A casual September Friday night by myself, well almost…except for some cheesy nachos topped with spicy guacamole, that glass of classic red wine, and soothing jazz lounge music. The flicker of the warm yellow light bulb at the wood-adorned bar takes me on a what-if thought process. What if I could take a couple of weeks off, away from the corporate setting, and get immersed into some manual work at a vineyard, under the Tuscan sun? Possibly get my hands and feet dirty as I crush grapes that would make it to bottled wine? A few web searches, applications, and calls later, and there I was getting my 3-hour flight to Italy! Looking through the airplane window and into the clouds, I can already picture myself recounting endless tales, by way of cheeky banter, of binging on grapes and wine whilst soaking up the sun and chatting up Italians. The commute to Castegnato Carducci, lodging, roommates, meals, and the hosts themselves, were all an enigma, but classified as minute details in my head. Being a wine enthusiast could possibly prepare me enough… I equipped myself with hats, sunscreen, water, pruning scissors - by nine o’clock the following morning I started to sweat it out on the vineyard. Grace, my American roommate, had already helped me settle at a dusty tree-house, where flushing systems were malfunctioning and a lizard staring in your face whilst asleep was apparently normal. I got introduced to Jack, a 23-year old godlike Swedish musician who was on a soul-finding journey and who every other day cut his fingers whilst harvesting Merlot, Syrah, and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes. By the time the hot morning sun drained all my energy, and a camaraderie of mosquitoes suck my blood (whilst grasshoppers and similar livings sat on my arms and shoulders), the large cast iron bell would ring as if to shout “Lunchtime!”. Beer and wine were, unexpectedly, a recurrence, even though labour would await us afterwards. Pecorino, stracciatella, parmigiana, pasta, anchovies, salsiccia, panzanella, and frezine were the order of the day. Valeria, a 60-year old woman in charge of the farm, would extrude all her pride for the plates of nourishment she had composed in less than two hours, after previously driving around the field in her red tractor. A concluding espresso oftentimes got delayed by some two hours, especially when major wine exporters came to visit, getting knowledgeable about organic and bio-dynamic wines, whilst wolfing down food and sharing anecdotes from their own winery business and their network’s (including the Ferragamo’s). Sunsets at the farm meant Enrico, Valeria’s husband, and owner of an esteemed wine bar in Florence, would join us and harvest the remaining grapes at a confounding velocity, whilst, like a grandpa teaching his grandchildren, explain how to become a sommelier, how sun and wind dry out grapes and make them harvest-ready, and how eating moldy grapes will not necessarily null all your senses and pin you to the ground. If, in lucky circumstances, some €1000 of wine from the farm was making its way offshore, Valeria’s endorphin rush would send us, the vineyard team, to an evening of wandering around town or winding down at the beach. Janine and Imca, the Dutch girls on team, were the designated drivers, but when we ran out of fuel and ended up pushing our Lancia Ypsilon up a steep hill, our feet had to carry us. When heading back to the farm in dusk, or even pitch darkness, however, music also came in handy - porcupines, wild boars, and deer habitually go on night hunts, and as the legend goes, the only way to keep them away is by unleashing your highest singing notes; in our case to the tunes of ‘Hit the road Jack’, Britney Spears, and the Spice Girls. Back at my home office desk, I am now sipping my favourite Merlot, whilst identifying the aromas, smells, and feelings it transmits. My Tuscan days haven’t made me a sommelier, but taking such a leap of faith certainly challenged me to push my boundaries. In the meantime, I take the next jump, as I start drafting the business plan for a local niche winery…