Accidentally stumbling upon an annual wine festival, while visiting a small town known as the gateway to the Chianti Region, seems a story suited for a Hallmark Movie. Unbelievably, this actually happened and what unfolded proved to be slightly less graceful than everyone's favourite Christmas movies.
We do not have that much time in Florence, but decide on a whim to take our little rental car and make our way through the Tuscan region, stopping at every winery we see along the way to eat charcuterie and drink to our hearts content.
Little did we know, this does require some planning. Contrary to my experience at home, you can't just drive along a main road, only to find dozens of wineries all sitting in a row.
Wineries in Italy are more complex than the ones we have in Niagara Falls. Consisting of several acres and impressive properties perched on top of rolling hills.
These estates are more spread out, becoming a destination rather than an "along the way" stop. As a result, we drove through valleys and winding roads to visit a grand total of two beautiful wineries, begging our little car didn't say "screw this" and roll us back down again.
While enjoying a plate of bread, coupled with our choice of a variety of olive oils (Italy can apparently flavour olive oil with anything imaginable and make it taste good) we overhear a group of locals talking about a wine festival about to begin in the town below, Greve in Chianti.
Needless to say, when you hear the phrase "wine festival" in Tuscany, you scarf up that bread and hightail it to town.
Thanks to trusty (not so trusty) Google Maps, we make it to Greve in Chianti, painfully, albeit quickly, considering multiple wrong turns.
Seeing the booths within the main square are not quite set up, we make our way into a meat shop filled with prosciutto legs dancing overhead. Mouth watering I make the executive decision, this is where we'll stay until the festival begins... darn.
Feasting on beef tartare, I look at a display in the shop and see my last name on a label for the most expensive prosciutto in the store.
Feeling quite proud my relatives were so good at raising pigs, I ask a couple of locals if my name was a brand, showing them my driver's license.
Apparently not, red faced with laughter they inform me my name is actually the name of the pig, not a designer prosciutto brand... thanks Dad.
This type of embarrassment calls for some wine, thankfully the festival had just begun. Scurrying out of the store with my tail in between my legs, we approach the booth to purchase a stamp card and glass to begin the wine adventure we had originally hoped for.
How lucky are we? Instead of having to find all the best wineries, they had accumulated for the annual Chianti Classico Wine Festival, on the same day we happened to get lost around this charming town.
Seeing as my better half was the driver (I can't drive stick even if I'm sober) it was up to me to finish his glass after he had a sip, while also finishing my own.
This shouldn't be a problem, I had a whole bunch of carbs (when in Rome right!?) and I was feeling ready... pour the fine wine!
Touring the rows of booths was such a nostalgic experience. Every time we stopped for a glass, our cards were stamped and we were delighted by the stories behind the wine in our glass, as well as the winery it came from.
Many wineries are family owned and you can tell the amount of pride they have for their product by the enthusiasm in which they describe it.
It was so enlightening being able to talk to everyone, some even informing us they were to travel to Niagara Falls for an upcoming wine festival. Small world!
Finally, we reach our last stamp each. Thank goodness, as I was starting to feel it.
Carefully selecting our last booth, we hand over our card as we sample the delicious wine, only to have it handed back to us, last space still blank.
"You guys need to enjoy the wine! This one will be on us." The friendly Italian man whispered with a smile. Blushing from his generosity, although most likely from the wine, we move on to the next booth.
As I finish both our glasses... looking like a proper alcoholic, double fisting at a wine festival, they are refilled with a new wine.
Again, our card is returned to us unstamped. Laughing at the chances, I almost spray wine out of my nose.
For f*** sakes, I'm going to leave this place unintentionally hammered off Italian wine. I guess there are worse things, like not having any wine in Tuscany at all!
This little dance carries on for 5 booths, with none of these friendly Italians wanting to be the one to end our tasting experience.
At about this time, as anyone could tell you when I have had too much to drink, it was time for something stronger.
I sniff out a shot like a bloodhound, honing in on some Grappa, a grape based brandy, I ask for two and hand over my card, a look of desperation in my eyes.
The sound of that stamp hitting our cards was music to my ears. I thank this goddess for freeing me from the very real possibility of stumbling into a row of wine bottles and rush to buy some bread.
Almost in celebration of my survival, a parade commences, circling the booths with brightly coloured flags and festive music. The Hallmark end to a not so Hallmark storyline... considering the whole drinking fiasco.
Despite my state upon leaving, we had the best time at this festival. Having had the opportunity to talk to these wonderful people and hearing their stories created another dimension to our vacation I am so grateful for.
Our biggest takeaway, talk to the locals and let their stories reveal the true culture of the country you are in.
No tourist attraction will help you understand the real reasons behind how a country came to be what it is today. Immersing yourself in the pulse of a foreign land is an experience only the people who know it best can provide.
