Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I had heard stories of burly farmers in Australia crying into their fabulous wines that they
couldn't give away. They could sell their water rights for more than their wine. Here in
Saussignac and Bergerac we had our share of sad tales.
'What about you? How are things going?' asked Isabelle as we tidied away the plates.
'Pas mal,'
(Not bad) I said. 'I'm looking for part-time work. If you come across anything
suitable, please think of me. I could give classes in the Internet or English or entering ex-
port markets like the UK.' Isabelle was a teacher at the local vineyard college at Monbazil-
lac.
'I'll keep my eyes open for you but the school is cutting back too. No young people want
to go into vineyards and wine. They see how hard people work for nothing in return. Stu-
dent intake has plummeted in the last few years. Does Sean have anyone to help in the
vineyard?'
'No, he does everything himself.'
'He's very courageous.'
Over dessert of home-made chocolate mousse, a delicious and easy recipe that the pro-
prietors of our local restaurant, Le Lion d'Or, had given me, we chatted about places we
dreamed of visiting.
That Sunday, I went for my regular run with Laurence. We usually talked as we ran, often
getting into deep philosophical discussions or heart-to-hearts about our men, our children,
our siblings, our parents and our innermost fears and hopes. I had discovered that not only
was she a fountain of knowledge on French culture but she actively played the piano and
the violin. Even in her running gear she always looked well turned out in a noble country-
woman way. I mentioned Isabelle's stories.
'Pierre has lost one major client who sold up. The wine business was too tough for
him. But much worse are the accidents. Two of Pierre's clients died this year. It's a tough
business. No one talks about it because it's a small percentage of the population that are
winegrowers but the death toll is enormous.'
I asked who they were. One was the Saussignac man who fell off his vat, the other was a
winemaker in Duras.
'He turned at the end of a row and the tractor rolled into a ditch and crushed him. He left
three young children.'
I felt sick. This was too close to the bone for me. Why continue this crazy fantasy? Per-
haps it was winter depression but maybe this dream was not going to work out. Death and
financial disaster crouched at the end of each row of vines. We never got that Friday feel-
ing.Theweekblurredintotheweekends well outofharvest time. Wehadnotlifted atennis
racquet or been out to dinner on our own in years.
The following Saturday we went to Pierre and Laurence's house for dinner. The girls
playedhappilywiththeirthreekids.TheywerebothalreadyfluentinFrench.WhenSophia
