I was standing still, almost pending, at the doorstep: all the stories and voices I had heard about that place had fascinated me for such a long time that eventually I had convinced myself to visit it.
It was quite early, the latest afternoon hours were slowly fading, but I craved a complete taste of the location before it became the characteristic meeting point I had heard many tales about.
The entrance was already evocative, recall of a rural land and a bound with the tradition, therefore I forced myself to move the first step inside, accompanied by my curiosity. I was immediately impressed by the environment around me: a grapevine originated from the ground on the left side of the room, growing to the ceiling with its branches, and down the hall, exactly in front of me, there was a handmade fresco covering the entire wall, the vibrant representation of a suspending in time estate with its vines. I had been informed that the structure was per se enchanting, but I would have never thought like this.
I sat on the right side of the bar, in front of the wide glass windows, and waited for the moment when the stories I had heard would have become reality. Children and adults were spending their spare time in serenity in front of my eyes, enjoying their rich local snacks after the daily activities. And I waited.
Imperceptibly the air changed: a tiny disturbance had slightly modified the almost familiar atmosphere that had been present until until then. And slowly they arrived.
They were regular customers, but not of the Locanda, of the Winery. That bar was their place, their meeting point where daily tasting what they considered the best local products of the territory, the robust wines and the appetizing gastronomical products served. It was a place where spending time together, where living the tradition and keeping it alive. A place where every occurred event became a tale available for who was ready to listen to it.
A place I was watching coming to life.