The Older The Grape...

Wednesday 24th March 2010, 7.25pm, Base Hostel - Queenstown

I am a miserable failure. This is exactly why I never make New Year's Resolutions, I am always destined to break them. After considering yesterday that perhaps I should lay off the sauce for a while, do you know what I have done today? I have been on a wine tasting tour of the local vineyards. I am incorrigible. I don't feel too bad though, because today has been one of the most fantastic days I've had in New Zealand so far.

The Appellation Wine van picked us up at 2.30pm today, and needing a break from the young ones I was instantly delighted to discover that our tour party consisted of Kirsty the guide, myself and Ella, a Brazilian woman in her late 20's, an American couple in their 50's, and possibly one of the best human beings I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, a 70 year old Australian woman by the name of Judy. But we'll come to Judy later.

Over a period of 4 hours the van trundled us through 4 local vineyards, Kirsty providing information and education on wines along the way. I consider myself somewhat of an expert now, having been so thoroughly briefed in the difference that oxygenation period, barrel type and treatment of the grape can make to the taste of the wine, and I have come to the conclusion that if you care to buy me a glass, then please make it a Sauvignon Blanc harvested from 2006 or onwards. A regular connoisseur eh? In each vineyard we tasted somewhere between 6 and 8 wines and were encouraged if we felt able to, to finish each taster as opposed to the swilling and spitting method. That's the way the Kiwis work God love 'em, they like a drink and they don't see the point of wasting good wine. So after, ooh what's that, 30 odd samples of Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, Cabernet Sauvignon, Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc and even a little champers, I'm feeling a tad "squiffy".

One of the highlights of of the wine tour were the views from the hillside vineyards. All of them beautifully unique and elaborately envisioned in their own right - the Pergrine Vineyard's gigantic aluminium roof was modelled on the shape of a Pergrine falcon's wing, the Chard Vineyard looked like an old Spanish farmhouse - they sit high up in the hills overlooking Queenstown's urban sprawl amongst the lakes and the mountain range known as The Remarkables - which quite live up to their name. The cliff faces in this area are something of a sight to behold. In the 1880's during this area's gold rush the population increased from 8, to 8000 people. That's 7992 gold diggers who clamoured and pick-axed their way through the rock, flooding the slopes in the hope of a small rocky fortune washing their way. This bygone era has left the cliffs heavily eroded and smooth sloped, leaning in opposition from each other on 45 degree angles, parting like the Red Sea for the Israelites to cross, or in this case, for Queenstown to nestle among them; it looks Biblical up there.

So you've got the wine, you've got the setting, what earns second place in my breakdown of the wine tour's attractions? That would have to be lunch. There are a few food stuffs missing from menus in Asia, unheard of in Indonesia and out of our budget in New Zealand that me and Miss Ella occasionally take to pining for and discussing with greedy, mouth-dribbling wantonness. Olives, Brie, pâté, french bread, smoked salmon, mussels, cold Italian meats, pesto, sun-dried tomatoes. And there they all were, laid out for us on a china platter with silver cutlery. Not that we needed knives and forks. We must have looked to our dining companions as though we hadn't eaten in weeks, the speed and fervour with which we piled those longed for culinary delights in to our faces. We did ourselves proud, and cleaned that vineyard right out of Antipasti.

Number One, first place on the joys of our day in the vineyards ranking? The company; Judy. She reminded me of Jenny Joseph's poem, 'Warning';

'When I am old I shall wear purple,
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.'

Read the rest if you haven't already, Joseph is one of my favourite contemporary poets, and worth your investigation.

She was glamorous, glamorous in a Marlene Dietrich, Sophia Loren ageing beauty kind of way that most young women will look at and hope beyond hope they might be able to emulate when they are even 20 years short of her 7 decades. Long grey-blonde hair, smart overcoat, leather boots, well fitting jeans, tastefully applied make-up. She was funny and self-deprecating. During one conversation, Kirsty remarked that the attributes which make humans the superior beings on Earth are their brain capacity and opposable thumbs, and Judy pipes up with, 'Well I got dementia up here and arthritis in my hands, you may as well shoot me now sweetheart'. She didn't spit out a drop of wine and therefore ended the day more blotto than the rest of us put together, so much so that when we dropped her back at her hotel she said, 'Best drop me at reception lovey, I seem to have lost my key'. When one of the staff at the vineyards told us that we could spit out any wines we didn't like in to the sink she chirped up with, 'I don't think that's going to be a problem son, I never met a grape that disagreed with me yet'. I also liked her for reasons relating to my own vanity; she spent a lot of time gazing in to my eyes telling me they were the biggest ones she'd ever seen. She even forced an embarrassed looking waiter to concur with her on this exclaiming, 'Tell me she doesn't have the bestest, biggest eyes you ever saw, tell me!'.

More than anything she had a completely enviable lust for life and indestructible enthusiasm for everything around her. Everything was 'beautiful, 'wonderful', 'glorious', 'sensational sweetheart'. She sat in the back of the van gasping with glee at regular intervals, causing Ella and myself to jump out of our seats at the surprise of it a couple of times. This is more astounding when you learn some of her history. She has been a live-alone widow for 30 years, her husband and the love of her life, a former professional test cricketer, was a famous sportsman and an infamous gambler who at the age of 42, crippled by his debts, shot himself in the head. Yet I'd be hard pushed to name anyone I've met who smiles wider, laughs louder and hugs with more sincerity than Judy. She left me her phone number and told me to ring her when I get to Sydney so that I can go and stay with her, 'don't stay in hostels darling, lots of hot, young Brazilian surfers where I live, bit too young for me but I'll love to introduce you.'

Feisty, gorgeous, irrepressible, wicked, gregarious, generous, frivolous, carefree, and just on the right side of senile. When I am old I shall wear purple... and hope that whatever life has thrown at me I'll still be able to throw my head back and cackle like Judy Burke.