It was as delightful a June evening as you could dream. A gentle breeze rippled off the fields across the terrace as we clinked our four glasses together in friendship, the ruby-red sangiovese glinting in the light.
Behind us, the bell towers and fortress walls of the medieval town of Todi stood out in silhouette as the setting sun painted the Umbrian skies. No cares. No worries. Just friends.
This week is not your typical Sunday Drive. Instead, we are traveling 5,700 miles to the Umbrian countryside, sandwiched in central Italy between Rome and Florence. It’s a region where ancient villages stand sentinel atop hilltops, and rows of grapes rest peacefully through the valleys — much as it has been for many hundreds of years.
The twisting mountain roadways and the endless panoramic views of Umbria have long been alluring to me. The crush of tourists in neighboring Tuscany is replaced with an intimate visit with a vigneron, Roberto, who educated us on the regalness of the sagrantino grape in the quiet tasting room of Cantina La Veneranda outside Montefalco.
This was a trip where we were reminded of the value of travel and the deep-rooted friendships it engenders. We’re generally not ones to vacation with others. But we have long yearned to introduce our decades-long friends from Wisconsin to their first trip to Europe. But it’s never vacation. It is an adventure.
From Camp di Fiori in Rome to Palazzo Ducale in Venice to the hilltop of Todi in Umbria, we shared the culture and spirit of a new country with our friends. We helped them find the magic of just sitting in a piazza with a glass of wine, watching the world walk by. We discovered the depth of taste in local chocolate melting on your tongue in Perugia, and how to cook pasta to the perfect al dente from an Italian grandmother on a farm at Malvarina near Assisi.
We drank wine only from the region of our meal each evening and learned why dinner in Lazio is different than in Umbria or Veneto. Each day we marveled at the grandeur of cathedrals, and went to mass at St. Peter’s in Rome, ignoring the raindrops when Pope Francis addressed us in Piazza San Pietro. Wandering our little neighborhood shops and bars along the bustling Via del Governo Vecchi was every bit as important as our visit to the Colosseum.
Our best meal was the farmhouse evening in Assisi, prepared by our friend Cindy and the grandmother of the house. We took great pride when her husband, Carey, decided he didn’t need a beer with dinner because he had now learned to enjoy the local wine. And we were joyful to randomly encounter friends outside Basilica di San Marco in Venice.
Most importantly to me, each stop on our adventure was about neighborhood — getting to know the places we were living for a few days and the people with whom we were sharing the space. We made friends with our hosts, our waiters, and our seatmates on trains. We visited the traditional tourist sites and took the requisite thousand photos. But it all came back to reveling in the spaces around us and being present with where we were.
As I write this from a table on a hot, hazy afternoon along the eastern shoreline of Lago di Como, my eyes are drawn first to the expanse of the lake and the villages dotting the opposite shoreline — Acquaseria, Bellagio, Mennagio, Nobiallo. But then I glance upward to the tiniest of mountain villages, Noceno, perched 2,000 feet above — a small cluster of buildings standing out amidst the dense forest.
Suddenly amid the idyllic scene, the church bells of Chiesa di San Carlo played a melodic tune, drowning out the high-pitched roar of motorcycles and ferry boat horns.
I broke out of my trance and realized, it was time to head across the street for a gelato.
Ciao!