33. - 8 Jan.: Cape Town wine tasting and Langa, Khayelitsha and Gugulethu townships

Morning drive to Hout Bay. It is windy and drizzling, but the view of the costline is impressive nonetheless. In a somber, austere way.

On the way the driver stops at a viewpoint and I notice, not far away, a crew of about 15 workers, about half men and half women, huddling under the roof of a delapidated house. It looks like it has been hit by the weather for years, abandoned and now filled with sand.  Wet sand now: it looks like it's been soaking rain for a few hours at least.

It's an eerie but somehow attractive scene, it could be the stage for a movie by Sergio Leone, were it not for the fact that it does not rain much in his movies. I approach and ask them what they are up to and if I can photograph. They are there to cleare the scene of sand and debris, but can't work under the rain. The light rain is not so intimidating to me but they have no raincoats. We chat for a while, I snap a few shots of their green overalls against the red bricks of the house and the white sand, and off I go.

On the way back to Cape Town it occurs to me that we are close to the Groot Constantia winery, the oldest in South Africa. We have to stop and go for a tasting. As we approach, we drive by the Pollsmoor prison, where Mandela was held after his Robben island years until he was finally freed in 1990.

The tasting is fun: for a small fee you can taste five of their wines, and for a little extra cash you get a small cheese platter, nicely served on a small wooden board with a small wooden knife. A white lady and a black man operate two serving stations in the huge tasting room. Lots of tables in the middle allow wine lovers to mingle and take their time as they get the various wines poured into their glasses.

We take our time but I keep an eye on my watch: it's not far from town but we don't want to be late to what promises to be the highlight of the day: a township tour with Sabelo, the bright young tour leader who took me and Yan for a music evening last month. I called him yesterday to organize another musical evening (we'll do that tomorrow) and mentioned in passing whether he also organized some visit of townships surrounding the Cape Town. Of course!

He is at our hotel at 14:00 hours, punctual as a Swiss watch, with a small van and Daniel, a jovial driver who will be at the wheel for the afternoon while Sabelo explains and shares his vast knowledge of the townhips.  He actually does not live here but in another township, which however he does not think is safe to visit, even in his company.

The first townships we visit is Langa. It means "Sun" and was built in the 1920s to host blacks evicted from other neighborhoods such as Ndabeni that were too close to rich white areas for comfort. All this decades before apartheid was even formally the law of the land.

First stop at Cape Town tourism center in Langa, this township is not as well known as Soweto but it is trying to find its way in the tourism business. Some artists display their paintings and sculptures, musicians who demonstrate traditional music, students study in a reading room.  We are kindly offered a music lesson by a drummer.

Ladies by the gate, not particularly busy with anything, fun to talk to anyway.I snap some pics of a lady by a wall mosaic and she seems to appreciate the attention. With them, a security guard is listening to some music from the radio. He wears a loose khaki uniform and a red tie, with a badge on his arm that reads "Security - Distinctive Choice". Somehow I find myself in agreement with the general thrust of the idea.

Just by the entrance two men in their thirties are exchanging banter and I join them for a few minutes. After the usual questions about Italian football, Totti etc, they tell me a bit about their life. In a nutshell, their message is that they have a normal life, Langa is a normal place with its good and bad, dos and don'ts, happy and sad. Maybe that is the main point I will come away with at the end of the day. Townships are becoming "normal" places, normal for South Africa anyway.

Self-portrait at the hairdresser

Lots of kids play music of some sort, and I am attracted to an especially photogenic girl with a drum, who plays on the sidewalk surrounded by a couple of dozen children.  It's still the school holidays so they are free even though it is a weekday.

Street music in Langa

Outside the visitor center a man with no feet sits quietly in a wheelchair. He does not beg for money, does not reciprocate my greetings and does not bat an eyelid when I ask him to take a photograph. He hardly seems alive. Maybe that is the saddest condition of all, having lost the desire to live.

