Grape Expectations (32 page)

  'That sounds like a large range. Maybe you should start smaller.'

  'No, I need to start with the range we want otherwise it won't happen.'

  A few days later I visited our local tourist office to find out whether anyone was offering this sort of thing already.

  'I don't know of anything like that,' said the pretty young lady. 'We have the Wine Association wine course and we offer wine weekends through this tourist office.' The wine course was the one I had taken a few months before; their wine weekends were two nights' accommodation and a visit to a vineyard but no wine education. Both were different from what I was planning.

  'So could you promote my classes to English tourists when I have the brochures printed?'

  'We can't market your offerings through our tourist office since you are not a member. We only market accommodations and visits on behalf of members. Wine producers can't be members because there are too many of you.'

  'But this is something different to our wines. I'll be offering wine courses and wine tours where I'll be the educator and translator, not the vigneron.'

  'Wait a minute. You can't give tours unless you are a qualified tour guide. You can't be paid to drive people around unless you are a qualified chauffeur.'

  No wonder there was little entrepreneurial activity in France compared to other parts of Europe. Thinking on my feet and swallowing my frustration I replied:

  'I translate and I educate, I don't offer transport. They can walk, drive themselves or get a taxi. It's their choice, transport and "guiding" is not part of my fee.'

  'OK.' She continued to scrutinise the briefing document I had given her.

  'You can't offer your prices inclusive of accommodation or lunch unless you are a travel agent.'

  It was becoming clear that it wasn't only wine that was smothered with red tape in France.

  'OK, so let's assume I'm offering the wine classes, can you market them for me?'

  'No, if we market that for you then we have to market all the other activities offered by winemakers and there won't be enough room for everyone.'

  'But you told me no one else is doing what I am doing.'

  'I know. But others are doing things like cheese and wine tastings and tours of their wineries. We can't promote one and not the other. Come and see me again when the class is running and I'll see what I can do. If it's a one-off event, we can take the brochures.'

  There was going to be no free ride via the local tourist office. Undeterred, I continued the development of my ideas for French Wine Adventures. By Christmas the website was complete. I sent the link to Kerry asking him for comments. His reply came back within hours with ten useful points. He was an invaluable advisor; his comments got to the heart and he always had practical solutions. He placed a link to my website from his own wine tourism website.

  Sean's family arrived for Christmas. It was the first time that Neal, Sean's youngest brother, and his wife Gillian had visited. They were entranced by the property and our wines. Within hours they were planning the spot for building their own house at Garrigue. I offered to test my wine course on them. For weeks I had been working like a person possessed getting the website and then the course content together. Everything got neglected, especially the housework. Gillian and Glynis, Sean's sister, took me aside and explained in the nicest possible way that they felt our house needed attention. It was time to clean it from top to bottom, sort through the kids' toys and generally get the place organised.

  I pictured them and my dad shaking their heads in disappointment over the corridor of crisis. It was only two months since Chandra left and I could see they were right. I had been flat out developing French Wine Adventures. Getting our heads above water was my priority, not a tidy house. Perhaps it was a character flaw: I could concentrate regardless of my surroundings.

  Gillian and Glynis went through the toys, cleaned everything and reorganised the furniture into an arrangement that was welcoming and appropriate for the new exit onto the terrace. In retribution for their words that, despite being true, were hard to swallow, I forced them to sit through the first edition of my 'Introduction to French Wine'. The two-hour class covered the history of wine, the main wine regions and varietals of France, the basics of winegrowing and how to taste wine using five samples of our own wines. It was a bit rough being my first edition and the new tasting room was too cold but I enjoyed it and resolved to buy a heater for the room before my first 'real' guests arrived.

  '
Très bien
, Madame Feely,' said Bruce, Glynis' husband.

  'I learnt a lot,' said Glynis.

  'It's good,' said Gillian. 'But you need to work on your presentation. I don't think you should use PowerPoint: just talk freely with the map. You know what you are talking about. Get rid of the slides and do a little booklet, a pocket guide that you only give to people at the end.'

  'Great idea. I want to develop vineyard walks as well. We must do some family walks to research routes.'

  'I think you should focus on one thing and do it well. I don't know if you should try to offer other things. You need to make sure the place is tidy if you are going to have guests visiting. People want to find the French vineyard dream. It needs to look like that and not like a place where you haven't got enough time to water the plants.' The corridor of crisis had left a lasting impression on Gillian. 'Washing needs to be folded and put away. It needs to look French chic even if it is shabby chic.'

  I wanted to develop the whole range despite Gillian's misgivings. To me it would be hard to beat doing a wine tour on foot.

  The next day, a quiet afternoon offered the ideal opportunity for Sean and me to investigate the walking route. There was a path that would connect us to the Bordeaux vineyards. Neal offered to provide point-to-point cover, staying in constant contact via mobile phone since we were heading off where no man had gone before. I thought it unnecessary as we were sticking to paths marked on the IGN walking map but he insisted.

  We started our walk through Elysian fields. Rolling valleys, pastures and forests gave way to vineyards, golden in the winter sunlight. It was the perfect route to follow for a vineyard walking tour, not difficult and with magical views. It also went in exactly the direction we needed. I felt good, getting to know the contours of this land that we had come to love so much. We were becoming part of it, knowing every stream and valley. Two hours later we met Neal and agreed to contact him for the pickup once we had made it across the Bordeaux border from Razac-de-Saussignac. Trying to avoid roads, we followed a walking path that took us to the next valley. We reached the crest of the hill and found ourselves in a wood.

