by Tom Winter

The warm scents of the Mediterranean followed us as we turned inland from Italy's Mediterranean coast and headed toward the mountains. We could see through the early spring haze that there was snow up there; an unlikely rumor from under the palms that dotted the promenades of the coastal fishing villages.

With daylight fading, we arrived at the walled city of Lucca, where tourists stared at our skis as we unloaded the gear. Tomorrow we'd leave the foothills surrounding the town and head deeper into the heights, but tonight we'd savor Tuscan classics: homemade pastas and panzanellas washed down with a local vintage, the bottles dusty and labeled merely with a sticker denoting the address of the restaurant and the date the red was bottled.

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Source: http://www.boulderweekly.com/