Vino With Guido

The email said to look for a gray Mercedes van waiting outside the train station at Empoli, which would then shuttle us uphill to our hostel tucked away in the heart of Tuscany. It seemed like any other communication from a prospective accomodation, but one thing in particular caught my eye. This email was sent by a man who called himself Guido. Though we are in Italy, this name sends massive waves of cliches through my head, and each one leads to a smile. Guido? Tuscany? Mmm hmm. This was gonna be good.

At around 8:15pm, I think I see my ride approaching. On cue, it stops right in front of the station, and shortly thereafter someone emerges from the driver side. My first view of this man confirms it for me. This has to be Guido. Out spills an older, lumbering walrus of a man, his thinning dark hair slicked back (as it should be), skin tan and leathery, with dark sunglasses covering about 3/4 of his face.

"Guido?" I ask rather assuredly. He responds in a smoky rasp, "Yes-a, Paul. Ciao!" Of course it's him. I hop into the van with Kathy from Minnesota and Jenny from California, two fellow Americans who will also be staying at Leonardo's Land for a few days, and away we go.

Now, I must confess that by this point it had been nearly three days since my last full-on English conversation, and though I thoroughly enjoyed every wonderful second of my time alone, I am now revved up and ready to gab. Luckily, so are my two new lady friends, and immediately we are chatting up a storm. Amidst the giddy din of our three-way conversation, Guido interjects from time to time, offering an impromptu tour of his hometown as we snake our way up hill after hill. He tells us of his family's history with vineyards ("Wine is in-a my blood-a") and regales us with assorted other tall tales of Tuscan life. Welcome to Falcon Crest, Guido-style. We passengers are laughing at every other line he utters, partly from relief to have met new English-speaking company, partly from the anticipation of the adventures that lied ahead, but mostly because this Guido is turning out to be a real character, and exactly as we all had envisioned (or at least hoped for).

We check into the hostel, complimentary glass of Tuscan red in hand. More laughter ensues. The place itself is gorgeous, awash in the reds and oranges of a brilliant early summer Italian sunset, large open patio overlooking the picturesque valley below. The only thing more demanding of my attention than this view are the mosquitos, who are on me like white on rice. I shellack myself with repellent and forget all about them within seconds. There are other more important things to concentrate on--namely the vino, which is flowing freely through the villa as if someone uncorked a fire hydrant full of the stuff. Soon the homemade Limoncello makes its first appearance. Filling several shot glasses full of the sweet, lemony concoction for his new guests, Guido advises us how to make our own at home, as if any of us would ever attempt such a feat. "It's-a easy!", he exclaims, and each of us nod our heads in oblivious agreement as we down it slowly per his instruction. This is my first taste of Limoncello and I immediately declare my love for this refreshingly alcoholic treat, just the same way I declared my love for this hostel even before getting past the reception desk. I haven't seen my room or the rest of the property yet (though I hear there is an infinity pool on the premises), but I decide in my mind that there is no way I am staying only two days here. Three, maybe four, who knows. Perhaps I will just stay forever if they let me.

The next evening Guido takes four of us to a wine tasting at his vineyard in Toscana. The excitement in the van during the ride up is palpable. We are going wine tasting in the heart of Tuscany, just the four of us, and with Guido as our guide. Good luck trying to get a more authentic Italian experience than that. Winding our way through acres of grapes and olives, we arrive at our destination, where we begin our tour of the winery. It's not much different than any other wine tour I have been on in California (or anywhere else, for that matter) except maybe that this one has old-fashioned machinery once used to press olives into olive oil. It looks like something out of the Flintstones, with huge granite wheels just like the ones our favorite cartoon family had on their prehistoric car. Guido advises that newer, greener methods have taken the place of this antiquated setup, and that "you would-a go to jail-a" if you were caught making olive oil in this way today. During this entire discourse we are drinking red wine from huge goblets, and we haven't even officially began the tasting part of this excursion yet. Everyone is smiling big, wider every minute it seems. Drunk already, you ask? Not quite, but getting there quickly.

Finally, it's time for the main event. We gather outside at a long table under a huge shade tree overlooking the vineyard. An older Italian woman has adorned it with three bottles of wine with their requisite glasses (smaller for white, bigger for chianti), a platter loaded with large chunks of fresh Pecorino cheese and two humongous silver trays, one lined with bruschette (bread topped with garlicky chopped tomatoes) and the other with more bread completely soaked in extra virgin olive oil made right there on the premises. I think I may have died and gone to heaven as I take my seat, happily buzzed and mouth watering. Guido pours his version of a tasting into each of our glasses. Or rather, he fills them to the brim and urges us to drink-a and mangia. Nobody has to ask me twice. I dig in like its the last supper. Mamma mia! The bread is uniformly fresh and crusty, and when soaked in the housemade olive oil, it is almost incomprehensibly deliczioso. The wine is terrific, of course, the perfect accompaniment to this carb-laden feast. As we grow progressively drunker and more outspoken with each sip, the four of us begin asking Guido his opinions on various subjects. We soon find out that the only thing at this table sharper than that pecorino is Guido's wit and take on life.

He denounces Tuscany, or at least the people who live there. "I have-a no friends-a here", he laments. He doesn't much care for the rich, aloof people whom he claims reside in these parts, and though Guido has lived all over the world he can't help but keep returning home, mostly because, all together now: The wine is in-a his a-blood-a! We hear about how he lived in Germany for ten of his younger years--selling wine, of course-- and naturally, he has an opinion about the people there ("It's impossible to love-a German"). We ask him about American politics. "I like-a Obama", he concedes. Next, to the shock of the rest of us, Jenny drops the "G-bomb" on him. Being a liberal American girl from San Francisco, she asks Guido his feelings about gay marriage. His answer surprises no one.

"I have alot of gay friends-a, you want to be-a gay, then be-a gay. But for me, its not-a natural-a. I think-a marriage should-a be between a man and a woman-a".

Fair enough, I thought. But Kathy and Jenny dig in a little, trying to make him see their side of the issue. I calmly sip my wine as a friendly debate ensues. As the lone gay at the table, I feel no obligation to change anyone's mind about anything. Maybe it's all that wine, I don't know. But debating gay marriage with Guido seems pointless and unnecessary and worse yet, it's a bit of a buzzkill. Instead, I take a deeper look at this veteran of Italian life sitting there at the end of the table. Not so far beneath his grizzled layer of machismo lies a big softie of a man. You can just see it in his expressive brown eyes--Guido means no harm to anyone, least of all any of us. Whatever this man believes is about as important as my own judgements of it all, which is to say that none of it amounts to very much when compared with real compassion and real tolerance. Seen in this light, in this particular setting, Guido comes across as more than just an entertaining host and storyteller. He is also turning out to be quite the teacher.

Within a few minutes, the conversation changes to lighter topics. But the wheels are apparently still turning in Guido's head. Out of nowhere, long after the subject of gay marriage has been laid to rest, he makes a proclamation that gets us all rolling, helping to restore the easy vibe that permeated this little soiree earlier on. It seems Guido has had an epiphany. Wine isn't the only thing in this man's blood.

"You know what-a? I love-a women. And the more-a gays there are, the more-a women there are for me-a!"

Spoken with conviction like a true Italian. But please, please don't tell his girlfriend he said it.



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