  The dense forest was dark, eerie and deathly quiet. There were strange things hanging in the trees. A complex system of pulleys and tree houses ranged through it like a weird adventure park. We were in the middle of a shooting range set up specially for the release of live pheasants and other unwitting creatures. We realised we must have wandered off the path and backed up quickly. I was rattled. The ambience and terrain were so different to what we had been in an hour before.

  'Here's the path,' said Sean. 'If we follow this we'll reach the road that goes from Sainte-Foy to Coutures.' I followed closely, not wanting to be alone in the deathly forest. We skirted round the wood and started down a hill alongside a large pasture. Gunshots rang out and I grabbed Sean's arm.

  'Don't leave me,' I said.

  'Don't worry, Carolinus. Talk loudly.
Salut, il y a des randonneurs!
' (Hello, there are walkers!)

  'Hello,' I yelled.

  'Ssshhh, don't talk English or they might be tempted to shoot you,' said Sean wryly.

  My stomach tensed with fear as another shot rang out. Maybe Sean was right.

  
'Salut! Il y a des randonneurs!'

  A man appeared at the edge of the forest in signature hunting gear: military-style combats and waistcoat. He was smoking a rolled cigarette and had yellow, uneven teeth and a large beard.

  
'N'inquiétez pas!'
he called out.

  A second later a hare shot out of the forest and sprinted across the field in our direction. A shot rang out and a stab of terror ran a cold trail through my insides. I felt hunted. The hare tore across the field and made it into the other forest. It had been fast enough to see another day. The hunters appeared at the edge of the forest and waved happily at us. I scowled back. My knees were weak. I called Neal and asked him to meet us at the next crossing with the road. His Land Rover appeared below and I felt a wave of relief.

  While Sean gave Neal a quick summary of our exciting hike, I traced where we had been on my walking map. The area was called
'L'homme Mort'
, 'Dead Man'. I felt a shiver down my spine. I needed to mark it 'No Go' for my vineyard walks.

After Christmas, Bruce, my brother-in-law, Neal, and Sean took on the jungle forest to the left of the house where Mr Battistella had indicated we would find an old well. Since his visit Sean and I had hacked a trail through the brush to see it. When we reached it we thought it was empty. Then the wind rippled the water and we realised it was full and clear. The stone well, cut deep into the limestone cliff in a vaulted shape and set in an enchanting dell, deserved to be made accessible.

  By New Year, the well and pond were cleared and we could gaze into the crystal water. I drew a jugful and poured glasses of pure mineral water. We toasted the project. It tasted divine. Water from a limestone source is typically very pure as the rock filters the water – on analysis it is often cleaner than rainwater and superior to town water.

  It seemed longer than a year since Sean sat with tears running down his cheeks listening to Christy Moore at the kitchen table. A few days before I helped on the school stand at the Saussignac Christmas market and found myself kissing half the hall. Having both girls at school offered a host of connections. We were becoming part of the community. We were integrating. Glynis and Gillian offered to look after the girls so Sean and I could go out to dinner, our first night out alone together in more than two years. I researched options in the pocket restaurant guide that the tourist office had given me on my visit a few weeks before and settled on one that looked like it offered great food and a view at a reasonable price. It was the moment to dust off a little black dress and sheer stockings I hadn't worn in years. When Sean walked into the kitchen, clean-shaven, in a sky-blue shirt that matched his eyes and ironed chinos I hardly recognised him. Sophia grilled me on where we were going and what we would eat, her fine sense of cuisine already well developed thanks to the French school system. Ellie clung to me not wanting to see us go but eventually agreed based on a bribe of
bonbons
– not great parenting but it worked.

  We arrived at Au Fil de l'Eau in Sainte-Foy-la-Grande feeling unusual and a little nervous. It was so long since we had dined out together I wondered if we would have much to say. A delicious bottle of Bergerac sauvignon blanc alongside our amuse-bouche or 'amusement for the mouth', a delectable tiny asparagus soup, helped to loosen us up. I felt like I was on a first date. Our lives had been going in different directions for a while, despite working in close quarters. We needed to get to know each other again.

  As we drank and ate, we talked about our future; where we wanted to take Garrigue and our organic farming. Sean was excited about the potential for biodynamic, I about wine tourism. We reconnected by voicing our dreams for a change, not what immediate action had to be taken to ensure our survival.

  Seafood melted in our mouths, smoked salmon followed by trout with almonds. Our bodies relaxed. I felt young and in love again. Our first dates more than a decade before had been less refined dinners in alternative restaurants in Johannesburg; we were serenaded by Rastafarians and were reckless with youth, drank copious amounts of wine and talked until dawn, but I felt the same: enthralled. Our minds were opening up to the possibilities of our new life.

  The cheeseboard was a gastronomic voyage from the walnut liqueur cheese made by nuns in the Dordogne to a rich, yellow cheese from Burgundy. We moved from the sauvignon blanc to a half-bottle of Bordeaux red. Inspired by the journey on our plates, we talked about visiting famous biodynamic growers to learn and to explore our new profession and country, about taking a family holiday with Sophia and Ellie. Wine is a long journey but we had our whole lives ahead of us. I felt like we were just starting out, young and invigorated.