-value journalists who have jumped at the opportunity to fill her place. She had never left the state of Arizona before so this was a really big adventure for her.

But let me set the scene: The dinner was held at a large restaurant with a large outside area where we were served cocktails. We were sat in several groups, my group contained six men, our friend from Arzona and myself. At some stage during the meal my friend got up to go to the bathroom. In Italy there are some older places where the bathrooms serve both males and females and in this instant this was the case. It was quite large with eight cubicles and a large area with vanity units but both men and women used the toilets.

One of our colleagues in the group, a lecherous Frenchman who had been sitting at another table, was already in there washing his hands when she entered. He started to speak to her in French and to be polite, she kept nodding and smiling, unclear of what he was saying. She claimed that the next thing she knew he was all over her kissing and pawing her. She ran out of the bathroom and straight back to the table. She looked awful and her hair was in disarray when she sat down and I asked her ‘what happened'?  She started telling me when she realised that all the men at the table were listening as well. She stopped and told me she would tell me when we got back to the hotel. She sat through the rest of the meal in complete silence. It must have been a big, big shock. That night when we finally arrived at the hotel in Sirmione (near Verona) we went to bed while she called her husband in the USA. The next morning she was on a flight home where she believed she would be safe. I’ve often thought of her and wondered what is she doing now, I guarantee she has never left home again.

Next post: More about Sirmione and we go to Vinitaly

Exploring Montespertoli

 

 Exploring Montespertoli

The second day of ‘exploring’ Montespertoli saw us visit several places that weren’t what they seemed. We were to be taken to an alternative meat farm, hmmm...? And what did this matter to a bunch of wine journalists and what is alternative meat anyway?

We ended up at the alternative meat farm and found someone training a horse, making him run around on a rope in circles. We all got of the bus and were taken to a shed containing a large cool-room that contained frozen venison. I’m sure it would have been interesting had we been butchers but all it did was leave us feeling cold. We also visited a station for mountain rangers where we were given a talk on the surrounding area and some literature - the only problem was that most of the group being foreigners spoke and read English but both were provided in Italian only.

A typical ruin in the countryside, this one is set amongts olive groves

We had been invited by a winery for a barbecue but being on a big coach and the road to the winery being very hilly and full of rubble, the coach couldn’t make it up the hill. There were various discussions on how we could get up the hill – we could have walked. There was also talk of getting a small school bus but it would have taken too long to organise. Finally after about an hour the barbecue was brought down to the bottom of the hill and we had celebrations there on the side of the road. We never got to see the winery but the owners fed us very well.

However, not everything went wrong, we did go to a wonderful place called Castello di Montegufoni  where we spent the afternoon looking around. We learnt that the castle can be rented for holidays – all or part, it contains many, many apartments – and is in an easily accessible area of Chianti. At last it seemed we were getting somewhere, things were looking up. 

Famous last words.

That night we were invited to dinner at a holiday villa which holds events all year round. Once again it was up a hill and the large coach couldn’t make it so this time we were put on one of the smaller local buses used for taking young children – and I mean very young, to school. It was amusing to see grown up men on the small seats. The bus had been orgnised after the lunchtime debacle of the barbecue. The food was enjoyable and the unplanned entertainment hysterical. The ‘major’ turned up with two local beauties, one on each arm, who were quickly named the majorettes. A good time was had by all, especially one German gentleman in particular who had slightly more to drink than he should have.

A house being restored for possible use as an agriturismo

When it was time to go and we had all settled back in the bus, we all felt very relaxed and happy to be going home to our beds. The German gentleman (a very loose term for this person) had to be helped onto the bus and poured onto the back seat as he was so drunk. We all thought he was asleep as we chatted until suddenly he got up and started attacking Gilda, the guide, for no reason.  He started slapping and punching her, fortunately his aim was off as he was so drunk but it was a big shock to Gilda (who has since given up translating at Vinitaly and now works for Zenato Wines). Everybody started screaming and several men tried to pull him off the guide as all hell broke loose. For a tall skinny man he had tremendous strength and he was finally subdued by three men who managed to sit on him until we finally got back to town and the place where he was staying. I never saw him again and I can only surmise that he was taken away in the night and never invited back.

The trip was finally getting interesting!

Next post: Heading to Umbria

Filling in time around Tuscany

Filling in time around Tuscany

The morning after the judging finished we boarded a coach, or Pullman as they known in Italy. There were only 33 of us, I don’t know where the remainder of the journalists had gone but they missed the trip of a lifetime - a real comedy. It was so bad that it was good.

