Podere San Filippo

It feels like the middle of the night but it’s only eight o’clock. It’s October and we’re sitting beneath the stars on the terrace of our private apartment at Podere San Filippo, an 18th-century farmhouse that has been carefully restored by the Como hotel group into a secluded retreat on a vineyard. To get here, we turned off a tree-lined avenue and onto a bumpy farm track, past rows of olive trees and vines. Twice, Mr Smith asked me whether I was sure we were going the right way, even though we’d been given detailed instructions from the team at Como Castello del Nero, Podere’s neighbouring parent hotel. Round the bend, take the right fork and continue up the hill: the yellow and peach buildings seemed to appear from nowhere. In reality it was only a two-minute drive: we can see the lights of the castello and a few villages in the distance, but it really does feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere.

Up until now, Mr Smith and I had never contemplated booking an apartment before. On holiday, we like the luxury of doing nothing and love nothing better than returning from dinner to find the curtains drawn, the lights dimmed, something tasty placed on the bedside table… but things change when you have a baby. You need space for a cot, and for them to crawl or walk around safely, and, though eating out can be fun, it can also be tiring and impractical. When we arrived, we were able to unleash our delighted 10-month-old to crawl around the stone floor of the kitchen, while I cooked him some pasta (pots, pans and plates are all provided, as well as sterilising equipment for bottles and a few goodies from the estate, including wine and olive oil) and Mr Smith unloaded the car. Then it was upstairs for a bath, into the cute mini dressing gown supplied by Podere and finally into a cot that looked as luxurious as our double bed. We would rarely be able to do this in a hotel — eat dinner outside, with the baby upstairs — without hiring a babysitter. The dark! The quiet! We both agree it’s total bliss.

The next day we wake early to a dramatic stormy sky that somehow makes the rolling hills and cypress trees look even more beautiful from the latticed windows of our bedroom. Our apartment is one of four located in what was once a barn and, while many of the original features such as the wooden beam ceilings have been retained, the interiors are bright and modern, with lilac walls, sheer floaty curtains and arched glass doors that open from the kitchen onto a terrace that slopes down onto a neatly cut lawn. In summer, it would be even more of a paradise for families: there are communal barbecues and outdoor furniture for guests to use, as well as a play area with swings and a Wendy house. Mr Smith decides to wake up with a quick dip in the outdoor pool, which is surrounded by plush-looking sunloungers and cabanas. Still, the benefit of an autumnal visit is that we feel almost as if we have the place to ourselves.

After we’ve packed up the car ready for the day’s adventures, we drive over to the main castello, where breakfast is served daily. You can walk, but we’re not chancing the rain, which begins to pour almost as soon as we’re seated at our table. The waiter tells us that it’s extremely unusual to have this kind of weather in early autumn and seems bemused by our insistence that to us it feels cosy, homely even, to be sitting inside a conservatory listening to raindrops hitting the roof while enjoying a cappuccino and a cornetto. 

Still, we take his advice, and park our plans for sightseeing. That’s the great thing about a three-day minimum stay: you have enough time to be flexible, to properly relax. Mr Smith and Little Smith return to the apartment for a play and morning nap, while I book myself in for a much-needed session at the Shambhala Spa. An hour and half later, I emerge feeling like a new woman after a full-body massage and time spent in the sauna and steam rooms. 

The boys are also feeling rejuvenated, so we decide to head to one of the nearby towns recommended by the concierge. Florence and Siena are both under an hour away and the hotel runs a free shuttle to and from both cities on select days, but we’ve been before and are keen to try somewhere new. Somewhere beautiful and with good food (almost guaranteed in Italy), with art for me and interesting architecture for Mr Smith (also almost always guaranteed in Italy). In the end, San Gimignano wins our vote for its many mediaeval towers and the famous frescoes painted by Domenico Ghirlandaio in the Saint Fina Chapel. Once there, we spend most of our time sitting in the central piazza, eating fig and ricotta ice-cream, and watching the people come and go up the cobbled streets.

On the way home, we spontaneously stop by a vineyard for a quick tasting that turns out to be a rather long and boozy affair (especially as Mr Smith is driving and gives me his share), before returning home to dress for dinner over at Castello del Nero. There are two restaurants at Podere’s parent property: Pavilion in the conservatory, where we had breakfast, and La Torre for Michelin-starred dining. Given that we are accompanied by a rather chaotic and noisy little guest, we opt for Pavilion, where the staff have very sweetly prepared our table with a highchair. We eat the best tiramisu we’ve ever tasted, preceded by homemade pasta, served with vegetables from the garden. Everything is fresh and delicious, and Little Smith makes friends with everyone, including the waiters who remember him from breakfast and the pizza chef. That’s really the charm of Podere San Filippo: it’s like staying in a private home in a village. You get all the comfort and convenience of a luxury hotel, but with added space and seclusion. Mr Smith and I didn’t even miss our turndown treats.