Wine, time and transformation The scent woke me. Not an alarm, not a voice - just that yeasty, intoxicating pull of fermentation working in the dark. It reached through the window, through my first sleep, drew me from bed the way the aroma of those ripe figs had drawn me when we first arrived in Bucita that September of 1977. Siren calls, both of them. Irresistible. I made my way to the cellar. Cool stone underfoot, a single light carving shadows from the darkness. My cousins were already there, not doing much of anything. Just present. Just attending. We didn't talk much. Didn't need to. The wine was holding court - that gentle gurgle and hiss of wild yeast doing ancient work in wicker-wrapped demijohns that might have held our great-grandparents' wine. Outside, the stream. Wind whistling through the clay tiles. A light breeze carrying the scent of September hills. Outside, a waft of bergamot. Inside, just the slow burn of transformation. This was the wakeful hour between sleeps - that pause where nothing productive happens but everything important does. We weren't checking temperatures or consulting charts. We were simply there, breathing the same air as the working wine, letting time notice itself. Years later, I would learn that humans used to sleep this way: two sleeps with a conscious interval between. That our bodies still want to wake at 3am not because something's wrong, but because something's deeply right - something's remembering. In that Bucita cellar, I was living in that remembered rhythm without knowing its name. The wine taught me before science did: transformation cannot be rushed. Attention cannot be scheduled. The slow burn asks nothing but presence.For most of human history, no one slept through the night. At least not the way we think of it now - that continuous eight-hour block we're told is "normal" and worry we're broken when we can't achieve it. Our ancestors slept in shifts. First sleep, then a wakeful hour or two around midnight, then second sleep until dawn. Historical records from Europe, Africa, Asia describe this pattern as unremarkably as we might describe breakfast. People woke around midnight, tended fires, prayed, made love, visited neighbors, contemplated their dreams. Then returned to sleep. It wasn't insomnia. It was the rhythm. The interval between sleeps had a quality. Not dead time but noticed time - the kind of attention that shapes how we experience duration. Without artificial light, those midnight hours felt different. Slower, richer, more permeable. Time you could actually feel passing through you rather than rushing past you. We lost this rhythm through the steady creep of efficiency. First oil lamps, then gas lighting, then electricity turning night into usable waking time. Factory schedules demanding continuous blocks of rest to maximize continuous blocks of labor. By the early 20th century, eight uninterrupted hours had become the ideal, and anyone who woke in between was failing at sleep. But the body remembers. That 3am waking isn't malfunction - it's your biology looking for the pause that used to be there.   Emotion changes how we experience time. Not metaphorically. Literally. When we're anxious, our internal clock slows and minutes stretch. When we're engaged and present, time flows. Sometimes it compresses. What's really happening is we stop measuring and start experiencing. In that Bucita cellar, time felt slow not because it was boring but because it was full. Rich with sensory detail, emotional presence, the kind of attention that creates memory. That's why I can still smell that cellar 48 years later, still feel the cool stone, still hear the gurgle of fermentation and the stream outside. This is what the slow burn creates: noticed time. Time you're actually present for. Traditional winemaking built this into its structure. You couldn't rush fermentation, couldn't force aging, couldn't engineer away the waiting. You had to attend. Check on things not because a timer went off but because the smell called you, because you were in relationship with the working wine. The worry, the satisfaction, the anticipation building over months or years - that was the emotional texture that made the wine, and the winemaker, who they were.But like sleep, wine got efficient. Temperature-controlled stainless steel eliminated the need for midnight visits. Cultured yeasts made fermentation predictable. Micro-oxygenation accelerated aging that used to take years. We learned to make technically perfect wine faster, more