The Heart of Chianti

People usually arrive in Tuscany pre-conditioned to devour Florence and Siena, the anchors of the region, but we like to try to inject an awareness of some of the smaller gems as well: Tucked in the folds of the hills rolling between these cities is a treasure of hamlets snubbed by trains and highways. Once they have dispensed with the obligatory, we suggest a quiet glass of Chianti in San Sano or Volpaia.

Small towns like these, crimped onto hilltops like bottle caps, are what the Chianti area is all about -- this is where the heart of Tuscany beats, places people can smell the air, listen to the ancestors speak through architecture, or notice the design of the gardens. Brass doorknobs shine, lacquered green shutters deflect the sun that blanches the fieldstone walls. Every year I watch the geranium gardens give way to irises then roses as the springtime elapses. At 85, Antonio still wobbles by on his bicycle toward his shrine to the Madonna. Boys keep a soccer ball in the air while three matrons mobilize from a bench to a ledge to the bus stop – the watchtowers of the triangular piazza. They will say buon giorno to a stranger – but only if you nod first – then quickly resume their confidential conversations.

On Tuesdays the market comes to Vagliagli, our town – a van whose sides fold out into a department store of clothes, shoes and dangling bowls, and our guests slyly sketch or photograph the men in soiled overalls who stop off on their way home from the olive groves. Every spring for one night a spell is cast over the town. The soccer court is reserved for Ballo Liscio – Ballroom Dancing. We watch as clumsy vintners and bakers become dancers, gliding over the pavement exquisitely, dressed in diamonds, capes and cravats. The full story of Tuscany is deeper than a first impression.

The best way to see Chianti is by foot. From Vagliagli we set out early for the hilltown of Radda, the seat of the Chianti League since before Columbus discovered America. This area is still predominantly agrarian. Barely hidden trails connect the medieval manors that have now been incorporated into commercial vineyards. We descend into the valley of the Arbia, the stream that feeds the lattice of vines and olive trees. The smell of wild rosemary wafts into lavender and the cuckoo marks time. One guest from New York City thought the cuckoo was invented by a Swiss clockmaker. Walking through the country teaches many lessons. Cicley, a painter who returns every year, remarked that only from this perspective did she realize what spawned the art in those great museums. Red poppies are sprayed across the hillside while the grapes sleep on gnarled vines. The olives are hard pellets yet, hundreds to a branch. A pebble mosaic decorates a shrine to the Madonna near the Fattoria Aiola where the road twists around a solid castle. Now home to Aiolo’s proprietors, in the 1300s this was a strategic outpost for the defense of Siena. My imagination fills the empty moat. Men died by the broadsword where we pick juniper berries and wild thyme to season our dinner.

At midday we share some tomatoes and scamorza cheese in a glen where an Etruscan tomb hides like a fossil. Here the heart of the region beats deeper. This is the civilization that gave Tuscany its name. It pre-dated the Romans by centuries. Then it disappeared under the legions’ sword, taking with it the clues to its art, language and culture.

Radda looms in the distance. The hill is forbidding but we know that old monks from the Dominican monastery nearby climbed it in the Dark Ages, so we resolve to climb it too. By the time we reach the center of town we are in rapture over the sublime views of where we just hiked. Like the Christian ascetics, we no longer feel the pain. We glory in a carafe of red wine at the café tables set along the main gates.

We also plot how to hitch a ride back to the villa.

Radda is a classic Medieval town, packed inside thick walls; a stroll through the oblique streets links us to the past. Long decomposed architects still direct our eyes from the confining walls of a small piazza to an arch that frames the expansive valley. Streets are crooked and buildings are cocked at unlikely angles, but not because their tools lacked precision. In Medieval towns this was intentional to confuse an enemy, should he breach the battlements. A preserved Medieval walkway leads us through the passage that citizens depended upon to move about the inner town safely in times of siege. I can’t help touching the stains from centuries of torch soot beside the arches that are just high enough to accommodate a man of the 1300’s.

