A sparkling Italian getaway

Oct 27 2007 by Our Correspondent, Western Mail

Michael O’Flaherty enjoys relaxing in the stony silence of a five-star Italian spa resort

I’M LYING face down, with my arms dangling like a clock gone wrong and staring at the floor. I’m in a cool, dark and beautiful space, with my mind floating like a butterfly (if not stinging like a bee) and my body totally relaxed. I’ve got hot massage stones on my back and it’s an incredible feeling. And it couldn’t be happening in a nicer place: a 12th Century castle converted into a five star hotel in the beautiful Tuscan countryside of Italy.

After a good breakfast, I basked in the Tuscan sunshine, swam 20 lengths of the serene blue pool and decided that exercise on that scale merited a gourmet lunch.

But first, I needed to sample the joys of a stone-based spa treatment. So I lay down, firstly on my back, while gentle hands caressed me and Lara, as in Dr Zhivago, took up her theme.

As you may have gathered, lovely Lara is a masseuse. And having warming hot stones placed on your back is a routine part of the spa treatment at the magnificent, dream-like castle where I was staying in the heart of Chiantishire.

It’s hard to imagine a place more remote from the frenetic towns and cities of the UK.

I had come to the magnificent Castello del Nero (nothing to do with the emperor who let Rome burn) at Tavarnelle Val di Pesa, for a weekend break, including treatments at the Espa spa, all wood and stone and gently flowing fountains.

The castle, now an immaculately-converted building with 50 individually decorated rooms and suites, stands amid stately 150-year-old cypress trees and 400 hectares of rolling hills in beautiful sun-soaked countryside. It’s so perfect, it resembles a film set.

About 20 minutes from the historic cities of Florence and 25 minutes from Siena (depending on the traffic), the Castello del Nero is a member of the Leading Small Hotels of the World and attracts an international cross-section of visitors.

The castle once belonged to the noble Del Nero family, priors and mayors to the city of Florence. It is under the stern protection of the Italian Fine Arts Commission, which oversaw the conversion into a lavish hotel and spa, retaining original features such as frescoes, vaulted ceilings and unique fireplaces.

Perhaps the most luxurious of rooms is the Galway suite, named after the Irish flautist Sir James Galway, who starred at the Castello’s opening night last year. One guest called the suite, which has its own private terrace, “heaven on earth”.

The Castello is an idyll, with ultimate comfort, unrivalled service, and superb cuisine, which you can take on the main terrace overlooking the dreamscape before you.

My huge room offered the luxuries of cashmere blankets, hand-embroidered linen and a goose-down duvet. The bathroom, replete with marble, was as big as my living room back home, with a deep, stand-alone bath tub to soak in.

After a beautiful night’s sleep in this luxury, it was time for a visit to a nearby vineyard, in the heart of the Chianti Classico hills, where I learned the difference between a fiasco – and a fiasco.

I wondered why the owner, Matteo Gambaro, kept talking of fiascos. I looked round, thinking a disaster had befallen his magnificent mansion, or the grapes ripening in his vineyard.

“That’s a fiasco, hanging on the wall,” said Matteo, pointing to a straw-clad Chianti bottle of the kind Britons used to make into lamps or dust-gathering candle holders. Okay, it was a bit of a style disaster, but I wouldn’t go that far.

Eventually Matteo explained that in Italy the closest meaning was flask, and designed to contain wine. It was hung from trees by workers toiling in the fields to protect the treasured contents from the sun. A far cry, I thought, from British fiascos, usually attributed to political decisions or dismal football performances.

Matteo was uncertain about this year’s vintages. Hot weather and little rain, together with water restrictions, may affect it.

“If the climate continues to change as it is, we will probably be growing bananas in 10 years time,” he said, gloomily.

Even though weekend packages at the Castello include car hire, guests are tempted to take the easy option and use the bus shuttle service running twice daily into Florence, which waits at a pre-arranged spot for the return journey.

So rich is Florence in its artistic treasures, its architecture and its associations with such geniuses as Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci that an afternoon allows only a snapshot of a city founded by the Romans in the 1st Century BC, and forever connected to the Medici family.

There’s quite enough in the city to detain visitors for a week, but staying in the city would be a completely different experience to our idyll in the hills.

After our day’s sightseeing, we eschewed the hotel’s fine cuisine for a real Italian treat, an al fresco dinner at a trattoria called La Toppa, in the ancient village of San Donato In Poggio. It was a five-course feast, prepared by a family of cooks using recipes handed down the generations.

La Toppa is derived from the Italian expression “prendere una toppa”. It means “to get drunk”.

But I am delighted to say I remained perfectly sober.

This is surely a place which constantly leaves the visitor open-mouthed in awe and admiration, without needing external stimulants at all – except perhaps a couple of hot stones.