Friday

It has been another travel day. A long one, again.

I am now in the very east of Georgia, not far from the border with Azerbaijan. The region is Kakheti. I am staying on a vineyard in a tiny place called Tkhilitstskaro. Try saying that after a couple of glasses…

Kakheti is the country’s main wine region, but it is also produced in other areas. 

It is 10⁰c warmer than in the mountains, and like another planet. I had dinner outside. I am still outside at 7.30pm, as I write this. The foothills of the Greater Caucasus start about 500m from here, so they make a fabulous backdrop, but Tkhilitstskaro is in the plain of the Alazani River. 

Yes, the travel. Mostly it went according to plan, but roadworks on a 20km section made it very slow. I suspect it is also the time for bringing animals down from high pastures. Herds of sheep, cows and horses blocking the road were almost as common as cars. The herders and their dogs are very helpful about clearing the way, but still. There is a technique for getting through.

Anyway - 5 hours in the car to cover 143 miles/ 231 km.

Georgian wine made the traditional way involves fermenting the whole grape in a clay pot which is buried underground up to its neck - a qvevri. It is in there for 6 months. The winemaker does not control the fermentation and nothing is added - it is 100% natural. 

For a white wine like I had tonight (Extra), the end result is an amber colour and 14% alcohol. The aroma is of honey, but the taste is dry. Although they state what grapes are used - Rkatsiteli and Mtsvane in this case - they emphasise where the wine has come from just as much. A wine using that combination of grapes from a vineyard a short distance away could be quite different - different soil, different sunshine, different cultivation and production methods. 

In that respect, it is like France. Terroir.   

I have arrived in the middle of the harvest. Planning, eh… The roads are full of Russian built dump trucks (Kamaz) hauling loads of grapes around as if they were builder’s rubble. I could have stopped at any number of small vineyards offering visits and tastings, or indeed at roadside stalls selling wine in plastic bottles.         

The Blip is the raw material of this vineyard, awaiting harvest. 

[Backblipped - the advertised wifi here did not materialise]