Our first stop was Montespertoli, a small town in the heart of the Chianti area. It was Sunday and traffic was light when we left but soon it got busy with families taking to the road for a day out.

As we approached the piazza in Montespertoli we saw a lot of people just hanging around. All dressed in their Sunday best they appeared to be waiting for something, we surmised it was a wedding but no, it was us – 33 weary and very casually dressed journalists.

The coach pulled up outside the municipio (town hall) and we were invited to meet the major (mayor – a word commonly mispronounced by Italians who don’t use the letter ‘y’).

We trooped upstairs to his office and saw that a magnificent morning tea was laid out for us, however, we would be expected to wave to the crowd waiting patiently in the square. Like the royal family, we stood in little groups taking turns to wave as the people below clapped, I don’t know whether they knew who we were or how the ‘major’ had got everyone there but it was really a surreal start to a eventful trip.

After a tour of a couple of wineries  we were taken to where we would be staying. We had been told it was a beautiful religious retreat with lovely grounds with beautiful gardens. As we drove up the imposing driveway, we could think of nothing else except dinner and then bed, it had been a long day. Little did we know we would have to go through a big explosion of emotions before that would happen.

At the retreat we lined up with our passports and were given our rooms. I was in a room in the basement along with a Japanese lady. We headed off to unpack leaving everyone else to settle in before we returned for the short trip into town where we would have a ‘typical meal’ before returning and settling in for the night.

Our rooms downstairs were very utilitarian - no pillow cases, no sheets, wire bunk beds and one lamp with a dodgy bulb - but after five days of luxury - judging wines  while staying at the luxurious  Bagnoli Group Due Torre Hotel, I was prepared to put up with conditions for a night. I however, was alone with that thought!

I came upstairs to a banshee screaming and several men shouting in different languages at our poor guide Gilda, voices were raised and no one was happy. “We are not going to stay here”, “We are important journalists” and “What is this place it looks like a prison”. Poor Gilda the guide didn’t know how to cope, she had been given this job because she could speak four languages, her normal job was as an ‘international hostess’ at Vinitaly translating for visitors needing help.

Fortunately things quietened down, like the aftermath of every explosion there is a period of peace and quiet while the dust settles. Taking advantage of this she quickly called the ‘major’ and explained we were revolting (in both senses of the word) and refusing to stay.

The ‘major’ said to stay, there had been a misunderstanding and we would be moved elsewhere and to not worry.

Shortly Gilda’s phone rang, the major had found us alternative accommodation so we all piled back on the bus to be billeted around the town in various other accommodation facilities: holiday villas, small hotels and private houses.

Finding our new accommodation, going to the local pizzeria for dinner and heading back saw all 33 of us very tired and looking forward to bed. I think Montespertoli, the major and Gilda, our poor guide, were all grateful to see the back of us that night.


Next post: Exploring Montespertoli

Travels on a bus in Italy

In February 1999, I was invited to Vinitaly by the Italian Chamber of Commerce in Melbourne. Since that first trip to Italy as an adult, I have returned well over 80 times (I stopped counting at 80) and have formed a love-hate relationship with a country that can be the most hospitable and laidback while at the same time bureaucratic and officious.

I would love to go and live there permanently but I have many excuses stopping me – and that’s all they are, excuses. I’m not brave enough to move there, to leave my comfortable existence here, to leave my children and my dog to take a chance like my parents did in the early 1960s, when they came to Australia and started all over again so that my sister and I could have a wonderful life.

However, my frequent trips have introduced me to a world of wonderful chaos that I long to be involved in but at the same time grateful to escape from. Only people who have been to Italy will understand, for those that haven’t, I hope your journey to Bella Italia isn’t too far away.

What an introduction

After a 32 hour flight via Zurich – which put many of the passengers in a panic because the detour wasn’t mentioned on the ticket (I won’t name the airline so cavalier with their passengers except it is an Italian company in deep pooh at the moment) I arrived in Verona to a minus seven degree temperature and sleet.  Expecting to grab my luggage from the carousel and put on my warm jacket, I bravely walked down the stairs of the plane and strode quickly across the tarmac and into the terminal in my short sleeves while everyone else was rugged up and looking rather curiously at me.

I waited, quite damp, until the last bag had come off the plane. Of course, Murphy’s Law had come into play and my bag wasn’t there. Gone was my desperately needed warm jacket and clean underwear and any hope of warmth.

