Hey friend! Welcome to Linda and Eriks' vagabond adventures. Please share in the sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and sensations as we visit, work and volunteer our way around the world. Carried by the wind, we hope to contribute to each destination as much as we learn from them - leaving us and every place we visit better than first discovered.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Drinking wine is romantic. Making wine is tough.
Greetings from Masaka, Uganda! This will be our home for almost the next month as we live with our friends Paul and Sonya while volunteering with an agro-forestry NGO (www.sscportal.org) We arrived a couple of weeks ago in Uganda after a 10 day “layover” in Turkey. Whereas our rhythm in Germany – waking, lunch, and quitting time – was set by the rhythm of the bells, in Turkey the rhythm of our day on the olive farm was set by the call to prayer echoing high and long from the minarets of the many mosques in the vicinity of the town of Kucukkuyu (pronounced Koo-chyoo-koo-yoo with the emphasis on the 2nd and 4th syllable). In Uganda, we have no real rhythm yet as we had been living more of a sheltered, touristy lifestyle from within the Afripads compound in the grimy and crowded capital city of Kampala before heading out last week to whitewater raft the headwaters of the Nile and ultimately for an epic safari in Serengeti National Park in Tanzania.
Before we catch you up on the present, here is an excerpt that I wrote on my journal from a few weeks back while living on the French-German border at Weingut Becker:
The bells ring. The alarm clock goes off. The church bells ring again – at 7:15 with a slightly less driving rhythm than the 7…and then an even more intense ring again at 7:30…and yet again every 15 minutes.
Linda and I peel our aching bodies from bed and we venture out every day to pick grapes – again
We stop for breakfast at a small bakery 2 blocks from our pensione - again - just a mere 1.5 blocks from our employer, Weingut Becker. Café mit milch, Zwiebelkuchen, and Nussplunder (pastries) in hand we greet the Germans, “Morgen,” the French, “Bonjour.” Most of them smoke - assembled in groups by mother tongue - waiting to jointly board the dusty, beat-up red VW bus that will take us for another day in the vineyard. In the 4th week of the harvest the huddle of smokers has drawn tighter from the chill of the morning dew and the camaraderie knowing there are finally less than 4 varieties left to cut/hand-select spread out across 5 hectares (~10 acres).
After the few weeks we have been living in the town of Schweigen - a town where you either make wine or have come as a tourist to drink it - Linda and I have definitely settled into the rhythm of the everyday as part of the working class. If the expected rains hold off and the grapes are not diluted with water, the harvest should be done by week’s end. If not, we will have to wait for the grapes to dry and hope there is not too much spoilage in the vineyard – increasing our work as harvesters and the stress of the winemaker. While the rhythm has been a nice change from the openness/uncertainty of travel, we are excited to finish the stanza of the harvest so that we may spend a bit more time in the cellar now that we have experientially absorbed the way each of the unique grape varieties grow and flourish on the vine.
Working in the vineyard, we frantically try to keep pace with line of folks harvesting the “trauben” (grapes) with our “skere” (shears) we must “probiere” (taste) every so often to determine whether the quality and sweetness of the grapes passes muster to be thrown into each of our “eimer” (bucket) or simply cast to ground to provide nutrients for next year’s crops. Through mostly improvised sign language and 3-way translation attempts, we have also learned that a Chardonnay must not have any Botrytis mold so that it remains “trocken” (dry) and crisp, whereas the same mold can help add “zucker” (sugar) and improve the “aroma” (flavor) of a Riesling. The “spatburgunder” (pinot noir) must be harvested early with sugar added during maceration for the highest quality and complexity. No grapes should ever be harvested that have a greenish Penicillin mold or have become “esikis” (vinegar) on the vine from the larvae of insects. (Sidenote – we often hear the word “schneller” (faster) and never learned the word German word for slow down.)
