Photo credit: Carl Pendle
What if I traveled, not to experience something foreign, but to discover a destination where I truly felt at home?
What if there is a place – my kind of place – where kisses come in twos, courses in fours and laughter is limitless?
A place where rosemary dances in the air with a whiff of musty cork, and you catch yourself, smiling, in the rearview mirror?
Take me to this place, where there are no corners to cut, just bends to explore.
Where every curve in the road offers a new perspective, and each fork in the road leads to a mouthful that ends in a satisfied sigh.
Feed my curiosity at a table where anticipation is the sweetest thing, and my cup is constantly topped with knowledge.
I want to uncover a place of pleasure-seekers, where wine pulses through people’s veins and they share not out of generosity, but from genuine love.
Show me this place, where the land is a bounty never taken for granted; where Mother Nature rewards with damp-scented truffles and shady hazelnut trees.
Follow me to a place where the wind feels better in your hair, and clusters of medieval villages perch in the distance; where coffee is black after 11am but the hills are always green.
Meet me at this place, full of strangers joking like long-lost friends, where white-haired men and women sit contented for hours – because they are.
You’ll find me in this place – one with the soil, the sky and the vines – hungry for life, surrounded by a language of gusto and song.
So join me, in Langhe, a place where time passes slowly and every moment is savoured like the spoon my mother used to let me lick.
Photo credit: Carl Pendle