On the contrary, the people I meet as we proceed to walk around the township are anything but. At first I am a bit hesitant, I do feel some emotional pressure as this is the first "real" township I visit, it's not tourist-filled Soweto. But the ice is easily broken. Most people are happy to chat and all kids are elated to have their pictures taken.

After a half hour of walking I run into a team of ladies who are busy cooking a whole pile of sheep heads. Yes sheep heads. They sit on a chair and each have a not-so-small fire next to them. They protect the skin of their faces from the heat with some special cream,  The heads are cooked and then placed on a large table by the roadside, presumably for sale though I am the only one who comes forward and buys one. I have to try! Well it's good, tender meat, the cheeks expecially. No one else wants to try. Too bad (for them).

Some adolescent girls are clearly flattered and after a polite invitation offer flirting poses to my lens. One in particular, whom I approach at the gate of her house, gets very much into the model mode. She is a fine interpereter of "moods": as if your boyfriend just sent you flowers, as if your boyfriend just made you mad, as if you want to seduce a boy...



Next stop is Khayelitsha, a large township of 400.000 people that lies 22 kilometers to the East down the N2 road. The first place we visit is the rather grandly named "Department of Coffee" coffee shop, just next to the large railway station. A micro enterprise by Wongama, a former fire guard and two friends of his who decided to open this shop when they realized there was no place to get a warm drink for the thousands of people using the railway every day and saw an opportunity. They say at first people were sceptical but now business is briks and they are thinking of opening another shop. "CAPPUCCINO" for 8.5 Rand is at the top of their red menu board hanging from the wall of their small bar.

Our second stop in the township is at the Velokhaya cycling academy. The word Velokhaya is derived from the French word for cycling (velo) and the Xhosa word for home (khaya) – as such, we’re regarded as the ‘home of cycling’ in Khayelitsha. A school of cycling but also of life, where kids from the townships are offered a chance to develop a skill but also, and perhaps more importantly, personal discipline and a sense of purpose. Co-founder Glyn Broomberg explains in this video. And the other co-founder Amos Ziqubu gives his story. Unfortunately we are still in school holidays so there are no kids training here.

You can understand more about Khayelitsha township in the video "My mother built this house" on housing problems here. See a trailer for the film "A wooden camera" on this township here.

No vegetarians at Mzoli's

The third and final township of the day is Gugulethu. Here out target is Mzoli's, a butcher who had the idea of not only selling meat but also setting up a huge grill and serving his streaks and sausages to customers who wanted to eat there. His humble restaurant has become increasingly popular with locals and increasingly with tourists, both South African and foreign. Prices are cheap, the meat is excellent and the atmosphere is warm and welcoming.

Bye bye Gugulethu

Music is loud but pleasant in the terrace next to the shop where simple tables are continuously filled with trays of hot meat, but no cutlery or napkins, so I am soon in dire straits trying to juggle sausages and lenses without making a mess of either. No alcohol can be served but Mr. Mzoli has no objections if we buy it next door and take it in. After a while most locals, seeminly regular patrons, are dancing, soon to be joined by the ladies in my group!

After such an intense day, what would otherwise have been a pleasant walk and dinner becomes a pretty insignificant evening at the Waterfront.

18. - 24 Dec.: Paarl wine tasting for Christmas eve

Lance with his pearls

Another sunny day in the wine lands. After a further breakfast with soft opera music in the background I head off to Paarl to visit Black Pearl, a small producer. The owner is actually American, and she has had ad adventurous life doing many things around the world before she settled in South Africa to make wine. I am welcomed by her father, Lance, who leads us though a selection of their cabernet/shiraz products. Quite good if a bit aggressive for my taste, especially since both are over 20% Shiraz, which is supposed to be a smooth, velvet-on-your-tongue varietal.

I then drive around a bit but most vineyards are not open for tastings because of the Christmas holiday. Black Pearl I suppose does not count, you are welcomed in the home of the owners, it's not really a commercial tasting operation.