consistently, with less risk and less attention. We compressed the intervals out. And something strange happened: the faster wine got, the more anxious the wine business became. Will it score well? Will it sell? Is it ready yet? What's the trend? The constant low-grade stress of quarterly thinking, of wines engineered for immediate pleasure because no one wants to wait, of measuring everything in 90-day cycles and shareholder value. We traded the slow burn of deep engagement for the constant simmer of low-grade stress. The irony is brutal: efficiency was supposed to free us from the tyranny of time, but instead it just changed the quality of our captivity. The old way was slow but emotionally rich. The new way is fast but feels endless. We're always working, always optimizing, always behind. Time drags even though everything's supposedly faster. We compressed sleep into one efficient block and wonder why we wake anxious. We compressed winemaking into predictable timelines and wonder why wine has lost its story. Same problem. Same loss.  Some winemakers still work the old way. Still visit the cellar when the smell calls them. Still wait for fermentation to finish on its own terms. Still let wine sleep through winters in barrel, waking and resting in its own rhythm. They're not behind the times. They're remembering a different relationship to time itself. This isn't about rejecting technology or romanticizing poverty. That Bucita cellar was hard work, make no mistake. But it was work done in human time, emotional time, noticed time. The slow burn isn't slower. It just feels different. Richer. More alive.I've spent forty years in the wine business translating the Italian wine message to a country that mostly wanted Chardonnay and Cabernet. I've seen wines score 95 points and disappear in a year. I've seen wines with no scores at all become someone's epiphany, their own golden bottle in the cabinet, their own jasmine and honey moment they'll remember decades later. What survives isn't the efficient wines. It's the ones that held their time. When researchers remove artificial light and clocks from people's lives - put them in conditions like our ancestors knew - they naturally return to the old rhythm. Two sleeps. The wakeful interval between. The body remembers what the culture has forgotten. I think about that Bucita cellar often now. How the smell called me. How we just stood there, cousins in the half-dark, breathing with the working wine. How time felt - not fast or slow but present. The slow burn isn't a technique. It's a relationship with time itself - the kind our ancestors knew in their bones, in their two sleeps and wakeful intervals, in their patient attendance to things that cannot be rushed. We're not behind the times when we wake at 3am or make wine the long way or wait for figs to ripen in their own season. We're remembering what time is for.     © written and photographed (In Calabria) by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

Here's the thing nobody's saying out loud: northern Italy is dying faster than the south. Not literally. Not yet. But the vines are telling a story that contradicts oodles of years of wine history. Barolo is sweating. Chianti is scrambling. Prosecco is looking nervously at the thermometer. Meanwhile, on a volcano in Sicily and in the forgotten hills of Basilicata, indigenous grapes that have spent millennia dealing with heat and drought are suddenly looking like the smartest bet in Italy. For the first time in modern wine history, the center of gravity is shifting. Not because of fashion or critics or investment. Because of physics. Because southern Italy—the part that was always too hot, too rustic, too other—turns out to be the part that already knows how to survive what's coming. This isn't about eight random wines from across Italy. It's about eight wines from the south—Sicily, Basilicata, Puglia, Calabria—that show what the next twenty years might look like. The Counterintuitive Reality In 2024, climate scientists published projections that should terrify anyone who loves Italian wine: 90% of traditional wine regions in coastal and lowland areas could be at risk by century's end.1 Not "might struggle." At risk of disappearing. But here's the twist. Northern vineyards—Nebbiolo in Piedmont, Sangiovese in Tuscany, even Chardonnay in Emilia-Romagna—are showing more heat stress than vineyards in Sicily and Basilicata, despite getting more rain.2 Why? Because northern vines evolved for cool, damp conditions. They're