Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
toms to make themselves abundantly clear. Both Paul and I have worked in India a lot, after
the London Comedy Store opened a franchise there, and the anti-diarrhoea drug of choice is
Smecta, a vile clay powder-like substance that as far I can tell simply builds a wall inside you
and stops anything from coming out. It's effective if you take it regularly, but hardly condu-
cive to a wine-tasting road trip and we decided to limit ourselves as sensibly as we could.
Sancerre is about an hour and a half away from home and seemed a 'reasonable' distance to
travel bearing physical frailties in mind, Pouilly-sur-Loire would be an extra twenty minutes
or so but worth it to go to the renowned Chateau de Tracy and sample their Pouilly Fumé. So,
though neither of us felt particularly well, we Smecta-d ourselves up and hit the road. It was a
glorious crisp late winter's day and the countryside around Sancerre was simply stunning, it's
much hillier than where we are, the green and brown forests on the hillside were breathtaking
and occasionally the turrets of small chateaux would poke through the budding, very early
spring colours, giving a hint at their hidden grandeur.
We reached the Chateau de Tracy just as they opened for the afternoon. We hadn't risked
much of a lunch and though both of us were keen to taste the wine, we were feeling pretty
rough by the time we arrived. We waited in the cellar to be served, both our stomachs gurg-
ling mercilessly and the sound echoing off the chilled underground walls.
'You do the talking,' Paul said.
'Why? You know wine! All you need is the word meta
llique.'
'Because you're "fluent",' he said, sarcastically. Our stomachs gave a big heave-ho in unison
just as a small woman approached.
'Messieurs, bonjour, vous-connaissez notre vin?'
'Er, non.'
I replied, hoping I'd heard her correctly over the gastric cacophony.
'See? Fluent,' Paul said, smirking.
Despite not being in the best shape for a wine-tasting, what followed was sublime. Let me
repeat that I know nothing about wine or viticulture, but the four wines we tasted were mag-
nificent, each very different and each going up in price but, and I've never felt this way about
wine before, the price was immaterial. The wines were superb and we bought bottles of each,
not wanting to leave any behind. I've been wine-tasting before with Paul and he's convinced
that we were robbed last time and that the wine we'd sampled wasn't the wine we were given
to take away, but even his suspicious nature was quelled by what we had just tasted and al-
though we had intended to try other
vignerons,
both of us felt that anywhere else would have
been a step down that afternoon and we raced home before the Smecta ran out.
We sat in the kitchen later that evening feeling pretty pleased with ourselves, that despite
our gastric handicap we'd ventured out and had a really good day. I swilled my glass around,
sniffed the contents and swallowed some of the liquid.
'It's got a chalky, clay-like taste,' I said, 'and there is actually a hint of metal in there.' Paul
nodded and we downed our Smecta-filled wine glasses in one.