But I find one that is open for business: Backsberg. Maybe because the founder is Jewish? I drive in with two young Frenchmen and we are welcomed by two ladies at the tasting counter. One of the ladies, very thin, her skin of a lovely hazelnut color, in her mid twenties, serves the wines for our tasting while the other is quieter and sits at the cashier. The two Frenchmen are a bit high and one of them makes repeated comments, in French, on the aesthetic characteristics of the serving girl and on how he'd like to take her out in the evening. Rather poor, well, taste on his part. Besides, she looks at him with raised eyebrows: maybe she speaks French and understood what was supposed to be a macho comment to his buddy? I hope so.

We go through the usual procedure: dry whites (sauvignon) more full bodied whites (chardonnay) lighter red pinotage and heavy caliber reds. Pretty good stuff, and I fall for the temptation of ordering some. These are easy wines: their philosophy is to make wines that are a pleasure to drink even for the uncomplicated taster, and I think they largely hit their target.

On the way home I pass by some slums, oddly located between lush vineyards. Metal and plastic corrugated sheets covered with plastic and held up, moreor less, with creatively positioned strings and wooden poles. No electricity, no running water, no paved streets. A sign on a shack, under a coat of arms with three big capital letters SFW, very improbably reads Die Stellenbosch-Boerewynmekerye (the Boer wine maker?).

A bit beyond, more poor housing, but this time small houses made of brics with electricity poles all around. Even cars parked by the road.

Die Stellenbosch- Boerewynmekerye

Easy evening in my room. I munch on some spicy Hunan food I received as a gift from Yan. Hunan food is supposed to be the spiciest in China and Yan assures me what she has brought over this time is nothing compared to what you can get at home. I of course believe her, and then again, I can boast Southern Italian descent so I am no chicken when it comes to hot chili!

I thoroughly enjoy this Christmas eve alone, and not just because of the Hunan food. It's the first time in many years I have no obligations. With dad's passing last June I can just consider this a normal day. I do remember, with a tiny bit of nostalgia, when I was a kid, believed in Father Christmas and waited for midnight so that we could open our gifts. I was often disappointed because my birthday is only one week before today, and thus I would often get only one gift. But still, it was a night to look forward to for the rest of the year. Ever since that ended, it became more an obligation than anything else. Maybe things will revert to the ancient tradition if I ever have kids. Let's see what happens...

17. - 23 Dec.: Wine tasting in Stellenbosch and Paarl

It was a Belgian friend of mine who strongly recommended I visit Beyerkloof when in Stellenbosch for a tasting of their great pinotage. This is a typically South African cross between Pinot Noir and Hermitage, and Ivo told me Beyerkloof was famous for it. Ivo is Flemish, Bruxellois, Belgian, European and, when it comes to wine, a real citizen of the world. I guess you have to be if you are Belgian and love good wines. There are maybe a dozen or os good vineyward in Belgium but not enough to satisfy a lifetime of oenological tastings. After learning the three official languages of his home country, as well as English, which is a sine qua non in the financial world where he works, he decided to pick up Italian, just for fun. He lives in Brussels and so we meet often to discuss the oenological merits of fermented grape juices from around the planet. He is one of the relatively few Flemish who still lives in Brussels, the capital of Belgium and of Europe that has progressively become almost completely francophone.

After the disappointment of two days ago, when Yan and I were bounced at the door because it was end of business, this time I make sure I get there during regular business hours, and after parking in the scorching sun I walk through the gate to the tasting room. It is a dark room, made even darker by a slick black counter on top of which an endless succession of glasses is filled with wines.  It is a bit noisy, which does disturb me as I try to concentrate on the aromas of the first whites that are served to me, but after all this is where wine lovers from all over the world come to have fun, and we should not take ourselves too seriously.

