A life in wine, interrupted

How does one go from experiencing the great wines of the world, on a regular basis, for decades, to a world now so quiet and tranquil that the idea of rushing around the country, the world even, sitting at a table and taste 30 vintages of Giacosa, seems not only like a dream, but like another life? 

In my daily life, in this time of coronavirus, coupled with the emergence of the second childhood, otherwise known as occupation permanently adjourned, I’ve taken to spending more time cataloguing 55 years of photographic images. From the analog to the digital, I can backtrack on moments of my life and catch a glimpse at what was there right in front of me. It is an exhilarating process.

One month I was in Napa Valley and New York and Italy, according to the catalogued images. How did I do that? Why did I do that? What came of it?

Experience came of it, as well as connections. A lot of great food and wine, and good times. Times that now seem as if it were experienced in another solar system. Get on a plane now and go to Italy? Can’t even go to NY that easily. Don’t want to in any event.

So, many of us have become world wide navel gazers now. We look in. We look back. We can look forward. Maybe we should wait until Wednesday to do that. So, we wait. Our lives, interrupted.

I go to the fridge, open up a bottle of white fizzy wine from the Marche. The bottle stares back at me, in a sinister kind of grin, that after a glass or two, I wonder if it was sent to mock me, mock us. Where did that wine come from? I don’t remember buying it. I don’t recall anyone sending it to me. These are the tricks the present play on me, on us?

I do feel much more comfort in looking at 1974, compared to 2020. That year really seemed much more convulsive personally. I’m working on a photo essay. I was homeless for a time in 1974. I was lost in 1974. I traveled all around America in 1974. And I shot rolls and rolls of film. And what I see now is that even though, at times, I was hopelessly lost, I made it through. I was in my early 20’s and was resilient. I’m no longer in my early 20’s. But I’m still resilient. 2020 isn’t going to conquer me.

The whole thing about this life, interrupted idea, is that we get something into our head about how things are going to be. And then something happens. And everything changes. We’re all experiencing that. Well, most of us. The young winemaker in Tuscany who is madly in love is acting as though he’s walking on clouds. But that’s a rather benign version of magical thinking compared to what some of the world leader scenarios look like. The elderly woman with a new pair of walking shoes, to take her morning and evening walks along the Pacific Ocean, her life has been interrupted. But adversity levels are relatively low. The lights are still on. She’s still eating, walking, talking. She’s not tied to an IV on life support in some hospital living out the last of her days.

What am I saying? To give up wine, or any deep immersion into it, right now, is a small price to pay, with regards to the bigger issues unfolding all around us. Social justice, the repression of women and minorities in the wine trade and in the larger picture, food security, access to clean water, economic justice, you name it. So, if we cannot have access to Grand cru Burgundy and 1^st Growth Bordeaux, like we used to, so what? It’s a minor glitch.

Meanwhile that bottle of Marche Bianco is still making faces at me, taunting me to finish it with the burger I'm cooking outside, instead of opening a beer. That’s my big decision for the moment.  My life interrupted, yeah, wow, what a dilemma. One step at a time. The new normal.

 

 

written and photographed by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W