When I get to the village, the baskets and shears are already ready. And with good reason: the harvest starts Monday.
Bernard is no greenhorn, he comes back to the same vineyard every year. The days might be long, but the hard work is rewarded by the fantastic atmosphere in base camp.
Bernard is no greenhorn, he comes back to the same vineyard every year. The days might be long, but the hard work is rewarded by the fantastic atmosphere in base camp.
In the midst of the vineyards, heads bob up and down above the vines every now and then, while a meticulous ballet takes shape. The grapes are carefully harvested and placed in containers.
The harvest is immediately sent to the sorting table, where the grapes are separated from the stalks. I get to taste pure grape juice for the first time in my life. It’s very sweet this year.
Paul, a winemaker, shows me his hands that have been dyed by the grapes, hands which say a lot about his experience and expertise. He sums up his work in a few choice words: “As for the vines, we plant them and we drink them”. Once mature, each plant produces the equivalent of one bottle every year.
Paul, a winemaker, shows me his hands that have been dyed by the grapes, hands which say a lot about his experience and expertise. He sums up his work in a few choice words: “As for the vines, we plant them and we drink them”. Once mature, each plant produces the equivalent of one bottle every year.
