The Hills of Le Langhe, Big Wine Country

Zagan the motorhome’s perched among the rolling hills of Le Langhe, on a free official sosta in the hill top village of Castiglione Falletto (N44.62294 E7.97474). Thanks very much to all of you guys who suggested we come to this area, it is a wonder, a Tuscan rival with the added benefit of a mouth-gaping, hundred-mile view of the Alps!

Zagan’s deadly quiet sleeping spot in Castiglione Falletto, a 5 min uphill cobbled stumble into the village centre

Italy! Italy! Italy! I rather like it here. Before I’d ever been, I watched The Talented Mr Ripley, and sat smiling at the screen, bewildered with the scenery, the architecture and the somehow frenetic-yet-relaxed way of life which acted as a backdrop to the film. Our own method of seeing the country seriously leans to the latter end of the spectrum, as we amble our way along, peering into its corners, but never-the-less, the place seems to seep into me.

Anyway, back to the start. Waking this morning I was ‘on the inside’, sleeping against the windscreen in our drop-down bed. My back was warm. Huh? For the past month, the windscreen’s been the place the cold’s managed to wheedle its way in. Not today. Pulling back the curtains, the untarnished blue sky hit us like a gallon of Red Bull. In the blink of an eye (OK, about an hour), we’d sorted the servicing, fed and serviced Charlie, showered and fed ourselves, programmed the sat nav and were outta Cherasco, ooing and ahing at the between-building glimpses of the distant-but-close white chocolate Alps.

The grey water point at Cherasco; someone had fun making those little rinser-fountains!

Initially in our sights was the town of Dogliani, partly because we loved the name, partly because our friend Rose suggested it, partly because Michele Ferrero was born in Dogliani, owner of the Ferroro chocolate empire. The story of Ferraro goes a little like this. Michele’s father was the son of a peasant. He and his wife ran a shop in Alba where, during WW2, they worked around the lack of cocoa by adding hazelnuts to the chocolate, rendering an early version of Nutella. I’m not sure how true that is, since this page indicates Nutella wasn’t invented until the 60’s, but whatever happened Michele ended up literally richer than Berlusconi, among the top 30 richest people in the world. Anyway, on a previous trip through Italy Ju made an attempt to get into the Ferrero factory (such does she love Nutella), but was spotted and turned back in reception. This time at least we’d get to the man’s birth town, although the place seems to make no mention of this famous son.

Dogliani

Pulling into Dogliani, we found a car park on the edge of town (overnight would be possible: N44.53131, E7.94009) and walked a couple of minutes along the river, getting the immediate vibes of a market. Accidentally hitting market day was a real bonus; as we walked the town’s tight streets and piazzas, each of them was gently buzzing with stalls and ‘parliaments’ as Ju calls them: small groups of elderly chaps using the excuse of the market trip to shoot the breeze, perhaps as their wives do the shopping?

Parliament being broken up by the lady-folk of Dogliani.

I’m not sure, but my guess is these wicked-looking puppies are used for pruning vines.

These stalls are incredible. They sell EVERYTHING, but can be entirely packed away in minutes.

More massive cheeses!

The wafts of cooked meat drew us in to snaffle a roll of roast pork-bacon-herbie wotsit and a few chips. You might guess ordering this was more of a point and nod affair than a fluid exchange in Piemontese, but we got what we wanted, and for a mere €8, we ate like ravenous, salivating kings.

And there’s still enough left for tea.

After a stroll about town, up to a viewpoint looking out over rooftops, we decamped Zagan, and drove to the other end of town. Why? Lavanderia! We found a self-service laundrette on a map Ju picked up, and had a third-person-sized weighty bag of stuff to wash, so we seized our opportunity. Finding it behind a packing up veg stall, the stall owner pointed out it was chiuso, closed. The fact it was devoid of washing machines also gave the game away, and we headed off trying to find where it’d gone. Detectiving it from a single word the stall holder mentioned, we failed, giving up when we arrived at the point we’d just driven from. Back to Zagan, we headed here.

Dogliani from above

View from Dogliani

Castiglione Falletto, our home for tonight, is a tiny hilltop village, and the drive here was fabulous. Through rolling hills layered with vineyards we pootled at a sedate pace, pulling over to let locals past so we could swoon at the views at all of 30mph. Even in winter, with the vines in their naked, shrivelled state, the countryside here is a sight.

The vines have all been trimmed back ready for the growing of grapes to begin

The ever-present wall of Alps in the background are just delightful. I swear in places we could see them curve north and east, capping Italy’s entire border, on such a monumental scale it felt almost as though we were seeing them from space.

Views on the road between Dogliani and Alba

Every Langhe hilltop seems to have a castle, crowded around by a wee town

Vines! They do white truffles around here too, although you need a mortgage or lottery win to buy one according to the Rough Guide. We’ve not spotted any in the shops yet

These are no ordinary vineyards either. These are Nebbiolo Vineyards. Am I sounding like a commercial? Sorry… These grapes go into some of Italy’s greatest wines, Barolo being the only one I’ve ever heard of, “the wine of kings, the king of wines”. Being a Wine Neanderthal (Lidl boxes taste wonderful to my thick tongue), this has little meaning to me in terms of taste. But looking around us as we drove, and within the tiny village hosting us tonight, it’s pretty clear this is a special place. UNESCO inscribed this whole area in 2014 for its cultural status. It’s beautiful to look at, but I imagine working the knee-high vines to be back-breaking work. I also imagine the locals here have great pride in their world-class product, and I imagine they feel a great affinity with the place they live.

This is a well-heeled part of the world – villas stand proud and perfect on the hills – very few crumbling doer-uppers to be seen

La Dolce Vita?

Careful, some of the roads around here are a tiny bit narrow!

I never imagined such a wonderful spot existed in this area, and there are a few more towns and sostas to be seen in the next day or two. And maybe the odd Barolo to be sampled, once we can find a Lidl!

Cheers, Jay