planted on steep hillsides with shallow soils designed to shed water. When extreme heat arrives, they have no defense. They're climate refugees on their own land. Southern indigenous varieties—Aglianico, Nero d'Avola, Carricante, Nerello Mascalese—have been coping with drought and sun for eons. Deep roots. Late ripening. Thick skins. They're not adapting to climate change. They were built for it.3 Winemakers in Emilia-Romagna are already ripping out Chardonnay they planted thirty years ago and replanting indigenous varieties.4 Some experts now predict Chardonnay won't be viable anywhere in Italy within a generation.5 Meanwhile, on Mount Etna and in Vulture, production is expanding. The wines that will define the next twenty years aren't the ones fighting the future. They're the ones that already live there. Tenuta delle Terre Nere "San Lorenzo" (Etna) The Evidence: High-altitude volcanic viticulture as the blueprint. James Suckling named this Italian Wine of the Year for 2025.6 Not as a trend pick—as a model. Made from Nerello Mascalese planted in the 1950s at 600-900 meters on volcanic ash, it captures everything the future demands: late ripening, natural acidity, minerality, freshness despite warmth. Etna isn't just making great wine. It's showing other regions what survival looks like. Ungrafted vines on porous volcanic soil. Elevation that creates natural cooling. Indigenous varieties that ripen slowly even when the mercury climbs. This isn't innovation—it's validation of what southern Italy knew all along. The next twenty years will see this model replicated: higher, cooler, volcanic, indigenous. Etna got there first. Elena Fucci "Titolo" (Aglianico del Vulture, Basilicata) The Evidence: Southern volcanic terroir competing with the North—and winning. Aglianico has always been Italy's secret weapon. Planted on the slopes of an extinct volcano in Basilicata, it makes wines with the structure of Barolo, the aging potential of Brunello, and the effortless ability to handle heat.7 Elena Fucci's "Titolo" is single-vineyard, ungrafted, aged in large oak—proof that southern Italy doesn't need to imitate Piedmont. It already has the goods.  Basilicata is positioned to become what Etna was fifteen years ago: the overlooked southern region that suddenly everyone realizes has been making world-class wine all along. Volcanic soils, high altitude (600-800m), late-ripening indigenous grapes. All the climate advantages, none of the hype.  When collectors discover Vulture—and they will8—Elena Fucci will be one of the reasons. Cantine del Notaio "L'Atto" (Aglianico del Vulture, Basilicata) The Evidence: Biodynamic viticulture + research = understanding what actually works. Gerardo Giuratrabocchetti isn't just making wine—he's running experiments. Testing how altitude affects ripening. Studying ancient cave-aging systems carved into volcanic tuff in the 1600’s. Documenting which biodynamic practices actually build resilience in a warming climate. "L'Atto" is the estate's research-driven single vineyard bottling. It's structured, mineral, built to age for decades. But more importantly, it represents southern Italy doing the unglamorous work of figuring out why these vineyards work—so the knowledge can travel. If Basilicata emerges as a serious global player, it'll be because producers like Cantine del Notaio did the science. Maugeri "Carricante" (Etna) The Evidence: Volcanic whites rivaling the world's great expressions—and just getting started. While the world fell for Etna Rosso, Carricante was quietly evolving into one of Italy's most compelling white grapes. Electric acidity, volcanic minerality, precision that draws comparisons to Chablis and Mosel Riesling. High-altitude (eastern slopes, 700-900m), cool microclimate, built to age. Carla Maugeri's family estate is making some of the most profound whites in Italy9—proof that Etna's potential goes far beyond red wine. In twenty years, this could be the white wine sommeliers obsess over. The architecture is already there. Generazione Alessandro (Etna) The Evidence: The next generation claiming the volcano—on their own terms. Benedetto Alessandro represents the third wave.10 He grew up making wine in western Sicily, studied the pioneers (de Grazia, Foti), then convinced his cousins to buy land on Etna's northeastern slopes in 2016. His wines are modern, fruit-forward, precise—intentionally different from the brooding traditional style. Some will call them too clean. Others will call them the future. What matters: young