You know my life is surrounded by nothing other than work, God, travels and being better than I am. And today, I thought of how many places I have visited and the big cities that I have gone to in Europe and I asked myself why I have never made an effort to see some of these small villages and on my next journey to Europe, I am making these villages my next destination.
Bolgheri, Italy: The Viale dei Cipressi, a three-mile road flanked by over 2,500 cypress trees (the only vegetation local buffalo don’t eat), leads straight into Bolgheri, which is set amid the vineyards of southern Tuscany’s Maremma. There’s more to this village than just the dramatic arrival, however. Stop in at Caffé della Posta, on the main square, to try one of Bolgheri’s reds: first produced in the 1980’s, these wines now rival French Bordeaux. In nearby Bibbona, five miles southeast, you’ll find the Relais Sant’Elena, a 15-room estate with canopy beds, stone fireplaces, and pasta-making classes.
Staufen im Breisgau, Germany: This enclave on the edge of the Black Forest, in southern Germany, is the ideal destination for a wine weekend. From Strasbourg, you’ll pass hills covered with terraced vineyards; the statue of a fat, naked Bacchus signals that you’ve arrived at the tiny downtown. Main Street’s pastel houses lead to the market place, which is crowned by the Town Hall, with a gothic inscription relating local history back to 770 on the façade. Join the businessmen in pinstripes at the outdoor wine bar, though a word to overindulgers: legend has it that any reveler who falls into one of the (sparkling-clean) irrigation ditches that run through town is destined to marry a local.
Lavenham, England: Lavenham, in Suffolk, may just be the prettiest town in England. It boasts more than 350 heritage houses and its high street is lined with the kind of bric-a-brac shops and teahouses (serving scones and clotted cream) that are on the endangered list throughout rural England—and all but extinct in glossier reaches, such as the Cotswolds and West Dorset. Sarah Townsend, former owner of the superchic Palazzo Terranova, in Umbria, was so charmed by the region that she just opened a small inn in nearby Buxhall.
Norcia, Italy: In this eastern Umbrian citadel, artisanal culinary traditions endure. Pecorino cheese is aged for two years, trained dogs sniff out black truffles in the woodlands, and honey is sourced from the red wildflowers that bloom in the plains. But it’s the cinghiale that takes pride of place. Throughout the centro storico, the scent of spiced wild-boar salumi carries from the norcineria (delis) into the traffic-free roads. Step past the prosciutti hanging in storefronts to find shopkeepers curing cuts of the pork with methods perfected over the past 800 years. Ask them to slice up fresh ciauscoli, and bring it to the Piazza San Benedetto, where villagers celebrate the Festival of Saint Benedict in the spring.
Folégandros, Greece: There’s no mistaking it, this tranquil spot in the Cyclades has nothing in common with neighboring Santorini: no building stands above two stories, no cruise ships pull into port, and there are no boutiques or fancy restaurants. Instead, on this remote island in the Aegean, waves crash on pebbled beaches, goats scurry up the hills, and an old wooden windmill twists in the salty breeze. It’s a delightfully quiet escape for those who have grown tired of Greece’s more trammeled getaways.
Getaria, Spain: Were it not for San Sebastián, just 15 miles away, this Basque harborside village might have become Spain’s Next Great Getaway. Instead, the port is known solely for its seafood—baby squid and turbot pulled from the Bay of Biscay and then grilled a la plancha. Prime dining is Saturday and Sunday lunch, when locals fill asadores dressed in creamy summer-weight cashmere (those in white-soled shoes arrived by boat) for that distinctly Spanish indulgence: a leisurely multicourse meal paired with bottles of white Rioja.
Marvão, Portugal: There are dramatic mountainside forts, and then there is Marvão, the king of them all. Located in the southeastern Alentejo region of Portugal, this town is centered around a Moorish castle that was Christianized in the 13th century. The stone complex, now laid open to the elements in a kind of tumbledown glory, sits atop a rocky hill, dominating the red-tile-roofed houses and convents that spill out onto curving streets to the east.
Arild, Sweden: Though there’s plenty of natural beauty in Arild, a fishing village on a peninsula in southwest Sweden, the town’s most notable site is actually man-made. In 1980 the artist Lars Vilks began nailing together driftwood and lumber in a cove at the bottom of a hillside; he even declared the place an independent country called Ladonia. After police tried to dismantle the work, artists Christo and Joseph Beuys stepped in to protect the installation. Today the public art exhibit, officially christened Nimis, is the Scandinavian version of Los Angeles’s Watts Towers. The maze of 300-foot aboveground tunnels and 45-foot-high climbing towers feels like an alternate—albeit somewhat unsturdy—universe for intrepid explorers.
Slavonice, Czech Republic: During 41 years of Communist rule, Slavonice, halfway between Prague and Vienna, was too close to the Iron Curtain for the government’s comfort. But since the Velvet Revolution in 1989, this off-the-radar hamlet—composed of two town squares and burgher houses painted with Renaissance-era graffiti of biblical scenes—has attracted painters and potters from Prague looking for refuge. We’re not betting that this village will become a mini Berlin, but British-born architect John Lifton’s Slavonice Institute, a center for art and progressive thought, may put the village on the art world map yet.
St.-Geniès, France: The Périgord, in the Dordogne, is home to two of France’s most coveted delicacies: foie gras and truffles. On market days in the tiny village of St.-Geniès, two hours east of Bordeaux, shoppers tote wicker baskets to the town square, where apron-clad vendors hawk pommes salardaises (potatoes sautéed in duck fat and garlic) and saucissons rolled in herbs.
