The Prosecco Road in Italy: Sparkling Wines and Scenic Vines

By Kevin Pilley, July 2025

Majestic is “marca gioiosa et amorosa”, as the Italians would say. Or, as we would say, a place of joy and beauty.

Especially when you are standing in front of the Prosecco shelves. The closest most of us get to Prosecco is our nearest off-licence or supermarket. But sometimes it is good to go somewhere where it’s taboo to talk about Kylie and the Delevingne sisters.

We all drink Prosecco – but how many of us know where it is? It’s about an hour from Venice, although it’s named after a place near Trieste.

From May to August, the Prosecco region hosts sixteen weekend wine shows (moistras) and al fresco BBQs, allowing you to meet local makers and generally talk a lot of bocciline. Or – bubbles. In Prosecco, you are forever imbibing bubbles.

The “Prosecco Road” is Italy’s oldest wine route. It’s 60 km long and connects you with 120 wine producers. Most are graduates from the world’s oldest wine school in Conegliano – the hub of the Prosecco world. The school was founded in 1876.

“Unusual pairing tips”

You’d think a wine drunk so young can’t be old. But it is – 700 years. It was originally called Pucinum. Some families in the garden of Venice have worked with the Glera grape since 1600. It may be easy to drink, but it’s hard to make. The vineyards are nearly vertical.

Between Venice and the Dolomites, you quickly learn the difference between frizzante (semi-sparkling) and tranquillo (still). And how to tell a Gregoletto from a Cornetto. You learn that Prosecco is named after a village near Trieste. And passito is Prosecco’s dessert wine.

The Strada del Vino takes you past Palladian villas (built to escape Venice’s mozzies), pieves (churches), frescoed loggias, the twelfth-century Cistercian abbey at Follina, the Molina del Croda water mill, and lots of wineries offering tastings and osterias showcasing cucina casalinga (regional cookery). Don’t miss Locanda Marinelli overlooking Col San Martino near Valdobbiadene.

And Trattoria Alla Cerva in Vittorio Veneto, which has “rust” on its menu – mountain goat beard (asparagus shoots).

At the Casa a Giorgio in Conegliano, I received unusual pairing tips from Giorgio’s son. Marco turned up the ambient music and said: “Snails with Sting. Bee Gees with rabbit. Beer with pizza. And Prosecco with everything!”

Prosecco should be factored in as a two-day tour or a day trip away from the perspiring queues, crammed calles, pathologically persistent selfie-stick salesmen and not-great food of Venice. Vineyards have guesthouses, and Conegliano has the Hotel Cristallo.

“Moveable feast”

Combai has its ‘sbecotando’ (Venetian for nibbling while you walk). It is a Prosecco crawl and annual nibble-thon. Committed hedonists process through the hills, chestnut woods and steep vineyards above the town, stopping every mile to re-fuel and refresh themselves with enormous amounts of chilled sparkling wine and regional finger food.

It’s an exercise in gluttony, geography, gastronomy, botany, and viticulture – an education in all things Italian.

The Italians like to take on liquids – whether water, wine, or olive oil. On the winery tours, you get all the quality assurance stuff: the riddling and raisining spiel, the residual sugar waffle, the narcoleptic cryo-fermentation autoclave tank guff, and you get talked through the secondary Charmat method in lengthy, neuralgic detail.

A gentleman in rambling shorts aimed an Aria at me: “Versa il vino! Pour the wine! Eccellente Marzemino.” He smiled. “Mozart mentions our Marzemino in Don Giovanni.”

The moveable feast moved on. We walked uphill, building up a thirst. It was slaked half an hour later.

“Fancy some quiet?” asked a young man in a straw trilby. He poured me a glass of tranquillo Verdiso into my goto tasting glass, which hung from my neck on a lanyard. Then he offered me a sliver of creamy Castellata cheese, praising the digestibility of its microbial population.

“Sparkling stuff”

Next stop was the Boro Colmellere, a medieval farmhouse complete with outside bread oven.

“Welcome to the land of bubbles!” said a young man at the next filling station. He poured me a piccolo – a small one. I had three. And egg-and-anchovy crostini. At the next stop, it was cicchettos of tomato and salami. And more of the sparkling stuff.

The waiters waiting for you in the woods are Pro Loco volunteers promoting the traditions, food, legends, art, history, and culture of various municipalities in the Marca Trevigiana.

We walked through vineyards of Glera and Verdiso grapes and came to the Colle Ronc viewpoint. Another hand materialised – with a bottle.

“One for the shade,” said another young man in a boater, handing me an ombra of fizzy Superiore DOCG – Designation of Origin Guaranteed. We looked out over the castre hay barns and south-facing vineyards towards the pre-Alps. He topped me up. We admired the wine’s perlage – its rising pearls.

“Hand-harvested”

He effervesced: “Good Prosecco is good for hypertension. This wine is guaranteed good. It’s from my field. Hand-harvested. Straight from the garden of Venice!”

Then he offered me a mouthful of his spiedos – Venetian kebabs.

We ended the walk in Combai’s ballroom, which was staging a wine show. “There are many Proseccos – but only one Prosecco,” said a winemaker, pouring me another vino Trevigiani, this time into a big, pulled-stem, flavour-enhancing glass.

“To Prosecco – the place and the elixir!” she toasted.

The church bells chimed, reminding the locals and their guests of their devotions.

Landscape photos by Lorenzo Bugnera

Links of interest:
easyjet.com
majestic.co.uk
prosecco.it
visitproseccohills.it