Not only are we learning the subtleties of how the flavors from fresh grapes magically metamorphose into the finished wines, we are learning the subtleties of the distinct languages and cultures in a region with a history as tangled as a grape vine. Half of the vineyards we harvest are in France and half are in Germany. To make matters more complex, the German region of the Pfalz has a distinct language, “Pfalzisch” that is almost unintelligible for even another German from Berlin, who speaks “Hoch Deutsch” (High German) let alone for a couple of Latvian-Americans who listened to a few “How to Speak German” audio-lessons. To make matters even more complex, on the French side of the border the same is lost in translation between a Frenchwoman who would try to speak “Alsacish” with a Frenchman from Paris. These agricultural regions may be neighbors but are deeply proud of their entrenched cultural differences. This might be a result of the fact that the Pfalz in western Germany as well as the bordering Alsace in eastern France have been the frontline between empires for much of written history. The area we worked every day is a beautiful landscape that still is massively scared with dismantled gun turrets, graves, and trenches from the World Wars.
We are impacted on a day to day basis not only in learning different perspectives about the contentious history from the toughened or even slightly battle-jaded residents, but also because the 20+ harvesters each day were comprised of a smattering of cultures and languages that more often than not don’t speak a common tongue even though they all live within a stone’s throw of the Rhine river. Every day feels kind of like the punch line of joke that starts out with, “What do you get when 2 Latvian-Americans go out to harvest grapes with 5 Germans, 4 Pfalzisch, 6 Alsacish, 3 French, 2 Poles, 2 Finns, and a Romanian?” The easiest answer is a lot of confusion, mildly awkward giggling, and of course…very good wine.
The wines are served liberally and religiously at the daily group “midtagessen” (lunch) with the 35+ employees of the vineyard. The menu always starts with hot soup (usually creamy and even served on hot days) – followed by some type of meat, cheese, starch, and generally just a trace of a vegetable for color. The scene seems reminiscent of the traditions in a king’s court from 500 or more years ago. The winemaking family and their loyal hunting dogs assume their positions at the head of the table and everyone else takes their unassigned yet clearly designated hierarchical spot at the 4 long tables aligned end-to-end in the cobblestone courtyard dappled in shade by the fat leafed trees that grow within.
We sample sparingly while others add glugs to their soup from the 8-10 varied wine bottles that are put out every day at lunch. We are starting to make connections to the taste-potential we sense in the grape varieties that we may have harvested just that very morning. Each variety as well as each character in the court is finally starting to reveal its tastes - their charm as well as their complexity. Linda and I usually sit somewhere in the middle of the table hierarchy and most often converse the interns who are required to do a practicum at a winery as a part of their university studies. The interns speak the best English of our colleagues and have very interesting stories to tell. One 14th generation winemaker-to-be who told us that before he chose to study viticulture that his parents sat him down and offered to sell the vineyard if he did not want to continue the tradition. His unforced choice goes without saying.
In the evenings, after returning from the slightly lubricated afternoon of working in the vineyard (generally, either wet or sunburned), some days we go work our second shift in the cellar to help press that day’s grapes. As we seem to be straddling the role of migrant workers and distinguished guests, we do have the choice of the second shift. The other interns that work side by side with us in the vineyards all day and are required to help out in the cellar until the work is done at 9, 10, 11, or even 12PM – the grapes must be pressed as soon as they have been harvested, regardless of the hour, six days per week. While the winemaker is making complex decisions, the outcomes of which will not be known until the wine ages for at least another year and a half, most of our work generally entails squeegeeing the floors, monitoring pumps, and hanging around until an extra hand is we required.
