Never thought it could happen. But eventually, Florence starts to look like background to the mundane tasks of life: grocery shopping, school buses, dodging cars during morning walks.
We got out of town last weekend and drove to Montalcino. After a hotel manager/scam artist tried to charge us 185 euros a night to stay in his dated rooms with a "view," we drove down the road a bit further and found the agriturismo for Il Cocco vineyard. (Here's where I slip into diminutives...) It's run by the cutest young winemaker, Giacomo, who seems doomed to scrape by despite 16-hour days and a great Rosso di Montalcino. Still in the process of establishing his vintage, he's been taken by a California wine merchant who didn't pay for the bottles Giacomo shipped....
The accommodations were rustic but "not too precious," as Mary Malouf, the food editor of Salt Lake Magazine and a friend in town, put it. The place was guarded by a skittish Germ
an Shepherd named Cookie who only wanted to play soccer/keep-away. And the terraces were adorned with an unusual number of sexually provocative statues.
It was just the kind of can't-be-duplicated experience to remind us how lucky we are....
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