Prices are really attractive, but unfortunately local prices have little to do with what I would pay for the same bottles in Europe. It's not so much trasportation costs that weigh in here, as freight charges by sea are quite reasonable, it is tax. Excise tax and Value Added Tax to be precise. So an excellent quality/price ratio in South Africa (say 8 to 10 euro for an upmaket vintage red) becomes a think-about-it 25-30 euro per bottle when delivered to Europe. Nevertheless I request more information about having a few bottles sent to my address in Europe.

And by the way while I did like their Pinotage I thought their cabs were better: powerful yet velvet soft on the palate. Perhaps not the best to age for decades but easily enjoyable a few years after harvest. "Cabs" is South African short hand for "Cabernet Sauvignon", perhaps the most successful varietal in the world, originally from France but now universally used either alone or in the classical combination with Cabernet Franc and Merlot. The name? It was, they say, by chance that sometime in the XVII century some southern French vintner accidentally crossed Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc and realize the outcome was going to be a hit.

A most kind lady shows me a chart with final consumer prices for all European destinations, each taking into account trasnportation and tax. I can see that Switzerland is the best country to live in if you are going to import wine from South Africa to Europe. Belgium is not on the chart at all, and the lady can't really tell me why. I am very curious now and she goes and calls the manager, a blond very Dutch looking thirty-something that is more than happy to explain.

I am startled to learn that they do export directly to all of Europe except Belgium, because the local importer objects. I can't believe that of all European countries only the distributor to Belgium holds such blocking power but that's exactly it.

Well so much for sending Beyerkloof wines to Belgium. I shall have to buy it from the importer. Or maybe not, I don't like the fact that residents from all other European countries can order their wine from the producer except Belgians. As I think through my options for retaliatory action I continue to sip away and notice that most staff and patrons are white but there are a few blacks and colored in bith sides of the counter. I ask the lady who is serving me and she says rhe schools for sommelier and university agronomy are now completely mixed.

Ryno tells the Fairview story

My next stop is the Fairview estate, in the nearby Paarls region, just a few km away, where I enjoy wonderful tasting of wines as well as excellent olive oil.  Ryno is the somelier guiding me through the range. He explains that the olive oil is done in the Italian tradition and that is why it gets Italian names. I get my very own table in a spacious and airy room with high ceilings and mirrors. One by one Ryno proposes half a dozen wines which I have selected from the house's production.

Here they can and do export direct to Belgium though at a price, because of the notorious VAT and excise tax, of course. Final price is about double what I'd pay here but prices are so convenient that I can't resist ordering a couple of cases. And why should I resist anyway: part of the pleasure when I drink this wine in Europe will be recalling this wonderful time at the vineyard.

I then move on just a few hundred meters to another property by the same owner. It's called the Spice Route and here it's chocolate and wine matches that are on offer. It's a serene hillside with a farmhouse sitting on top. You can park and walk up a few steps to a huge terrace where the friendly staff will bring you the chocs and the wines.

The odd couple: wine and chocolate

It's almost closing time and the sun is gently dropping lower over the horizon but there is still plenty of time. I always found it difficult to match any wine with chocolate. In Europe my favorite combination is dark chocolate with Banyuls. A couple of times I tried a young Barolo, a combination I learned from Pierre Marcolini in Brussels at one of his tastings. Here I find that it is Syrah that is the best match for the intense flavor of Fairview's chocolates.

It's the end of the day, I am sorry it's over but it's been a satisfying experience. I have hardly eaten all day but the wines and the bits and pieces of bread have filled me for the day and I look forward to a quite evening in my Clermont attic with warm decaffeinated coffee and a good book.

16. - 22 Dec.: Franschhoek

I decide to take an easy day of rest at the B and B. Good breakfast in the yard next to my room. Again Italian music is playing softly in the background, though this time it's more opera and less 1950s.

Around noon I take a long walk with a coffee flavored toscanello cigar around the vineyards. It is sunny and 26 °C. An ideal day for meditation, rest, reading, backing up hard drives full of pictures and uploading some stuff online to share news with friends and family. Unfortunately there is no wifi in my room (I've become accustomed to take it for granted, just as hot water) but my MTN data plan works like a charm and I am connected to the world.