Sometimes the 31 year old, burly winemaker, Fritz gives us a taste of the hard work that abounds. This includes spending 2 hours at night doing punchdowns – a process of standing on top of the open, oak fermenter that bubbles like a swamp with CO2 and the acidity of the grapes. Then using what is essentially a slippery, 6 foot long whisk, one must stir and punch-down all of the grape-skins that have floated to the top. The key to success is using all the strength that can be mustered without slipping and falling into dangerously acidic, gurgling brew. Other work involves climbing into the reeking 7000 liter oak fermenters to shovel out the grape skins after maceration is complete or getting into the massive stainless steel wine press to clean it for the next variety, which could be multiple times per day. Otherwise, if the work is light in the cellar any particular evening, we can most always go to sample the many excellent wines with Fritz’s welcoming sister, Helena who is in charge of the tasting room and much of the behind the scenes. She generously has a pitcher at the ready of the young wine, maybe only a few days old as well as vintages from years past. We are beginning to finally understand what the “wine snobs” mean when they say that 2008 was a good year.
We retire to our pensione each night stinky, sticky, sunburned and saturated.
Before we catch you up on the present, here is an excerpt that I wrote on my journal from a few weeks back while living on the French-German border at Weingut Becker:
The bells ring. The alarm clock goes off. The church bells ring again – at 7:15 with a slightly less driving rhythm than the 7…and then an even more intense ring again at 7:30…and yet again every 15 minutes.
Linda and I peel our aching bodies from bed and we venture out every day to pick grapes – again
We stop for breakfast at a small bakery 2 blocks from our pensione - again - just a mere 1.5 blocks from our employer, Weingut Becker. Café mit milch, Zwiebelkuchen, and Nussplunder (pastries) in hand we greet the Germans, “Morgen,” the French, “Bonjour.” Most of them smoke - assembled in groups by mother tongue - waiting to jointly board the dusty, beat-up red VW bus that will take us for another day in the vineyard. In the 4th week of the harvest the huddle of smokers has drawn tighter from the chill of the morning dew and the camaraderie knowing there are finally less than 4 varieties left to cut/hand-select spread out across 5 hectares (~10 acres).
After the few weeks we have been living in the town of Schweigen - a town where you either make wine or have come as a tourist to drink it - Linda and I have definitely settled into the rhythm of the everyday as part of the working class. If the expected rains hold off and the grapes are not diluted with water, the harvest should be done by week’s end. If not, we will have to wait for the grapes to dry and hope there is not too much spoilage in the vineyard – increasing our work as harvesters and the stress of the winemaker. While the rhythm has been a nice change from the openness/uncertainty of travel, we are excited to finish the stanza of the harvest so that we may spend a bit more time in the cellar now that we have experientially absorbed the way each of the unique grape varieties grow and flourish on the vine.
Working in the vineyard, we frantically try to keep pace with line of folks harvesting the “trauben” (grapes) with our “skere” (shears) we must “probiere” (taste) every so often to determine whether the quality and sweetness of the grapes passes muster to be thrown into each of our “eimer” (bucket) or simply cast to ground to provide nutrients for next year’s crops. Through mostly improvised sign language and 3-way translation attempts, we have also learned that a Chardonnay must not have any Botrytis mold so that it remains “trocken” (dry) and crisp, whereas the same mold can help add “zucker” (sugar) and improve the “aroma” (flavor) of a Riesling. The “spatburgunder” (pinot noir) must be harvested early with sugar added during maceration for the highest quality and complexity. No grapes should ever be harvested that have a greenish Penicillin mold or have become “esikis” (vinegar) on the vine from the larvae of insects. (Sidenote – we often hear the word “schneller” (faster) and never learned the word German word for slow down.)
Not only are we learning the subtleties of how the flavors from fresh grapes magically metamorphose into the finished wines, we are learning the subtleties of the distinct languages and cultures in a region with a history as tangled as a grape vine. Half of the vineyards we harvest are in France and half are in Germany. To make matters more complex, the German region of the Pfalz has a distinct language, “Pfalzisch” that is almost unintelligible for even another German from Berlin, who speaks “Hoch Deutsch” (High German) let alone for a couple of Latvian-Americans who listened to a few “How to Speak German” audio-lessons. To make matters even more complex, on the French side of the border the same is lost in translation between a Frenchwoman who would try to speak “Alsacish” with a Frenchman from Paris. These agricultural regions may be neighbors but are deeply proud of their entrenched cultural differences. This might be a result of the fact that the Pfalz in western Germany as well as the bordering Alsace in eastern France have been the frontline between empires for much of written history. The area we worked every day is a beautiful landscape that still is massively scared with dismantled gun turrets, graves, and trenches from the World Wars.
