Stone upon stone: an Italian sojourn: Tales of Chianti country

We have left the gorgeous rolling hills and marching green cyprus of the Crete Senesi and headed further north towards Florence: a more forested area though still heavy with olives and grapes.

Here, we are staying in an Agriturismo for a week, that has been built from the ruins and remnants of an old church and village whose origins have been lost in time. There is a small section of a Roman road that is still visible in the grounds of our Agriturismo, which is in much better condition than the actual private gravel road that has caused a tug-of-war between the few neighbours who live along it. Our Agriturismo is at the very end of the rough road, so our wee car is about to feel the strain and grind of its in and out jaunts over this rocky terrain for the next little while. The road is to be repaired, but not in our time.

We mistook the road the first time. And rattled down a longer but equally ragged road to a 13th century farmhouse called 'La Ripa', overlooking Chianti country, thinking that was ours. It wasn't. It turned out to be a farmhouse owned by Mona Lisa's father, Anton Gherardini during the 15th century. Here, he produced olive oil and wine, while she was growing up. Then, in 1495, when Lisa was just 15, 'La Ripa' became part of her dowry when she agreed to become the third wife of Francesco del Gioconda. Michelangelo, who came to own a couple of farms in the same area, was commissioned by Francesco to paint his new bride. Six million visitors a year view her portrait in the Louvre: La Gioconda, many Italians call it. I wonder how many even know that her childhood home still exists in this part of Tuscany. Interestingly and charmingly, Lisa's dowry was returned to his "beloved wife" in Francesco's will, late in his life, when she, too, was well advanced in years. He wanted her to have all that she needed to make her remaining life comfortable. A love match, then, for Mona Lisa and Francesco. Unusual for the times, I would think.

In those days, had Lisa wished for an improved road to her property, it may well have been easier to accomplish. Today, private roads such as these in Chianti country have to meet extraordinary rules and regulations restricting their impact on the environment. The new road for our Agriturismo, for instance, must meet a municipal requirement, that costs well over €1000, that it be chemically stained a soft yellow, in order to suit the regulations currently approved for such rural roads. Yikes.

Down in the Crete Senesi such roads are a blinding white. I wonder now if that colour there, too, has been similarly legislated. And the regulations don't stop, of course.

One tale tells of a local who happened to be a bit of an amateur archeological sleuth. He took to microscopically digging up a portion of his property every day, uncovering history and recording it, piece by piece. But, when he came upon bones of bodies belonging to a burial ground he took rapid steps to cover over his finds with clods of earth, tamping them down well. Had he reported the bone finds to the authorities he would have been removed from his home, with no compensation, for an indefinite period, until they found time and money to organise specialists to determine what lay there, and to make a full report. All of which might take decades. How many Italians, given that, are knowingly sitting on such historical secrets, because they simply cannot afford to be moved from their homes for an indefinite period. It makes one wonder.

After our wicked freshly-baked Agriturismo breakfast of sweetheart cookies dripped with chocolate bits and chestnut puree, we headed across the road to the tiny village of San Donato in Poggia, where we have been before. We stayed here for a week some decades ago with friends and had such a memorable meal that we determined to come back this time to see if we could even find the place. We did. And, unbelievably, it was still in the same hands as when we ate here before.

So, even after our big breakfast we were easily tempted to sit down to a lunch that we could not resist. And, again, it was a Sunday. We even chose similar items on the menu that, again, were simply delicious. But with regular Michelin guide honours over the decades plastered on doors and walls that is not surprising.

San Donata village, if anything, looks lovelier, even more restored than we remember it: quite spruced and expensive: the grapes and the olives covering the surrounding hills are some of the most famous in Italy and must be holding their value.