The vantage point on top of the hills is no longer necessary for protection. I’m glad it was, though, because today it affords us spectacular views of the farms and furrows that stretch to the edge of the canvas. Another jewel we pass on our way to the market each week is Monteriggioni, built in 1203. This is special because it is one of the only towns still entirely surrounded by its walls. Most succumbed to the constant skirmishes between Florence and Siena, but Monteriggioni was preserved by a fluke – the war was resolved before it fell to rubble. Passing under the portcullis is to enter the world of Dante. Inside the womb are gardens, homes, shops, a church and a well in the center of the piazza. Today there are 80 inhabitants. Had I lived within these walls day after day in the 14th century I might have felt like a cloistered monk, but today I try to catch the scent of that romantic era without light bulbs, cars or deodorant.

When not on foot, driving around the back roads of Tuscany can be a challenge. Before you start, find yourself a complete map of the area that includes all the bianchi, the white or dirt roads that are often the only route to some of the smaller villages. Like Cignano, whose sign is painted on a board nailed to a tree. We love to surprise our guests by turning here on the way back from the market. At last count 18 people lived in Cignano. It pre-dates Vagliagli, with the earliest references to it in a tract dated 998. Upon entering, everyone thinks that we are trespassing in someone’s driveway, but this is indeed a chartered town with two streets. The angles, flowers and lace curtains are a dream setting for our painters. We talk about the women who must have sat out here weaving the straw mittens for Chianti flasks.

To find Volpaia requires a roller coaster ride of hairpin turns and a queasy navigator. But the reward is a charming village from the 12th century that you will swear you’ve seen as a film set. The homes stand higgelty-piggelty with rooms arching over the streets. Shadowed doorways lead to darker alleys punctuated at the end with a burst of sunlight and a sheaf of calla lillies. The Italian eye for design incites our guests to go back and redecorate their homes. It’s just simple, like the Tuscan cuisine, the olive oil, and the wine.

Driving toward Florence, Colle Val d’Elsa is known for its crystal. I don’t stop at the lower, modern town. I prefer to get us all lost climbing to the crest where the craftsmen are hidden in every corner blowing, etching and selling crystal. We’ve grown fond of the Colle Cristalleria studio within the oldest part of town. The Etruscan water pitchers and warped wine glasses are exquisite, as is the face of the proprietor as he explains his designs or wraps a cruet as if it were alive. The main street of this town is a timeline stretching from the dark Medieval hovels to the robust palazzi of the Renaissance. The styles, seen side by side, reveal how one mode of self awareness gave way to another that subsequently changed history. Toward the front of town, the café under the trees along the grand boulevard is a comfortable spot for gelato. We watch the local children play around the fountain and flirt with the travelers lounging at other tables.

I try to save San Sano for last. There is really no attraction here but ambiance. It is a lovely place for a cappuccino in the late afternoon. San Sano is contemplative. Writers who have stayed with us are inspired by the quiet setting high above the Val d’Arbia where the most famous Chianti vineyards doze. In the center of town is a dribbling frog fountain surrounded by leafy green trees and a neat cluster of village homes. The glass sparkles, the varnish shines and the geraniums stand like boutonnieres beside the doorways. I return here year after year. Like my other favorite Chianti towns, San Sano is a place that I need to see slowly, and repeatedly. Just by doing nothing, it changes me. It makes my imagination race. And when I look over at our guests daydreaming beyond a raised coffee cup I know that they have begun to feel their own hearts beating. The idea of rushing to a museum today is the farthest thing from their minds.

We thank Michael Mele for capturing and sharing the atmosphere of the heart of Chianti. He directs Il Chiostro di Toscana, an arts retreat for people who don't normally get enough opportunity to express their creativity in their lives. The retreat is open for 10 weeks in the spring and has a 10-day Autumn Arts Festival in October/November.

If you would like to know more about Il Chiostro di Toscana you can either visit his website, send him an email, to mmele@email.msn.com, or call on (+39-55) 714033 (Tel/fax).