Pedigree Hotels: Rosewood Castiglion del Bosco

I never liked thoroughbreds. Trained to military standard, I often felt should you line ten up of the same, they would all fetch, sit and obey exactly as one another. Ten furry robots running to fetch a ball in synchronised harmony. I understand that by opting for pedigree the joy is in knowing exactly what you are getting. Functioning. Immaculate. Identical. But I am not one for predictable pleasures.

This train of consciousness may well be the reason I find getting on board with hotel brands so tricky and irksome. I like to travel for uniqueness. Getting the same bedtime chocolate on my bed at the Four Seasons Tokyo as the Four Seasons Athens does not get my motor running. I want a sense of place, a local concierge, some broken English and real local restaurant recommendations not a list of Michelin starred silver service nonsense.

Charging up the unpaved Via Francigena, an ancient road used to connect Rome to Canterbury, my clapped out Fiat 500 and I were racing a helicopter – presumably carrying the Queen of Sheba. We shared a final destination - Rosewood Castiglion del Bosco.

In a wave of dust off the ancient road, we zipped into the car park where it was glaringly obvious that approximately 100% of the guests did not arrive by hire car. Shame, as we had beaten the chopper.

I stifled a giggle as the immaculate and mortified receptionist apologised for the dust that had painted my car. Her assistant, clad in the exact same uniform as her, explained that by local Italian law and legislation the road could not be paved, it had to remain a dirt track. Thank god for cranky Italian legislation I mused. Somehow I did not think this the type of place where youths were going to scrawl “I wish my wife was as dirty as my car” into the mud. But, just in case, they assured me it would be spotless next time I needed it.

During this brief interaction my bags had been secretly and silently confiscated with such efficiency that I was unable to present my passport when asked. Impressively, on announcing this, it was back on my lap before I could say “fetch”.

So to the room by a magic carpet, cunningly disguised as a golf buggy. We buckled up for what was presumably to be a long drive, what with being bagless and having two strong working legs. After 100m we pulled up outside an enormous wooden door worthy of being the entry to Narnia. In fact, it was the entrance to our room. Inside, I kid you not, our bags were already unpacked. Yes, this is what pedigree luxury hotels look like and ashamedly I found myself thinking – I could get used to this.

The terrace was larger than my London flat (admittedly not hard). The bathroom had a bath large enough to train for Olympic back stroke in. The complimentary wine from their vineyard was more delectable than any Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference number, obviously. The bed was so inviting I concluded it would not be the end of the world if it rained for the duration of our time here. If this ‘Junior Suite’ competed in Crufts it would be best in show.

I knew it would be faultless, pristine and immaculate. Yet, what I didn’t expect was for it to so completely retain the sense of place we were in. After all, Castiglion del Bosco is an old Italian village complete with medieval castle atop a hill and original fresco clad chapel with stained glass windows not obscuring but elevating the views. The room was Tuscan from bed to bath, terrace to toilet and sofa to sun lounger. I was spellbound. Having been adamant I was going to hate it, loathe the perfections and despise the attempts to be ‘authentic’, I couldn’t. I swallowed my pride (I never swallow my pride) and began to enjoy my surroundings.

We sauntered to the onsite Trattoria waved in by an Italian hand rolling pasta and ordered the special – pizza with truffles foraged fresh from the grounds. We sipped on a red from Montepulciano across the hill. We strolled through the fruit, veg and herb garden where a charming woman was picking lettuce for supper that evening. We drank our free wine in robes at opposite ends of our private terrace so we had to shout to each other when we wanted to converse. We visited the vineyards and the state of the art winery where annual membership costs $12,500 a year in return for a small kennel not quite big enough for a Labrador in which you can store your personal wine collection. Here, a charming Italian called Luigi from Sardinia told us the best spots for lunch in Siena, where we were headed to next.

Then, the final straw; after a hike around one of the hotel trails, with the hope of spotting a wild boar, we returned to find our bath full with hot water, candles lit and overflowing with bubbles from the movies.

I was won over, infatuated and furious to leave. I had made this my stomping ground and grown all too quickly accustomed to this level of service. This pedigree pooch had his own stride, yes he was part of a pack but he was distinguishable, endearing and unique.

Rooms from £750 a night Bed & Breakfast

Book HERE

Best Time to Go: Spring / Autumn the high heat of the summer months can be stifling. That said, The Palio happens in Siena on the first Sunday of July and August and is a bucket list event.