Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: From pitchfork to cheese tongs in Tuscany

We called in to Montisi for coffee this morning, enroute to Pienza, which was intended to be our exploration for the day. We tried to get lunch at Montisi the other day when we were roaming many of the local villages, but couldn't find a restaurant open, though there appear to be five or six in town, just not open when we're ready to eat.

While there, then, we were fascinated by the ancient look of the town, like a borgo, or fortified village, so again today, we ended up spending hours looking around, distracted by this amazing old place, which we had not intended--but really enjoyed.

After the Etruscans, after the Romans, Montisi fell into the hands of the Cacciaconti family: who were like feudal lords in a castle a'top the hill. Simone Cacciaconti was at odds with his serfs and after one unpopular decision too many the townsfolk actually drove him from his land. Pitchfork punishment, to the fore, very likely. He gathered himself an army, returned, and sacked the village, but soon came to the realisation that things could never be fine for him here unless he employed a small army to maintain control of these village rebels. So again he left, setting fire to the place; taking the villagers' animals and produce as plunder, before he high-tailed it off to Siena.

There, he eventually died, but in lieu of an heir, left his Montisi estate to the Ospedale di Santa Maria della Scala who owned a lot of property around the ridges hereabouts, and sought to rationalise it by building what in England would be called a Grange, but here in Italy is called a Grancia: a large fortified stronghold that held grain stores and the villagers.

That was in the thirteen hundreds. Not much has changed even to this day, except at the very end of World War 11, the retreating Germans, with the Allies close on their tail, blew up one of the imposing towers of the Grancia which has never been replaced. But all else remains very similar to its Medieval origins.

There are ramps for wheeling the grain up into the granary; ancient doors for locking produce safely, slanted stone walls that look tough and impenetrable. To this day, much of the village looks strong and fierce -- and unassailable. The villagers back then would have been happy with that, I think.

While we were wandering we noticed flags flying from old buildings and plaques identifying different areas of town, different Contradas, we realised: Castello, Torre, San Martino and Piazza.

These we began photographing until we found all of them. Then, at one end of town, we found an information board that told us that every year now, to celebrate getting rid of their despotic overlord Simone, the Montisians hold a Giostra di Simone, where they dress in medieval costumes and many knights of the Contradas compete in a jousting contest, complete with spearheads: to hit, at the end of a full gallop, a wooden effigy, a burrato, of the hated Simone: keeping him forever from their village. The winner takes home a painted cloth, the prize, called Il Panno. A delightful tale.

We had coffee in the only place opened, a humble little Tabacchi at one end of town that like anywhere in Italy sells the most delicious coffee. It was, as usual, packed with old men, who never said a word to us while we were there, despite our nods and smiles to them. But, in a way that we notice again and again in rural Italy, when we get up to leave, they all say, almost en masse, Arrivederci. Even when they are heavily involved in a conversation themselves. So, we left as friends. With no pitchforks poking us down the hill.

On we drove over a very twisty shortcut mountain track to Pienza, much later than we anticipated. This town could not have been more different than Montisi. Pienza was named after the pope, who was born here, Pope Pius 11, a member of the wealthy Italian Piccolomini family who, to celebrate his birthplace during his lifetime, had it re-built to his taste, and his purse.

His pockets must have been deep. Pienza is a place of elegant beauty. There is nothing rustic or rural about it in any way. It is a city of wide streets beautifully named: via dell'Amore, street of love, and via del Bacio, kiss street; filled with elegant palazzos and churches that have spectacular views over the lamb strewn countryside, Val d'Orcia, itself so famous for its beauty and produce that the countryside itself is UNESCO listed.

Piazza Pio 11 is an amazing little square flanked by the cathedral on one side and three palazzos surrounding it: a government one, one for the bishop, and the third for Pius himself, no doubt used as a summer retreat from his duties in Rome. Pienza is a Renaissance jewel that has been given UNESCO cultural status for its harmonious design.

And, as Montalcino was all about wines yesterday today, just about every second shop in Pienza was a pecorino-tasting shop. Thanks to the lambs on the surrounding hills, no doubt.

I still don't understand it, though. Most of the year there would be hardly any tourists, except for the summer. Today there were one or two busloads of Italian high school kids, and a few straggler out-of-season tourists, like us, who prefer to travel in the cooler times. And yet, all these shops with one or two staff members each, were open. Probably more staff involved in promoting and selling cheese than tourists. I do not know how they pay their rent. If they even do. Or if some wealthy benefactor is happy to run such shops as these, in such towns as these, every day of the year when most days most would sell little or nothing at all. And yet expend so much in time and effort in the tastings. It really is a mystery to me.

But the cheese is unbelievable. We learned so much. I will now be able to prepare a post prandial platter of tiny elegant pecorino cheese wedges of various flavours: medium to strong to extra sharp: sprinkling a few thick drops of a very aged balsamic over the extra sharp cheese offering, which would have been wrapped in cloth and left deep in a ditch dug into the ground for many months for maturing.

Some of the pecorino is prepared covered in ash. Some clothed in walnut leaves. Some rolled in grass. The smell of the cheese in these shops is irresistible. I will forever be in love with the taste and smell of pecorino after this day.