by cheri sabraw
In Italy this time of year–when the fields boast their fertility, when the grape vine tendrils twirl and pirouette above their training wires like ballet dancers, when olive trees explode with star-shaped mini-buds sure to produce an oil fitting for dipping–the tourists swarm like the bees which pollinate so much here in Tuscany.
Thus, in an effort to spend a quiet three days looking across the valleys to Montepulciano and to visit Pienza–all while trying to decide if the topic of study this past week, Albert Camus, believed in hope–we decided to stay in a town of 700 residents–Montefollonico.
In Montefollonico, only 2-5 small restaurants, one large church, and a park sit on top of the hill. From our small hotel below, we hear the resonant rhythm of the church bells peal from little brother Montefollonico to big important brother–the one popular with all the pretty ladies and bedecked in finery and status–Montepulciano!