Vineyard Tour at Harvest Time

 Grapes playing hide and seek

I have been so busy getting moved that I have neglected to write some blog articles.  Today, I don't have any great "big" project involving a bus ride out of town, and have been able to nibble away at my to-do list of chores and feel I can take the time to describe the wine tour that Andrew, Lauren and I took two Fridays ago. 

Auzias winery crest

Cabardes region family winery and chateau

There's an American woman, Wendy, here who runs tours, but they are expensive (145 Euros a person) and she was completely booked up for that Friday.  Andrew asked if I could help him find a tour, as he wanted to surprise his girlfriend, something that apparently very hard for him to accomplish.  So, I was enlisted in the duplicity and also charged with finding a tour.

Grapes growing for miles and miles

I checked with the local tourist information bureau, a great source of information and not just for tourists and found two tours, both considerably more affordable than Wendy's.  I was able to book three places with Didier, a local guide who speaks English, for Friday the 16th, in the afternoon.  Even though I really did no want to go, not because I wasn't interested, but because I had so darned much to do with the move, I agreed to accompany them. I had to lie to Lauren in order to get her out of the new apartment--she thought Didier was coming to help us assemble the furniture that I bought at IKEA and we had to meet him downstairs.  

On the way out to the grapes

We went out to Auzias, a private vineyard in the Cabardes region of the Aude.  I overheard someone say at the wine bar the other day, "I've never had a bad wine from the Cabardes."  I must confess right away that I have NO palate when it comes to wine.  When people start waxing poetic about the floral notes and overtones of black currant, I look at them blankly and tell them they are, "Casting pearls before swine."  I simply cannot tell the wines apart, and all I ever smell or taste is alcohol.  I know that I like roses, here, which are not sweet, but taste of rocks.  The correct term, I have learned, is "minerality," And I also know that I have always liked the roses that I have bought that originate in the Cabardes.  So, I was excited about getting to see the vineyard.

Andrew and Lauren inspect the harvest

Ted and Barbara, from Australian were on the tour with us

The star of the day

The guide at the vineyard handed out little audio guides--with earbuds (or for me--headphones) that guided the tour in several languages, including English.  I have a terrible time with those things and eventually abandoned mine.  The guide herself did NOT speak English, which was a problem at first, for the questions that people had when the narration was finished.  I was pressed into service as the translator for the group.

The marc is falling into the back of the truck

The pile of skins and pulp gets bigger and bigger with each turn of the barrel

I was not happy about this at first, but once I got over my snit and decided to make the best of the day and use this opportunity to practice my translation skills, things got better.  We wandered out to the vineyards and learned about growing grapes organically.  We got to walk among the vines.  I was struck by how heavy the bunches of grapes were--dense and loaded with juice, I suppose.  The summer has been very warm and dry, with lots of sun.  I know hat has hurt the quantity of wine that will be produced, but the jury is out about the quality.

The bottling room

Our guide pointed out the tags on the wires supporting the vines and told us that they contained some hormones that confuse the sex drive of the bugs that can infest the grapes, and the critters don't lay eggs. The need for pesticides is eliminated.  She talked about pruning, she talked about the weather stations that are embedded in the fields that sends meteorological information to the growers.  

Beautiful day, beautiful countryside

Some of the old stone houses on the property are rented to tenants who work the vineyards.  They looked for all the world like something out of a movie set.  This property once was an abbey (is there any property in the French countryside that wasn't once an abbey?) and has an organic feel to it, as if it sprang directly from the soil.

We proceeded to the building where the grapes were being pressed.  The juice was siphoned off to be stored in big tanks and the marc-- the skins and seed and any pulp were being dropped into a waiting dump truck to be sold to companies that produce the fiery marc or eau de vie--kind of a very poten brandy.  I learned that nothing is wasted in the vintner's world.  The smell as the freshly pressed "marc" fell into the truck was heavenly.  

We visited the bottling room, learned about the labeling and the holding out of 20% of the red wines for "The Glory of God" wine.  Can't get away from religion in a former abbey, I guess.  It's rather special, it gets special handling,and aged in barrels.

