EVEN FINER THAN WINE
What do you do if you’re in Tuscany’s wine country and only one of you drinks? The same thing you do on any walking trip: Put one foot in front of the other, enjoy the scenery and the food, and understand that you may be on Bacchus’ turf but you’re in cha
MONTEPULCIANO, Italy — A lot of things changed when my husband stopped drinking, including our choice of vacation destination.
Weekends in Napa became a thing of the past. Bordeaux was no longer enticing. And Italy’s wine country fell off the radar — until last summer when we were planning for a few days of touring after a meeting in Venice.
We wanted a trip that would incorporate some form of exercise, and the walking tours through the Val d’Orcia in Tuscany seemed ambitious but not intimidating.
Only one variable remained: Could a visit to some of the region’s most famous wine towns be successful without the wines? There was only one way to find out.
So my husband, an oenophile whose last drink was more than 10 years ago, and I, a casual drinker with a plebeian palate, set out on a selfguided weeklong trek last year in June that would take us to nearly a dozen towns and abbeys, including the wine centers of Montalcino and Montepulciano.
We found that by focusing on hiking, history and food, both of us enjoyed the week.
Except for some steep hills, the walking was relaxing; our most difficult day was about nine miles, with an elevation gain of about 1,800 feet. With photo breaks and the occasional wrong turn, we usually walked four to six hours a day, climbing the hill to town and arriving just as the tour buses with day trippers from Florence and Siena were leaving.
Our bags were always waiting in our room, having been transferred by the tour agency, which had handled all the logistics. After a shower and a rest, we’d have the afternoon to explore the town. Each had something wonderful and wine-free to offer: a walk atop an ancient rampart (Montalcino), Pope Pius II’s family mansion-turned-museum (Pienza), a soak in a mineral springs (Bagno Vignoni) and souvenir shopping (Montepulciano).
The highlight by far was the annual Festival of Barbarossa in San Quirico d’Orcia, where locals in period dress reenacted 12th century flag and archery competitions.
Still, it was through tastings of olive oils, balsamic vinegars, Tuscan cheeses and various forms of cinghiale, or wild boar, that my husband experienced the greatest sense of involvement. Just as I enjoyed sampling some of the region’s Brunellos, Rossos and grappas, he relished the sensorial experience of sampling a truffle-infused balsamic and comparing the pale, young pecorino to the crumbly, yellow, aged variety.
Although we were always on Bacchus’ turf, it became an inside joke rather than an intrusion.
I knew the vacation was a success the night a waiter, unable to comprehend that I might be drinking alone, insisted on pouring my half bottle of Castello Banfi Brunello for two. With a smile, my husband quietly slid the glass across the table toward me. Then he picked up his fork, reached over and stole a truffle off my plate.