With continuing bad luck, the lost luggage counter was closed. It reopened at 4pm when of course, the young lady returned from lunch – after all, who would want to have two people running such a vital part of the airport. However, on seeing my distress and slowly-turning-to-ice body, a woman from the ticket counter came to my assistance. As she worked for the previously unnamed airline (their colours are red, white and green) I didn’t place much hope in her but my need for warmth and clean clothes forced me to explain my situation. She made a few phone calls and found my luggage – it had been left on the tarmac at Rome airport and was to arrive on the next plane to Verona, which was in an hour’s time.

I thanked her profusely and followed her advice to go to my hotel and not to worry, my bag would be delivered as soon as it arrived. I waited patiently. Then I waited impatiently. Then I started to get worried, was my bag ever going to turn up?

After many phone calls by the gentleman at the hotel’s front desk, it finally arrived 24 hours later, safe and sound.  After approximately two and a half days (adding time in transit) in the same clothes I wasn’t going to complain, I was just glad to be connected with my bag again. My soon-to-be fellow judges at the competition were probably glad as well!

Fortunately, as soon as I arrived and was sorted at the hotel, I had gone out and purchased a coat – three sizes too big (it was the only coat available) – and I wore it everywhere to everyone’s delight. I am a small person, 4’11’’ in the old measurements, and the coat had been made for someone a lot larger, I looked like a child playing dress-ups.

I did learn one thing from that trip – always carry a spare set of clothes in my hand luggage.  Of course, my bag has never gone missing on the Rome leg of a trip ever again but it has disapppeared at various other airports.

I had been invited to judge at Vinitaly, the largest wine show in the world. I n those days it had 14 pavillions, numerous temporary restaurants and an olive oil exhibition. There were approximately 45 judges from the many countries that sold Italian wines as well as 45 winemakers from some of the leading companies in Italy. The invitation had promised the wine competition then  a trip around Tuscany while we waited for Vinitaly to start and of course, Vinitaly itself. I was very excited and was looking forward to everything as it was all new to me. There were a few old hands who spoke English and one person in particular took special care of me. Carlo Corino, had been the winemaker at Montrose Estate near Mudgee, and had been back in Italy just a short while.

He had a frightening appearance, brooding looks combined  with a bald head and standing well over  1.8 metres tall. He always dressed in a big black coat making him look like someone out of a gangster movie. However, the old adage of never judging a book by its cover proved right, he turned out to be the biggest teddy bear. 

He discovered there was someone coming  from Australia and he sought me out. It was his first contact with someone from Australia since his return to Sicily, where he was working for a large wine company. Carlo guided me through various things like how to mark wines (the Italian system is completely different from Australia), which people were good to talk to and where the best coffee was served. Carlo died several years ago but I still think of him when I return to judge every two years or so.

On the first day of judging we were given our program. We were to judge for three hours and then go back to the hotel for lunch which would take two hours. We would then came back and judge for another three hours and then we would have dinner. We had two breaks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon where the only thing served was espresso and biscotti, great for the taste buds when tasting wine, but we were in one of the most beautiful buildings in Verona. Called Villa Giusti, it had belonged to Agostino Giusti who developed the formal gardens and made them a magnificent showpiece.

The building had been built in the 16^th century and although it looked as if it was in good condition, things were not as they seemed. One morning when we were hard at work tasting wines and all you could hear was the occasional tinkle of glassware, we were all woken up – a part of the cornice had broken off and fallen to the floor. Bang! A big lump had fallen 10 metres to hit the ground, thank goodness no one had been standing underneath it. Plaster and concrete were spread all over the floor and the proceedings were interrupted for a few minutes while they cleaned up. Apologies were flying thick and fast but it was all fixed up and we set to work again – shaken and stirred

We worked until lunchtime, no one had been hurt and it was forgotten or at least put to the back of our minds as we headed back to the hotel for lunch. In the afternoon we were once again deep in thought and bang! Another piece of the cornice came down narrowly missing a sommelier. Villa Giusti is no longer used as a venue for the judging. I wonder why?

After the judging was completed we had a week to wait until Vinitaly actually opened so ICE (the Italian Trade Commission in Italy) sent us on a trip around Tuscany. All the foreigners were put on a bus and we were told, we would be shown the best that Tuscany had to offer. We went off with satisfaction of a job well done and high expectations of what was ahead. In retrospect, it was probably one of the most enjoyable trips I ever had although it didn’t turn out the way ICE (The Italian Trade omission in Italy ) expected it to.

NEXT: My Journey Begins