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| Today’s South China Morning Post |
In the mid 1950s we lived five years in a house in a vineyard in a village, Frattocchio, just outside Rome. As our dad drove into the Oz embassy each weekday, to work. (Was driven, to be accurate, by the lovely, handsome and loquacious Alberto, driven in the embassy's Humber Super Snipe, also lovely and handsome).
My sister and I, young kids, remember the grape-picking and our feet-squashing to make the juices for our local Frascati wine. The vines were ancient. They belonged to the nearby peasant tenants, Mimo e Lola. Who introduced me, age eight, to vino fresco, & pane al aglio e olio. I can still recall the smells of Lola's home-baked bread, of her home-pressed olive oil, of her home-grown garlic. While Mimo, in the depths of his cool, damp cellar, dips a tiny bamboo cup, tied to the end of a bamboo stick, into the wine barrel, "just for testing, don't you know”, passing me the cup. In the deep of his cool, dark cellar.
Some vines in Italy, in Greece, in Spain, are thousands of years old, and wine is a deep part of the culture. It's a shame to see them destroyed. 20,000 hectares uprooted in Oz alone is 13% of Australian vines. Ouch!
Partly I blame China for this. Stopping imports from Oz — against WTO rules — because we had the temerity to ask for an international investigation into the source of the Covid virus. Partly too it's yet another impact of Covid. Many places, including China, haven't got over Covid, if they're being honest. I know for sure it's the case here in Hong Kong where there are still plenty of boarded up stores in town.
In any case, a shame. I feel for the vignerons.
I'd better get to downing some more wine, to help in the recovery…
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