A plaque outside my room informs that Auberge Clermont was inaugurated in 1997, 140 years after founding of the current farm in 1857. But the roots of the Auberge go back at least another century and a half before that.

It was in 1694 that Abraham de Villiers received title to the land from the Dutch authorities and founded the farm he called "Champagne". Like many other properties in the region it has a French name, so chosen by nostalgic Huguenots to remind themselves of faraway France, their homeland they were never to see again. The farm morphed repeatedly over the following decades until it reached the current mix of vineyard and upmarket B and B.

13. - 19 Dec.: Swellendam to Cape Town, through Stellenbosch

After another pantagruelic breakfast we head off for a walk in town. Swellendam is a quaint little place, but it is doaked in history as it is one of the very oldest towns in South Africa. The fourth oldest to be precise, and it retains its old charm even if modern shopping malls are popping up along the main street, which would otherwise very much look like a Western American desert town.

A little shopping and a few photographs to the beautiful orthensia that dot the streets and we drive to Stellenbosch. An easy drive, mostly downhill, heading straight for the Cape.

We reach Stellenbosch at about 4:00pm but again, like for the ostrich farm, the first vineyard we visit, ... is about to close down. A guard at the door comes walking towards us as we approach the gates of the tasting rooms after parking in the huge lot between the road and the vines. He is polite and smiling. In fact I get the feeling he is a bit bored and welcomes the chance to do something and talk to someone. No chance to taste anything here today, he says, they are closing down for the day. I'll be in the region for a few days but this is Yan's last chance for a good tasting of South African nectar before she heads back home. Time for Plan B.

I have a quick look at the various guidebooks in the car and we decide our best chance for a tasting of South African wine before dinner sits at the "L'avenir" ("the future" in French) farm. You can't really see L'avenir from the road unless you spot a board by their main gate. You then have to drive a small winding path seemingly in the middle of nowhere until you reach the farm.

Why "L'Avenir"? Why a French name in the middle of a country that boasts eleven official languages, of which nine are African and two (English and Afrikaans) are anglo-saxon? It's because of the immigration of French Huguenots escaping persecution by the Catholics in the 16th and 17th century France. The found refuge in many Protestant European and North American countries, and a few hundred families ended up in the Dutch Cape Colony. Here they were put to make wine. And today more than 90% of all South African wine is produced by the descendants of the Huguenots.

It is a purely bucholic setting, a small farmhouse in a gently sloping garden and, a few hunder meters away, the vines. We take a table outside and are attended to by Katie, a new girl in the farm, it's her first day on the job in fact.  Katie is a college student who makes some extra money for her studies. We taste a half dozen whites and red in the garden, in a idyllic setting but for a worker with a very loud lawn mower who is doing his thing just in front of us. Luckily after some 15 minutes he is done and moves on, leaving us with the tranquillity of a setting sun, blus sky, green rows of ripening grapes and our wines.

Grapes at l'Avenir are slowly maturing

With most of our senses sated we head out to drive to Cape Town, where we reach our hotel by the Waterfront. Dinner is at "The Greek Fishermen". Great fish soup, intense aroma and thick creamy texture, one of the best ever, and it would have been enough for a meal. But we are tempted by their seafood platter, expecting one of those imposing round trays with piles of shell fish and crustaceans on a think bed of ice. What we get, however is not much, is all cooked and not really exciting to the taste buds. Oh well.

Patrons here are mostly, though not exclusively, white, while waiting staff is mostly black or "colored", as they call mixed race people here. The Waterfront is the pulsating heart of international Cape Town, with upmarket restaurants, smart stores and an uninterrupted flow of tourists, both domestic and international.

