Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
At Château Ferran a small group of people consisting of the owner, the oenologist giving
the course and the woman who ran the organic union were talking in the courtyard. I was
fifteen minutes late but the first attendee to arrive.
A half-hour later when the other vignerons, mostly handsome young men, arrived, there
were no introductions. I thought perhaps everyone else knew each other but later realised
most of them didn't. The course was aimed at experienced winegrowers looking to extend
theirknowledgeandwouldofferasolidgroundingonprinciplesoforganicandbiodynamic
winemaking. The eight sessions would take place over a full year so we could chart the
progress of the wines through a full winemaking cycle. It was another step on the road to
understanding the mysteries of winemaking. At the end of the session the other attendees
gave me a familiar kiss on each cheek. It was strange having good-looking men whose
names I didn't know kiss me but it was a French habit I knew I could get used to.
The next class, a month later, was at a St Émilion grand cru property. I had learnt my les-
son about timing and arrived a half-hour late as the class was starting. This time there were
many new people but again no introductions. Halfway through the class a little mouse ran
along the shelf a few metres from our table. I would have been screaming had I not lost my
voice from the shock. The mouse looked relaxed and not put off by the human voices in
his domain. I was ready to leap onto the table but noting the calm demeanour of the other
farmers I remained frozen in my chair. Anne, the owner of the property said fondly 'There's
our little mouse.'
If I was to be a true farmer's wife, I would have to overcome my insane fear of tiny ro-
dents. I didn't want them in my house but after experiencing the calm of all those vignerons
in that converted barn my reaction to mice was transformed. If they could remain calm, I
could too.
A few days later, Sean prepared some bottles for a Friday evening mystery wine session for
the two of us. It was a game we had started to play a few months before. He poured a glass
and set it down in front of me. I lifted, sniffed, swirled, sniffed again, then took a swig. The
wine filled me with warmth. It was rich.
'That's delicious. What is it?'
'You tell me.'
Ilookedattheglassinthelight.Itlookedquitebrightbutontherimitwasturningslightly
tawny. All wine browns with age. Red wine goes from purplish red to brick red, and un-
oaked dry white wine goes from straw yellow with perhaps a hint of green, to deep gold, as
