The peppery wine region

In the moments when you wake up feeling completely free of obligation (at least for a few minutes before remember there is something pressing to do, like writing all the feedback I have on the purported launch version of Viva to Christian) there is a mercurial sense of purpose of in life – a sort of “ahah” moment when you believe maybe life can be led entirely in this cabin on the top of a mountain about two hours’ drive from civilisation.

“You wrote the fire was roaring?”

“I exercised some artistic licence.”

The fire yesterday was, perhaps more accurately, a soft purr.

My perchance for using artistic licence was not exercised as often or colourfully as I would have liked travelling through the wineries.  To be honest, most of the wines in this region tasted like they had been run through a pepper mill, and I could not draw on real life experiences of licking tree bark or chewing gravel to describe the sensations in my mouth.

(The girls asked that I make a special note of the circumstances – that I was the only man among a crowd of gorgeous women – and that I should be so lucky.  I might have made a mention of that more organically at some point.)

We spent our evening playing Cards Against Humanity next to the fireplace dressed as Greek scholars.  It seemed like good counter to balance our day of civilised dining and wining.  Our lunch at Varias was an absolute delight – go for the food, don’t go for the wine.

I might go back to the conversations for the next few hours, sipping teas and coffees for the minor headache and to avoid the reality of life a little longer.

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