We are impacted on a day to day basis not only in learning different perspectives about the contentious history from the toughened or even slightly battle-jaded residents, but also because the 20+ harvesters each day were comprised of a smattering of cultures and languages that more often than not don’t speak a common tongue even though they all live within a stone’s throw of the Rhine river. Every day feels kind of like the punch line of joke that starts out with, “What do you get when 2 Latvian-Americans go out to harvest grapes with 5 Germans, 4 Pfalzisch, 6 Alsacish, 3 French, 2 Poles, 2 Finns, and a Romanian?” The easiest answer is a lot of confusion, mildly awkward giggling, and of course…very good wine.
The wines are served liberally and religiously at the daily group “midtagessen” (lunch) with the 35+ employees of the vineyard. The menu always starts with hot soup (usually creamy and even served on hot days) – followed by some type of meat, cheese, starch, and generally just a trace of a vegetable for color. The scene seems reminiscent of the traditions in a king’s court from 500 or more years ago. The winemaking family and their loyal hunting dogs assume their positions at the head of the table and everyone else takes their unassigned yet clearly designated hierarchical spot at the 4 long tables aligned end-to-end in the cobblestone courtyard dappled in shade by the fat leafed trees that grow within.
We sample sparingly while others add glugs to their soup from the 8-10 varied wine bottles that are put out every day at lunch. We are starting to make connections to the taste-potential we sense in the grape varieties that we may have harvested just that very morning. Each variety as well as each character in the court is finally starting to reveal its tastes - their charm as well as their complexity. Linda and I usually sit somewhere in the middle of the table hierarchy and most often converse the interns who are required to do a practicum at a winery as a part of their university studies. The interns speak the best English of our colleagues and have very interesting stories to tell. One 14th generation winemaker-to-be who told us that before he chose to study viticulture that his parents sat him down and offered to sell the vineyard if he did not want to continue the tradition. His unforced choice goes without saying.
In the evenings, after returning from the slightly lubricated afternoon of working in the vineyard (generally, either wet or sunburned), some days we go work our second shift in the cellar to help press that day’s grapes. As we seem to be straddling the role of migrant workers and distinguished guests, we do have the choice of the second shift. The other interns that work side by side with us in the vineyards all day and are required to help out in the cellar until the work is done at 9, 10, 11, or even 12PM – the grapes must be pressed as soon as they have been harvested, regardless of the hour, six days per week. While the winemaker is making complex decisions, the outcomes of which will not be known until the wine ages for at least another year and a half, most of our work generally entails squeegeeing the floors, monitoring pumps, and hanging around until an extra hand is we required.
Sometimes the 31 year old, burly winemaker, Fritz gives us a taste of the hard work that abounds. This includes spending 2 hours at night doing punchdowns – a process of standing on top of the open, oak fermenter that bubbles like a swamp with CO2 and the acidity of the grapes. Then using what is essentially a slippery, 6 foot long whisk, one must stir and punch-down all of the grape-skins that have floated to the top. The key to success is using all the strength that can be mustered without slipping and falling into dangerously acidic, gurgling brew. Other work involves climbing into the reeking 7000 liter oak fermenters to shovel out the grape skins after maceration is complete or getting into the massive stainless steel wine press to clean it for the next variety, which could be multiple times per day. Otherwise, if the work is light in the cellar any particular evening, we can most always go to sample the many excellent wines with Fritz’s welcoming sister, Helena who is in charge of the tasting room and much of the behind the scenes. She generously has a pitcher at the ready of the young wine, maybe only a few days old as well as vintages from years past. We are beginning to finally understand what the “wine snobs” mean when they say that 2008 was a good year.
We retire to our pensione each night stinky, sticky, sunburned and saturated.
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