Film review: An Autumn Tale (1998), by Eric Rohmer, ****

Synopsis

Eric Rohmer's light-hearted romantic comedy, set amongst the vineyards of the Rhône Valley, concludes his film cycle THE TALES OF THE FOUR SEASONS. Best friends Magali, a widow, and Isabelle, a happily married bookshop owner, have known each other since childhood. Although Magali enjoys her life as a wine grower, she admits that she would relish some male companion- ship; a confession that prompts Isabelle to secretly find her friend a man. After placing a lonely hearts ad, Isabelle chooses a suitor, but finds that things don't quite go according to plan...


Review

I won't repeat what others have said about the cast and the style of the director. It is a good movie overall, entertaining and amusing. I bought this movie as part of a series about wine. I was a little disappointed to find out it has only a bit to do with wine: French vineyards provide the background of the story and that's about it. Yes Megali does talk about her wine and her relationship with the land, but she could have played the same role in the film if she were growing olive trees.

Nonetheless I found it a great movie because it highlights the dynamics of match-making and dating in the pre-internet era. That was the time when there were no online dating sites and instead people wrote ads in papers. There was no email (though at one point in the film one can see a Minitel monitor) and if you were interested in someone you had to call. (Or write to a PO address.) I very much enjoyed living through what millions must have experienced while trying to find a partner in those times. The story is far from predictable however, and I won't tell it here...

Film review: You will be my son (2010), by Gilles Legrand, ****

Synopsis

Paul Marseul (Niels Arestrup), owner of a prestigious vineyard in Saint Emilion has a son, Martin (Loran Deutsch), who works with him on the family estate named Clos de l'Abbé. Paul is a demanding and passionate winemaker but is a domineering father. He is not happy that his son may one day succeed him. He dreams of a son who is more talented, more charismatic . . . and more in line with his own aspirations. Things deteriorate as Paul's trusted manager (Patrick Chesnais) is dying of cancer. Philip (Nicolas Bridet), his brilliant son, who is also in the busines, returns from California to see his dying father. Paul sees Philip as his ideal son and turns away from his own flesh and blood.

Film review: Sideways (2004) by Alexander Payne, *****

Synopsis

Comedy drama which follows Miles (Paul Giamatti), an unsuccessful novelist, and Jack (Thomas Haden Church), an equally unsuccessful actor who is about to get married. They decide to take a trip to California in an attempt to sow their wild oats. There they explore the nature of their failures and question their relationships. Jack has an affair with Stephanie (Sandra Oh)  and wonders whether he should call off the marriage. Miles, recently divorced himself, questions whether or not he made the right decision while Maya (Virginia Madsen) plays a few games with him.


Review

An excellent movie that is only marginally about wine. Yes we go through California's wine country and learn a lot about many different kinds of wine, and especially Pinot Noir.

But the movie by Alexander Payne is more about what we can do with ourselves and our lives with the hand we are dealt at birth and by chance. I identify very much with Miles, a not-so-good-looking but deep thinking fellow who is deeply passionate about what he loves, be it his lost ex-wife or Pinot Noir. But it is the Jacks of the world who have more fun: not so deep, not so careful, just happy go lucky types. The last scene of the movie leaves a door open to hope however: while Jack sinks unenthusiastically into his marriage, Miles finds the true love of his life.

You can buy the DVD here


In the US you can buy it here:

Film review: Mondovino (2004) by Jonathan Nossiter, **

Synopsis

Filmmaker Jonathan Nossiter, who loves wine, looks at the international wine business. He offers his personal view of how business concerns and the homogenisation of tastes around the world are changing the way wine is being made. 

Review

The movie is good in that it points the finger to a phenomenon that is pervasive in the world of wine, as it is in every aspect of our life: globalization. The director's thesis, which he does not spell out but appears clearly, is that this is a bad thing. I, on the contrary, think it is a good development for wine, mainly because it allows for greater choice.

Far from homogenizing the taste of the world's wines, globalization is making any wine, in any style, available everywhere in the world, and this gives each of us a chance to choose what we like, how much we want to spend.

He implicitly accuses Robert Parker (whom he interviews) to be in cahoot with American business, while in fact parker has been very beneficial to French wines and Bordeaux in particular. He received countless awards from France, including from the president of the Republic.

