The wind brought us to Basilicata. That's deep, deep, deep Italy. What I did know is that Francis Ford Coppola had a hotel there. What I didn't know is that there was a wine waiting for me that I found even tastier than the Amarone. And that has been at the top of my list for years.

Anyway. Let me take you on my Francis Ford Coppola quest. The good man has a hotel in Belize. Let that be the name of my middle daughter. I have to go. We HAVE to go. But Belize is quite a tough place. Long flight anyway, they say a lot of drugs, okay we Dutch can handle that, but also a lot of sea and swimming pools so all the kids have to be able to stay afloat without aids before we go.

Francis has an Italian outpost, Villa Margherita, in Bernalda, Basilicata. Seemed like a great tasting station to me. Cautiously, I had fantasies about a meeting with Sofia who was also recharging there for a few days and an intimate friendship that would follow, bringing me to many frows and film premieres and of course many profound and introspective woman-to-woman conversations.

The hotel was pricey. Too pricey. For a little room for this traveling circus, we quickly had to shell out €4500 for three nights. Now, wasting is one of my better qualities, but this was a bit too much for me.

Fortunately, Francis built a bar at his hotel. Moderately original, called Cinecittà, after the Roman film paradise of yore. The fun part is that when you enter Bernalda, a very mediocre town by the way, you certainly don't have to do it for that, you are not pointed to The Hotel and The Famous Owner anywhere. It’s because I speak a bit of Italian that I found it. And my love recognized the gray color of the doors from the photos on the site. We parked the car and walked into the palazzo. From now on, life would never be the same.

I ordered a frappé (one can suddenly crave that on a wild summer day), a caffè, and three fresh spremute for the girls. They needed to pee. All of them. A perfect excuse to check out the place completely, The girls saw a fountain in the inner garden and ran towards it. I followed. Sofia awaited me…

As I moved in an upward trot towards the water ballet, I heard voices behind me. Sofia? Francis? Marc-who-is-here-gathering-inspiration-with-Sofia? Inez-and-Vinoodh-in-discussion-with-Sofia-for-fresh-Vuitton-Campaign? I looked back. I saw. 2 excited chambermaids. 1 Manager. 1 Assistant manager. Two, excusez, ugly American tourists who hiked their pants high over their fat bellies and “styled” them with plastic sandals. In their hands ostentatiously the thick room keychain. I pay so I decide their credo. That much was clear.

Whether we would please leave the courtyard was the request. Out of respect for the guests. Because? It’s not like we had three machine guns hanging over our shoulders or something. The path from the toilet to the courtyard had been quite open. To quote Prince, I said; I don’t want to be ruhuhude. So we headed back to the terrace where we were welcome. The good news; with the coffee, delicious homemade pieces of chocolate cake were served and we paid a pittance for all the service. But further… I leave my review at a heartfelt ‘meh’.

Our accommodation Torre Fiore in the neighboring town of Pisticci, on the other hand, was wonderful. The most charming service, fresh towels at the infinity pool, the very best chef Nicola (I have, seriously, used all the dishes on the menu) and the sweetest owner Canadian Marianne who waved us off until she really, really, really could no longer see us.

In Torre Fiore, I tasted, write this down, the Fiano, a delicious white wine and the Primitivo, the best red wine I have ever tasted. And I can tell you; I have been around the block. Both local wines of course.

I don't know if this girl will ever return to Basilicata (although I already miss Marianne and her wonderful staff), but bringing a bit of Basilicata to the Netherlands seems to me no problem at all. Gall&Gall, fill the shelves, I'm coming!