After gorging ourselves on pasta and stimulating architecture along with hordes of other tourists in Rome, my eyes were hungry for the uncrowded yellow and green landscape that started to unfold about an hour into our two-and-a-half hour drive to Castel di Sangro in Abruzzo. I found myself glued to the car window with my phone out, trying to capture images of the verdant countryside only interrupted by brief, steep mountains that seemed to erupt from the earth with no warning. Eventually I learned that the beauty was basically impossible to capture, but also that each range one-upped the last—our surroundings only became more breathtaking by the moment. I cranked "Going Up The Country" by Canned Heat, put my hands in my lap, and let it all wash over me.
Our first stop, Casadonna Reale, is an understated building converted from a 16th-century monastery into a hotel and 3-Michelin-starred restaurant located inside Parco Nazionale d'Abruzzo. After a brief late-afternoon drizzle, it was basking in golden light, under a literal rainbow. Situated on 15 acres of fertile land, Casadonna Reale is home to an inventive vineyard, groves of fruit trees, gardens of aromatic herbs, and a culinary school called "Niko Romito Formazione." It is a veritable agri-tourism center, and any weary travelers' dream sanctuary.
I felt at home the moment I crossed the threshold. Abruzzo natives Niko and Cristiana Romito, a self-taught sibling duo, have appointed their nine guest rooms with the tranquillity of simple lines and soothing neutral hues. Our room came equipped with a small swimming-pool-sized bathtub, in which we promptly enjoyed a bottle of Vigneto Casadonna Pecorino and a hot soak surrounded by the quiet drama of nature.
Dinner is nine courses, one of which is comprised entirely of varieties of bread. My favorite was a warm, dark globe baked with local ancient grains encased within a crunchy, crystal salt-baked crust. After, small rectangles of watermelon were so cleanly cut and presented beneath raw marinated tomatoes that at first, I couldn't recognize what was on my plate. A warm cup of celery, carrot and onion infusion with a drizzle of olive oil and single sage leaf is one of the most perfect things I've ever consumed. The next morning, an apt bookend to our stay at Casadonna was a rainbow of fresh fruit juices along with a mountain of traditional pastries and breads.
Our next stop was Sextantio Albergo Diffuso a hotel located inside a tiny restored medieval village on top of a mountain within another National Park: Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga. (35 percent of Italy's land is forested, 5 percent of which is preserved within national parks.) Fortified mountain villages such as this one are a quintessential thread in the tapestry of Abruzzo's rich cultural history. At its core, Sextantio strives to preserve ancient architecture and perpetuate ancestral customs while providing visitors with quiet and deeply restful luxury. Rooms are outfitted with fireplaces and dark wooden furniture, bathrooms are housed in cave-like structures; candle light seems to emanate from every corner. Once ruled by the Medici family, the village of Santo Stefano di Sessanio was a business hub for shepherds, merchants, and craftsmen. As tribute to this past, the hotel's activities include various kinds of cooking classes, weaving courses, soap making, and truffle hunting. I messaged the incredibly accommodating reception staff on Whatsapp to book truffle hunting for the following morning.
With a certain pride, our hosts explained that the Abruzzese are hill people who have lived simple peasant lifestyles for centuries. As such, Sextantio's restaurants aim to recreate uncomplicated age-old recipes using only native, local ingredients. At La Locanda Sotto Gli Archi we feasted on bowls of smooth, dark lentils, thick spaghetti alla chitarra, garlic-balsamic green beans, and delightfully al dente rapini. Let's not forget the ever-steady flow of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, a round, full-bodied red wine that is basically the region's team mascot.
The next morning we got up early and met our camouflage-clad guides on the edge of town. As soon as we got into their car, some prehistoric part of my brain seemed to awaken, activating all my senses for the first time in a long time. I was swapping my usual subway commute and endless hours of screen time for foraging in the woods with animals. We drove for about 15 minutes above a sea of morning fog covering the valleys until we arrived at a trail in the woods. We got out of the car, our hosts opened the car's back door, and out leapt two springer spaniels, Dori and Lea. They had each been trained since puppyhood to sniff out wild truffles and turn them into their owners in exchange for a provolone cheese reward. Lea tended to keep the truffle for herself when she wasn't offered an alternate prize fast enough. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I should quit my day job and become a truffle hunting dog like Lea? We meandered through the sun-dappled forest where autumn was just beginning to kiss the trees as our trusty team, tails wagging throughout, gradually unearthed five truffles. A very lucky haul. Outdoors in a gorgeous Italian forest, led by expert locals with adorable dogs, we had never been happier.