Nossiter is tricky as he often hides his camera and films without the subject being aware. That is not correct in my view, even for a documentarist.

He is also political, but out of context. He underlines how a mayor of a French town who rejected American money to invest in the local vineyards was a communist (good) while Italian nobles who accept to work with the same Americans has grandparents who supported fascism (bad). I find some of these people who live in their past rather disagreeable, but that says nothing about their wines. How totally irrelevant.

Finally, he never misses a chance to film any dog that happens to be in front of his camera. For example when he interviews Parker he goes at great length to emphasize how his dogs fart a log, and that is really too much. 

Today, no matter what Nossiter says, we have more diversified and better quality wines around the world than ever before.

Here is another good review of this film I agree with by Decanter.

See my other reviews of film about wine here in this blog.

 

Film review: A Good year (2006), by Ridely Scott, ***

Synopsis

Director Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe--who first worked together on the Academy Award-winning Gladiator--are reunited in this romantic film, which is based on Peter Mayle's book A Year in Provence.

Crowe plays Max, a workaholic London bonds trader who doesn't know the meaning of vacation. When his uncle dies, leaving him a picturesque estate in the south of France, Max views it as an opportunity to cash in the vinery and pocket the profits. The film is reminiscent of Diane Lane's Under the Tuscan Sun in the way the scenery plays as much of a role in the film as its characters. The lush village and streaming sunlight portray Provence as an idyllic, magical place. Even Max falls under its spell. While not a particularly likeable character, especially in the early part of the film, Max also isn't a bad guy. Nothing that happens comes as much of a surprise. Still, while the film doesn't fully utilise Crowe's range of skills, the actor is charming in his role and A Good Year provides fine viewing. --Jae-Ha Kim for Amazon





Review

A feel good movie to take you to Provence for a couple of hours. Crowe is not at his best, whereas Marion Cotillard is the real star.

The moral of the story is one I share: work to live, don't live to work. The setting (ruthless London city trader sees the light and a pretty woman and turns good) is a bit trite. But then again the point the movie is trying to make is a simple one. But a strong one.

But this is also a movie about wine. You learn a bit about French wine making specifically, though American wines enter the fray when Max's cousin comes into the picture. A couple of references are made to the France-California rivalry: I would recommend watching the film "Bottle Shock" together with this one. This movie was made the same year as the rematch of the  Judgement of Paris, again won by California over France.

The ending is predictable, sort of, but with a fun twist...

Film review: Bottle Shock (2008) by Randal Miller, ****

Synopsis

The build-up to the famous 1976 Judgement of Paris competition between French and Californian wines. Napa Valley's Jim Barrett (Lost Highway's Bill Pullman) has been plugging away for years with minimal success. A former attorney, Barrett runs Chateau Montelena with his wayward son, Bo (Chris Pine, the Star Trek prequel's Captain Kirk), who would rather do anything than assist his stern father. Bo's co-workers include Gustavo (Six Feet Under's Freddy Rodríguez) and Sam (Transformers' Rachael Taylor), who long to produce the perfect chardonnay. Naturally, the young men compete for the favors of the beautiful blonde (the movie's least interesting angle). Across the Atlantic, Steven Spurrier (Alan Rickman) struggles to keep his Parisian wine shop going (cheapskate American Dennis Farina is his only regular customer). Then Spurrier conceives a contest to attract customers.


Review

While based on a true story, the film takes some liberty at embellishing the facts with romance and family feuds, but this does not detract from it being highly instructive for wine lovers.

The title is a pun: the "bottle shock" is what may ruin a wine because of vibrations and temperature variations during protracted and unprotected transportation. It is also the result of the tasting, which shocked the wine world for what a bottle of California wine was able to produce.

The competition itself should have been given more time in the movie in my view, as it was the event that justified making the movie in the first place and changed the world of wine ever since.