Sicilian winemakers are taking over Etna, and they're not interested in imitating anyone. That creative tension—between reverence and rebellion—is where the next twenty years will be written. Tenute Rubino "Torre Testa" (Susumaniello, Puglia) The Evidence: Rescued indigenous varieties that thrive in drought. Susumaniello nearly went extinct in the 1990s. The grape's production drops dramatically after a decade—less than a kilogram per plant—which made it economically unviable when Puglia focused on volume. But Luigi Rubino understood something others missed: those few bunches that remain produce wines of extraordinary concentration and elegance.11 The grape is naturally hardy and resistant to extreme climate.11 Bush-trained vines with deep root systems, grown in Salento's arid soils with minimal water, Susumaniello is precisely what climate resilience looks like. Tenute Rubino's "Torre Testa" is their flagship single-vineyard bottling—intense, structured, built for aging—proof that Puglia's forgotten grapes are actually its future. When the Mediterranean gets too hot for irrigation-dependent varieties, Susumaniello will still be thriving.   Librandi "Duca Sanfelice" (Cirò Riserva, Calabria) The Evidence: Ancient terroir meeting the future head-on. Cirò is considered one of the oldest wines in the world—allegedly served to Olympic champions in ancient Greece. The Librandi family brought it to international attention in the 1990’s, proving that Calabria's indigenous Gaglioppo grape, grown on calcareous marl soils near the Ionian Sea, could make world-class wine.12 Gaglioppo has thick skins and thrives in hot, dry conditions.12 Sea breezes moderate the intense summer heat. Many vineyards still use alberello—traditional bush-vine training that's naturally drought-resistant. "Duca Sanfelice" is Librandi's top Cirò Riserva, aged two years before release, made from old alberello vines. It's structured, complex, and built for the long haul. Calabria faces "harsh climate, persistent drought and high temperatures"12—but Gaglioppo was born for this. While northern Italy scrambles to adapt, Cirò just keeps doing what it's done for ages. Planeta"Santa Cecilia" (Nero d'Avola, Sicily) The Evidence: Drought-tolerant indigenous variety as climate solution. Nero d'Avola is Sicily's most important red grape, and for good reason: it thrives in scorching heat, retains refreshing acidity at high sugar levels, and requires minimal irrigation thanks to deep root systems.13 In a region receiving under 550mm of rain annually, these aren't luxuries—they're survival traits. Planeta's "Santa Cecilia" comes from the Noto hills in southeastern Sicily, where Nero d'Avola originated. Dry-farmed, grown on sandy soils in extreme heat, this is wine made exactly as the climate crisis would design it. The 2024 InnoNDA research project is exploring how to reduce alcohol levels by up to 4% without sacrificing flavor13—direct response to both consumer and climate pressures. Nero d'Avola isn't adapting to climate change. Climate change is proving that Nero d'Avola was right all along. What They Share Every wine on this list is responding to the same pressure: a world that's getting hotter, drier, more extreme. But they're not responding by adapting—they're responding by being exactly what they've always been. Southern volcanic terroir. Indigenous late-ripening varieties. Drought-resistant root systems. Traditional bush-vine training. These aren't innovations. They're inheritances. But none of them is pretending the climate isn't changing. The great irony is that southern Italy—historically dismissed as too hot, too rustic, too far from the action—is suddenly the part of Italy with structural advantages. Volcanic soils retain water. High altitude creates cooling.14 Indigenous varieties already know how to handle stress. These aren't adaptations. They're inherent in the legacy of Southern Italy. Northern Italy will adapt—it's already happening. But the momentum, the resilience, the built-in advantages? For the first time in modern history, they belong to the south.  Twenty years from now, when someone asks what defined Italian wine in the 2020s and 2030s, will the answer be Super Tuscans or cult Barolos? Or will it be the moment Italy remembered that the grapes that thrived before air conditioning, before irrigation, before chemical interventions? —the ones that inherently knew how to survive? The future was always there. It just had to get as hot as a volcano to be noticed.   