In the Auzias tasting room--a weighty decision

We ended out tour of the Auzias vineyard in the tasting room, as is tradition.  I found that not only did I like the rose quite a bit, I also like the white.  As a thank-you for acting as the translator, they made me a present of one of the bottles.  It was unexpected and touching.  When I protested that it was not necessary, Didier quietly told me that it would be rude to refuse; they wanted to do it.

The Malpere Co-op--cleanest stainless steel I have ever seen

Truck backing into the dock/bay to dump his cargo

All of the questions and tasting deliberations put us about 90 minutes behind schedule for out next stop, at Cave Malpere over in Arzens. (Malpere--is short for Mal Pierre--meaning bad stone, not bad father.)  This wine producing operation is a co-op. The local growers harvest their grapes and bring them to a central location where they are combined with the harvest of other growers.  When the trucks pull into the station, a probe tests the alcohol content and the trucks are directed to the appropriate bay where they empty their precious cargo into a crushing station.  Because Didier, as one of his sideline jobs works as a driver taking grapes from the field to the cave, we were able to meet the chef, the boss, and climb up to the scaffolding and watch the grapes being dumped.  So, so interesting and the aroma was lovely. 

The "marc" travels up the augur and gets dumped

View from the catwalk above the bays for emptying the grape trucks

Didier pumps his own rose

Tthis tour also ended with a stop in the tasting room.  Didier brought out a 5 liter plastic jug that reminded me of a gas can and proceeded to "pump his own" rose.  At 1.39 a liter, it's quite a good bargain.  I liked the rose, but not as much as that from Auzias, so I didn't buy a bottle.  I did, however, buy two wine glasses, as I had none in my apartment.  It makes a nice souvenir of the day.

I think this is cheaper than water

We were lucky on several levels with this tour.  Because of the timing, we were able to see aspects of the harvest and processing that most tours can't offer.  Harvesting the grapes happens in a very short window of time--maybe three weeks--anywhere from the end of August to the end of September.  The grapes will tell the grower when they are ready to be picked.  When that happens, the call goes out very early int he morning--as early as 3 A.M. for the pickers to come and snip the bunches as quickly as possible, before the heat of the day changes the sugar content.  The wineries prefer not to have tourists getting in the way of serious work.  And wine making is indeed serious business here in the Aude.  Because of Didier's connections, we were able to get a close look at the liquid money being made here in the Aude.  I can't thank him enough for his warmth, his information and his insight.  For someone who didn't want to go on the tour to begin with, I ended up as perhaps the biggest fan.

The grapes fall in a blur

Settling In

A place to lay my head

Settling in…what a relief.  Once the last of my possessions made the trip up the stairs on Monday, the 19^th, I could feel the stress draining out of the soles of my feet.  I apologize to Andrew and Lauren for not being able to relax and enjoy Carcassonne with them—but I had to get the old apartment vacated and cleaned by noon on the 19^th, since Maureen, Jason’s next long-term tenant was arriving on the 12:45 from London!

The gardenia in the bedroom

The cactus and jade plant like the living room

We managed, and now I can sort and organize and oh yes, continue to wash floors at a more relaxed pace.  I have to admit that I really had no idea how much work would be involved with getting the floors to a point where I can live with them.  I have washed the kitchen floor 4 times and it is now ready to be steam cleaned.  Only 4 more rooms to go, but those floors weren’t as grimy as the kitchen.  

I like having coffee and my paper at the kitchen window

Clean kitchen, working stove, a pot of soup

And a KNIFE BLOCK!!!!

And I did even manage to get the space for the stove cleaned before the electrician came and wired it into the wall.  Interestingly enough, some stoves (of course the one I bought) don’t have cords to simply plug into the wall, like the ones in the US…nope, this one had to have a cable wired to it and then wired into the jus, (same word as in English—juice) by a licensed electrician.  The “guy” that the property management agency sent to me took one look at it and said, “I am a plumber, not an electrician.”  But he was working on a job with an electrician and went to fetch him right away.  Christophe made short work of my wiring job.  I have some other wiring projects I want to have him do, and he’s very happy to do so.  Mostly I want to change the light bulbs to LED lights, but I need an expert to help me purchase light bulbs.  There is no standard size—and I mean of the part that screws into the fixture.  Some are longer and skinny, others are the fatter, rounder ends that would be familiar to someone from the States.  I think I have said it before, so much of this past year’s time and energy has been devoted to learning.  I expected a lot of it, but I never dreamed stove cables and light bulbs would be included in the curriculum.

