The sun beats down on bone dry river beds and golden hills roll past as if on conveyor belts. Driving past rows of grapevines, the landscape starts to feel familiar. There’s this thing that happens when traveling for awhile, when you need a few seconds to figure out where you are, what day it is and where you need to go next. Here in Toscana (Tuscany as we call it), this process takes a bit longer. It looks like home, it feels like home, but it’s most certainly not Northern California. Here’s why:
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