I haven’t been to Le Marche for yonks. Heck, I haven’t been anywhere for yonks. Who has? My last jaunt abroad was an overnight flit to Paris in February last year. It was huge fun, with the opera followed by such an exhaustive bar crawl that I needn’t have booked a hotel. I only went there to retrieve my bag and have a pee before legging it to the Gare du Nord.
I pine to go away properly and I pine for Italy’s Le Marche especially. Sandwiched between the Apennines and the Adriatic, Le Marche has everything that Tuscany and Umbria have, minus the crowds and the prices (I’m talking pre-Covid of course).
The scenery is dramatic, the food — such as brodetto fish stew and herb and fennel-stuffed porchetta — is superb, and the wines are extraordinarily tasty, made from grape varieties you’re unlikely to encounter anywhere else. If wine’s your thing, you’ll love them.
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