I am a solo traveler. A solo traveler with limited funds and transport by train and bus only. Therefore, it is impossibile to visit all of the winemakers I want to meet and taste with. With the end of my trip in sight, I began to wish for time travel or better yet, “beam me up” abilities. Or perhaps…… a wine festival? Yes! I wanted about 400 of Italy’s best winemakers and it would be good to throw in a few from France, Austria, and Germany. And what the hell, Serbia and Slovenia too!  Well, the Wine Gods smiled down upon me and said “Signorina Whitney (they speak Italian),  we give you the Merano Wine Festival (they are bilingual). Arrive on November 7.” Perfetto!

I spent three days in a beautiful historic building called the Kurhaus in the idyllic town of Merano. I was armed with a glass, a book of producers and the combined feeling of excitement and being completely overwhelmed. Where to go first? Which room? Should I taste all of Italy first, then move to Bordeaux? Should I start with Champagne or do that midday to cleanse the palate? What about the international rooms? Help! After a brief pep talk (with myself) in the ladies’ bathroom, I decided to just dive in and ask questions later.

I began the first day with 55 Italian biodynamic/organic producers which was one of my favorite days of tasting. These are producers making wine with the most minimal addition of sulfites, if any, and with no chemical treatment to the vineyards. Some are fermenting the wine without the use of temperature control and with only wild yeasts.  It is a riskier process, but one I feel is worth the effort. The wine is just as outstanding as it’s conventional counterparts and much healthier. For your body and for the land. After three days of wine and food tastings, my palate was exhausted. I had run a marathon race with my mouth. I can’t even imagine what a festival like Vinitaly would be like. Perhaps an Iron Man race? In any case, I left Merano with a wine-stained glass and a lot of new friends. Was it everything I had hoped for? Yes, and more. Grazie Wine Gods. You’re the best!

To take a rest from the world of all things grape, I spent one week in a town called Monteriggioni (about 20 minutes from Siena) in the heart of Tuscany to pick some olives. Every day I was immersed in clusters of ripe olives and smooth silvery green leaves. I would pull my hands down the thin branches to gently release the olives and I could spend an hour or more on one tree to make sure every single olive was found and picked. Sometimes, I would crawl to the interior of the tree and gaze out through the canopy of olives and branches. It was kind of like my very own grown up fort. Or perhaps, my very own secret olive grove? Yes, I realize I already have a secret vineyard. But, a gal can have an olive grove too, for pete’s sake.

Each day we would set out to a new untouched section of the grove and work our way down the hill tree by tree. We’d start by spreading out the World War II parachutes we used as tarps to collect all of the falling olives. And then we got to work. After collecting around 30 crates (which could take almost 2 days of work), the olive mill was switched on and ready to press! All of this work is being done biodynamically and organically without the use of any chemical treatment to the trees or surrounding land. The olives are cold pressed, then left in stainless tanks for 6-8 weeks. Then bottled. That’s it. The “mill” is a super fancy machine that was created just a few years ago. Jens Schmidt, the owner and my gracious host, was the second person to have ever bought the machine and people all over the country and the world have come to visit to learn how to operate it.

The grove sits on a large piece of land with an amazing villa called, Villa Montecastello. Jens has lovingly restored it after more than a decade of work and has cultivated a healthy biodynamic land in which he has a full garden, wild herbs, cinta senese pigs, a family of donkeys, chickens, guinea fowl and even a few pigeons. It really is a magical little place. Not a bad place to call the office. Or home, for that matter. I think I could get used to this kind of life.