Notes 1. Van Leeuwen, C., et al. "Climate change impacts and adaptations of wine production." Nature Reviews Earth & Environment, March 26, 2024. Study projects that "about 90% of traditional wine regions in coastal and lowland regions of Spain, Italy, Greece and southern California could be at risk of disappearing by the end of the century because of excessive drought and more frequent heatwaves." 2. Guado al Melo, "Climate change and viticulture: appropriate or irresponsible choices?" The analysis notes: "It may sound absurd, but in recent summers there have been more stress problems in certain parts of the north of Italy than in the center and south, albeit that it has rained even less here." The explanation: northern vines evolved for cool conditions with shallow root systems on steep hillsides designed for drainage, while southern varieties and growers are already adapted to semi-arid conditions. 3. Decanter, "Beating the heat: How Italy's winemakers are responding to climate change," January 19, 2023. - by Aldo Fiorelli. Consultant Antonini: "The most resistant varieties are usually the indigenous ones in specific regions, for example Carricante in Sicily." 4. VinePair, "Italian Winemakers Are Finding Creative Ways to Battle Climate Change," - by Rebecca Van Hughes. January 6, 2022. Expert Bordini notes that "many wine producers in the region he lives in, Emilia-Romagna, began favoring Chardonnay over native varieties like Albana around 30 years ago. Now, however, they are returning to the indigenous varieties." 5. Ibid. Bordini states: "I think soon, it will not be possible to cultivate Chardonnay anywhere in Italy." 6. James Suckling, "Top 100 Wines of Italy 2025." The Tenuta delle Terre Nere Etna Rosso San Lorenzo 2023 was named Italian Wine of the Year with a 98/100 score. Available at jamessuckling.com. 7. Eric Guido, "Getting in on the Ground Floor: Aglianico del Vulture." Vinous, May 2024. Comprehensive report on the region's producers, including Elena Fucci, Basilisco, Grifalco, and Cantine del Notaio. 8. WineNews, "Vulture is 'Città Italiana del Vino' 2026," September 23, 2025. The Vulture region was selected for the prestigious 2026 designation, recognizing its "strategic vision and inter-municipal cooperation" in wine tourism and territorial development. 9. Gambero Rosso, "Italy wine guide 2025: the special awards," October 17, 2024. Maugeri was recognized with a special award: "In just three harvests, the winery of Renato Maugeri and his daughters Carla, Michela, and Paola has established itself as one of the denomination's most significant." 10. Wine Spectator, "The Volcano's Third Wave: What's New in Etna Wine?" February 23, 2024. By Robert Camuto. Feature on Benedetto Alessandro and other young Sicilian winemakers representing Etna's new generation. 11. Vinissimus, "Susumaniello." The grape is described as "vigorous, resistant to extreme climate, excellent for blending." Tenute Rubino's website notes: "Despite its notorious hardiness and resistance to pathogens, for many years Susumaniello was on the verge of falling into oblivion, until Tenute Rubino recovered it, enhancing its versatility and making it the emblem of its production philosophy." 12. Concours Mondial de Bruxelles, "Cirò – Calabria's flagship wine." Raffaele Librandi, head of the Consortium of Doc Cirò: "In addition to our unique terroir, a great tradition of winemaking is reflected in the quality of our wines." Gaglioppo has thick skins and is genetically linked to Sangiovese. VinoVoss notes that Calabria's "harsh climate, with its persistent drought and high temperatures" has shaped the region's viticulture. 13. Vinerra, "Nero d'Avola: An In-Depth Grape Profile." The grape "retains a lively acidity even at high sugar levels, producing fresh, balanced wines in extreme heat." It excels under dry-farmed conditions thanks to "its deep root system and drought resistance." The 2024 InnoNDA Project is "aiming to reduce alcohol levels by up to 4% without sacrificing flavour or intensity—a direct response to consumer and climate pressures." 14. Gambero Rosso International, - by Donato Notarachille. "Above 1,000 meters: wine moves to higher altitudes to face climate change," October 17, 2024. Winemaker Michele Lorenzetti: "There are areas where high-altitude winemaking has been practiced successfully for a long time, like Valtellina, Valle d'Aosta, and Mount Etna, where excellent wines are made around 1,000 meters."       © written and photo-synthesized by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W