What does a surfboard have to do with Amarone? That is the question I had looking at this Bottero-like illustration from Ligurian illustrator Alice Piaggio. I think a few months ago this carefree image would have sent me in a different direction.

Instead, the first thought that came to mind was body-surfing as a teen in the pounding waves of late summer on Lake Michigan, and the adrenaline from dangerous riptides that shot us out to sea like cannons and spit us back to shore, skinned, bruised and happy. After months of stone-skimming calm water, there was an abrupt change, and the lake began churning and crashing with an unforeseeable force. It was the moment everyone waited for, the epic climax, diving into the frothy waves, chilling on the warm white sand and lapping up the last rays of blazing sunsets. The memory is not about the idyllic setting, but the element of the unknown, the real danger and the incredible power of nature.

The nervous anticipation, the queazy excitement isn’t that different than what I’m feeling right now, even though the stakes as we reopen in Italy and find our new normal are much higher than conquering the surf at age 16.

From my vantage point working in wine, Alice has visualized how many are eyeing the invisible threat of Covid-19 in Italy today.

So, into the surf I go.

I know much more about Amarone, very little about real surfing, so I spoke with a Californian surfer friend about what makes him head to Fiji once a year even at age 60. In surfer lingo, I found a rich vocabulary to visualize what many of us have been experiencing.

The first phrase that leapt up at me was when he talked about being “caught inside”. It is when you are trapped between the waves and the shore. And you wait in the stillness. You assess. And it is in these moments, that your psychological preparation, your intuition and your know-how come together. That has been many of us during the lockdown, keenly alert without particular planning, and zooming without knowing what kind of wave we’d ride on the way out. The uncertainty of every day, every week of quarantine ebbed and flowed in a funky, mood-altering way that I still haven’t understood. What I thought one day, radically changed with the morning news.

Now that the country is open, there is a Gatsby-like, frivolous chin-up positivity. Italy is femme-fatale without traffic, hordes of tourists and trash. We’ve woken up and are almost surprised at just how fabulously lucky we are to live here. Champagne was the first wine we ordered in restaurants, but underneath the festive mood of restaurateurs and guests, could I see a nervous twitch that gives away the sheer terror many of us feel? Or is the possibility of a failed economy simply beyond imagination?

Yes, one might have the good fortune to be “shacked and slotted”, perfectly positioned to ride a big barrel of a wave, or not, “racked over” and paddling through strong waves to try to catch a decent swell.

Or one could be “clucked”, or stalled by a fear that obscures the horizon and the opportunity to catch an epic wave.

Some “dudes” will be rewarded by experience, and injected with energy just at the idea of the challenges that lie ahead. They see infinite possibilities and a better world. The younger and bolder will power forward with an agility that makes every movement seem gorgeously effortless and maybe even a little insane.

These metaphors bring me back to the stereotypes of Amarone. This is a wine that reminds me of old “dudes” sipping in a leather armchair. Who will be poised to ride the “bomb”, the epic wave, or do we need to wait for drinkers to hit age 60? Only a brilliant new generation, fearless enough to find out, will abandon the comfortable to reach out to young, savvy wine aficionados.