Also, the movie does not make it clear that the competition was only for a few varieties, ie Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvigons/Merlot blends, and as such can in no way be interpreted to be an overall match between Californian and French wines.

Finally, one can not help but notice somewhat of a pro-Californian bias in the movie, but this is perhaps inevitable given the nature of the real historical events. I would like to see a film of the 2006 rematch, which California, again, won hands down, in fact by an even greater margin.

See the book "The Judgement of Paris" which I reviewed in this blog.

Novgorod to Leningrad, black market, caviar and Soviet champagne

Tour around Novgorod. Many monuments to tanks, artillery guns, Katyusha missiles from WWII, anti-aircraft guns. A war monument on the Kreml (citadel) is guarded by young children about 10-12 years-old, who perform a change of the guard with an elaborate goose-stepping choreography like the adult guards at the Kremlin in Moscow who guard Lenin's embalmed body in the Red Square. Some other "Young Pioneers" are marching up and down the central avenues of the city.

We have lunch in a restaurant in the Kreml, a charming building that is a converted old Orthodox church! Many other churches are still... churches but closed na remont, which means for restauration. But no one is working at them, it seems there is no hurry to restore them any time soon.

After lunch we hit the road again, direction Leningrad. The road is poorly indicated  and once we get to Leningrad we are lost. Andrew gets off the car to try and buy a road map at a service station but after a few steps, he is stopped by a man who wants to buy his jeans from him and makes some business by selling one of his jeans and a T-shirt for 85 rubles. The man approaches the car where we are waiting and tells us in excellent English he is interested in buying more from us. We ask what exactly does he want to buy and he says he'll buy anything we are willing to sell: our frisbee, sun-glasses, anything. Tongue-in-cheek, I ask him if he'd be interested in buying Ann and Cathy. He is very serious and replies that I would not be laughing very often if I lived here and knew how hard it was to buy any of the objects we have in the car.

When we reach the camping ground the receptionist has a proposal: we would be upgraded to a proper hotel but on one condition: we must now ask why. Well, it's an easy one. So we accept and get settled in a fairly nice if simple hotel.

In the evening we go to town. Again shut churches dot our serendipitous itinerary around the city. They must have been really magnificent in their old times.

Nicer if it were open

We park Giallina by the "Neva" restaurant, near the bank of the river of the same name. As we walk to the restaurant, one man comes up to me and offers 20 rubles for a crocodile belt I am wearing, but I need it and must regretfully decline. He offers 30 rubles. No deal.

Once at the restaurant door (we did not reserve a table in advance) we are told we can't eat there because the whole restaurant has been booked for a private party. But the belt seeking man, who is still following us, perhaps pondering to increase his offer, explains to the restaurant receptionist that we are Italians and need to have dinner. The receptionist goes inside to confer with his manager and after a minute he comes out and says yes, we can eat, they'll set a table for us. A waiter arrives running and leads us to a free table.

We end the day with one of the most luxurious dinner of our trip. Of our lives really: starter, main and dessert consists of black caviar and Soviet champagne! When we are almost done the belt man barges into the restaurant and ups his offer to 50 rubles, then gives up. I'd like to sell him the belt, he is a nice guy and got us dinner, but it's the only one I have. I strongly regret not having taken more stuff along to sell here. I knew one could sell trendy clothes like jeans on the black market but had no idea of the pervasiveness of local demand for so many items we just take for granted.

Duck and wine

Easy Sunday. We get up late and drive to the Stare Miasto in search for food.

After some walking around we run into a pleasant small restaurant and take our seats. Using what little Polish we know (Ann actually gets by OK) we ask for the menu, but there isn't any. We then ask what is available, and the answer is clear: duck.

OK so we order a delicious duck and not as delicious red wine. Apparently duck is a pretty popular dish in Poland, it seems it's going to become a regular presence on our table. For the three of us the bill is 750 zloty (less than seven dollars).

Before heading home I saw some painters in the square and bought two water colors of the Stare Miasto.

Back in the dorm we learned that Marta has come looking for us...