My first flowers

Things are shaping up, at least in the kitchen

Now the next big “to-do” item is to get my wifi up and running.  Here the company, Orange, has a plan that combines Internet, a land line telephone and television into one reasonably priced package.  The only catch, and I do mean as in “22” is that you have to initialize your account using the Internet—but that’s why I am signing up, because I don’t have Internet…..I swear, my next book is going to be about all of these “Catch-22” situations that the French consider normal.  

The "guest" room as of last week

Early morning light touches St Vincent as seen from the "guest" room

But for now, I made a delicious pot of soup on my new stove, the fridge is humming along, I have a place to lay my head at night and I got my red etagere assembled.  I am really pleased with the way my nest is shaping up.  I found my missing dark blue Tupperware container in the bag that contained my “dressy” clothes, and I am writing this at the kitchen table by the window while enjoying a small glass of wine.  Today, in the Sunday paper supplement, there was an article entitled, “Tell Me Where You Sleep.”  When I looked at some of the places (Nepal, Senegal, Brazil) I realized afresh just how blessed and truly rich I am.  

My neighbor across the street...like the ledge two stories up

Fete de Gastonomie

Poster advertising the Fete

For a while now, I have been feeling like I have had too many “have-to” things to do.  I have been a little deprived of just exploring my town with my camera and taking part in any of the countless activities Carcassonne has been offering  these past several week-ends.

Today, after church, I had a bowl of soup and headed out to Place Carnot where the Club Prosper Montagne had organized a little festival of gastronomy, to celebrate the foods, wines and products of the region.  It was smaller than some of the “fetes” that I have seen, but the quality of the offerings were second to none.  

Endless line at Michel Rabat's tent. Michel (in red hat) is cooking

Of course, one of the reasons I believe this is that my butcher, Michel Rabat, was feeding the crowd.  There was a line that never ended to get his lunch.  Drat, I wished I hadn’t already eaten!  I ran into his wife at the tent of the local brewery, getting beer for the cooks in her own tent. 

At the artisan brewery tent

All that bread--and they are eating meat!

The bakers were enjoying Michel’s lunch as they stood in front of their own massive display of breads. Bread was offered in all shapes and sizes, and how good it all looked. The aroma of the fish soup at the poissoniere’s tent called to the crowd.  Next door, a vendor was offering locally made heavy-duty bakeware.   The local florist was hosting a “Create Your Own Centerpiece” workshop and suggested suspending gerbera daisies in the empty beer bottles from Cuitat, the local brewery.  Jams and fruit jellies from Occitanie (the new name of our region) gleamed like jarred rubies.

Beer bottle  "vases"

The bagpipe band from the atelier in the Montagnes Noires was there, playing traditional songs of the region.  I love that sound, but even I have to confess that at times it sounded like a swarm of bees.

Occitan flag on the end of one of the pipes

 

Goatskin bladders for the bagpipes.

What I liked the best about this celebration was that locals were supporting locals.  Yes, there were a few tourists, (I caught definite British accents) but the vendors were buying and enjoying one another’s products.  The crowd ate and drank with obvious relish.  So many people seemed to know one another, greeting with loud exclamations of “Ca va?”  (“How’s it going?)  Even I got welcomed with the two-cheeked kiss from someone I know.  

Organization of the Best Workers of France--a hard-earned distiction

I bought a muffin from the bakers and wended my way home.  My new apartment is really close to Place Carnot, and for once, I could climb the stairs to my apartment without having to carry something heavy with me.  I missed the rain, which came quickly and briefly shortly after I got home.  I seriously doubt that it even slightly dampened the enthusiasm I saw at the fete today.  Bravo, Club Prosper Montagne, for helping our local gastronomy experts show the town how it’s done!

Food, wine, conversation, sharing a community bounty