The attendant rebukes. In all her years of working in the airline industry, she has never seen the bride and groom miss a flight to their own wedding. She got us in to Nashville on time though, and the rest is history; almost. Three days later, we miss our honeymoon flight...to Tuscany!

Chalk it up to being distracted by love, but missing an international flight was something inexcusable, by anyone! Stressed, stinky, and missing luggage, we land a mere eight hours behind schedule in Nice, France, and somehow clock the rest of our planes, trains, automobiles, even a ferry, without a minute of tardiness.

After a swift review of the Renaissance City's best Sunday offerings, we blast off in our spacious Smart Car, and Firenze quickly gives way to a prominence of grapes amid harvest on this early October morn. Next stop, Castello Di Meleto, Gaiole In Chianti. Don’t worry Florence, we’ll be back!

A Boy Scout is always proud to use his navigation prowess. But, while commanding a GPS to English, matching foreign road signs via foreign maps, fumbling through alien transmission gears in a cart that governs around 50mph, usurped by vulturistic men in a dead-heat, two-wheeled road race around every hairpin curve? This deserves a new merit badge…a gold one, with grape vines!

Meleto is, well, Medieval. The pool is for the brave and plump (it is October), and it’s a long walk from reception to villa. Oh, the villa! It takes forever to heat! A small price though, for enormity, and stone, and iron, and wood, and VIEWS. Oh the views! Who needs heat on a honeymoon anyway? The complimentary Chianti Classico was plump for the drinking…but no wine opener to be found anywhere…and the portineria is closed! It’s a good thing she married a Boy Scout!

We walk down the long path to La Fornace, Meleto’s own restaurant, where we share the most wonderful Anatra con olive nere, complete with duck sauce…and another chianti…this time opened by a professional. Perfect! Except…for a new furnace, right next to us, installed this day, pops and hisses ferociously, and drowns all speech. Our apologetic maître brings a complimentary bottle and blows kisses. Who needs talk when fabulous food, and wine, and a beautiful Hungarian is your company?

Huni laughs at our hike back up the hill. It has to be a kilometer, straight up! As we begin the stroll, she sees something in the cobble at her feet and picks it up. I call it a buckeye, she a chestnut. It’s a language barrier thing between the Southeast and the West Coast. She says potato, I say spuds.

Probably shed from an Aesculus hippocastanum, these tree's shoots have resinous, sticky buds. A very spiky capsule containing one, nut-like seed, splits into three sections to release the chestnuts. These conkers are used in a traditional European children's game where they bang 'em together until a loser’s breaks. Back in the Southern U.S. however, they bring good luck…and this one has a very distinctive heart for an eye…it ain’t gonna be used in no kids game!

She kisses me, sticks it in my pocket, and whispers, “All my luck was used up finding you, you can have it”. A souvenir for sure...but the feeling is mutual Bella!

La ringrazio Meleto, siamo nell'amore.

Autor

  Joseph Q.

Posición

  Gaiole in Chianti

Categoría

  Otro

Fecha de Publicación

09 jun 2014 - 11:42:24

Vote  4 Votos