Silvano Casiraghi has never sold anything. Only bought.

In 1992, he bought his first cascina in Bussia. At the time, there was almost nothing — a meadow, an old stable with its hayloft. No vines planted, no cellar, no house worthy of the name. Just a slope he deemed worthy of dedicating his life to.

Three years later, in 1995, he bought a plot in Mosconi with a friend — a terroir he judged exceptional for Barbera. In 1998, it was Gabuti. Then other small plots, over the years, each time a piece of land seduced him more than what he already owned.

“I don't sell. I buy to buy another, bigger one, which I like even more.”

His most precious vineyard, in Bussia, is now 78 years old. Colonnello, it is called — a name that, in the Langhe, is pronounced with particular respect.

Silvano has never liked the way his region sells itself to the world. He looks with a little envy at Burgundy, Champagne, their ability to present themselves as a single united front. Here, everyone goes it alone, everyone protects their hill, their name, their method. An individualism he criticises — whilst practicing it himself, to the end.

He calls himself “zingaro” — a bohemian. Always on the move, always ready to set off again. And yet, for over thirty years, he has never left Bussia.

His life, far from the clichés of prestigious wine: a plate of pasta with beans is enough for him, he drives a van rather than a sports car, and he has never felt the need to prove anything to anyone. He does what he wants, when he wants.

His favourite vintages can be counted on the fingers of one and a half hands: '96, '99, 2006, 2010, 2016, 2020. He talks about them the way one talks about old friends.

“I was born a bohemian, and a bohemian I will remain.”

But a bohemian who, for over thirty years, has never sold back a single square metre of this land he loves so much.