Bolgheri, Italy: The Viale dei Cipressi, a three-mile road flanked by over 2,500 cypress trees (the only vegetation local buffalo don’t eat), leads straight into Bolgheri, which is set amid the vineyards of southern Tuscany’s Maremma. There’s more to this village than just the dramatic arrival, however. Stop in at Caffé della Posta, on the main square, to try one of Bolgheri’s reds: first produced in the 1980’s, these wines now rival French Bordeaux. In nearby Bibbona, five miles southeast, you’ll find the Relais Sant’Elena, a 15-room estate with canopy beds, stone fireplaces, and pasta-making classes.
Staufen im Breisgau, Germany: This enclave on the edge of the Black Forest, in southern Germany, is the ideal destination for a wine weekend. From Strasbourg, you’ll pass hills covered with terraced vineyards; the statue of a fat, naked Bacchus signals that you’ve arrived at the tiny downtown. Main Street’s pastel houses lead to the market place, which is crowned by the Town Hall, with a gothic inscription relating local history back to 770 on the façade. Join the businessmen in pinstripes at the outdoor wine bar, though a word to overindulgers: legend has it that any reveler who falls into one of the (sparkling-clean) irrigation ditches that run through town is destined to marry a local.
Lavenham, England: Lavenham, in Suffolk, may just be the prettiest town in England. It boasts more than 350 heritage houses and its high street is lined with the kind of bric-a-brac shops and teahouses (serving scones and clotted cream) that are on the endangered list throughout rural England—and all but extinct in glossier reaches, such as the Cotswolds and West Dorset. Sarah Townsend, former owner of the superchic Palazzo Terranova, in Umbria, was so charmed by the region that she just opened a small inn in nearby Buxhall.
Norcia, Italy: In this eastern Umbrian citadel, artisanal culinary traditions endure. Pecorino cheese is aged for two years, trained dogs sniff out black truffles in the woodlands, and honey is sourced from the red wildflowers that bloom in the plains. But it’s the cinghiale that takes pride of place. Throughout the centro storico, the scent of spiced wild-boar salumi carries from the norcineria (delis) into the traffic-free roads. Step past the prosciutti hanging in storefronts to find shopkeepers curing cuts of the pork with methods perfected over the past 800 years. Ask them to slice up fresh ciauscoli, and bring it to the Piazza San Benedetto, where villagers celebrate the Festival of Saint Benedict in the spring.
Folégandros, Greece: There’s no mistaking it, this tranquil spot in the Cyclades has nothing in common with neighboring Santorini: no building stands above two stories, no cruise ships pull into port, and there are no boutiques or fancy restaurants. Instead, on this remote island in the Aegean, waves crash on pebbled beaches, goats scurry up the hills, and an old wooden windmill twists in the salty breeze. It’s a delightfully quiet escape for those who have grown tired of Greece’s more trammeled getaways.
Getaria, Spain: Were it not for San Sebastián, just 15 miles away, this Basque harborside village might have become Spain’s Next Great Getaway. Instead, the port is known solely for its seafood—baby squid and turbot pulled from the Bay of Biscay and then grilled a la plancha. Prime dining is Saturday and Sunday lunch, when locals fill asadores dressed in creamy summer-weight cashmere (those in white-soled shoes arrived by boat) for that distinctly Spanish indulgence: a leisurely multicourse meal paired with bottles of white Rioja.
Marvão, Portugal: There are dramatic mountainside forts, and then there is Marvão, the king of them all. Located in the southeastern Alentejo region of Portugal, this town is centered around a Moorish castle that was Christianized in the 13th century. The stone complex, now laid open to the elements in a kind of tumbledown glory, sits atop a rocky hill, dominating the red-tile-roofed houses and convents that spill out onto curving streets to the east.
Arild, Sweden: Though there’s plenty of natural beauty in Arild, a fishing village on a peninsula in southwest Sweden, the town’s most notable site is actually man-made. In 1980 the artist Lars Vilks began nailing together driftwood and lumber in a cove at the bottom of a hillside; he even declared the place an independent country called Ladonia. After police tried to dismantle the work, artists Christo and Joseph Beuys stepped in to protect the installation. Today the public art exhibit, officially christened Nimis, is the Scandinavian version of Los Angeles’s Watts Towers. The maze of 300-foot aboveground tunnels and 45-foot-high climbing towers feels like an alternate—albeit somewhat unsturdy—universe for intrepid explorers.
Slavonice, Czech Republic: During 41 years of Communist rule, Slavonice, halfway between Prague and Vienna, was too close to the Iron Curtain for the government’s comfort. But since the Velvet Revolution in 1989, this off-the-radar hamlet—composed of two town squares and burgher houses painted with Renaissance-era graffiti of biblical scenes—has attracted painters and potters from Prague looking for refuge. We’re not betting that this village will become a mini Berlin, but British-born architect John Lifton’s Slavonice Institute, a center for art and progressive thought, may put the village on the art world map yet.
St.-Geniès, France: The Périgord, in the Dordogne, is home to two of France’s most coveted delicacies: foie gras and truffles. On market days in the tiny village of St.-Geniès, two hours east of Bordeaux, shoppers tote wicker baskets to the town square, where apron-clad vendors hawk pommes salardaises (potatoes sautéed in duck fat and garlic) and saucissons rolled in herbs.
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