I’m at the Sandrone winery at 8.30 am, nervous as hell. I ring the bell, introduce myself over the intercom, and before the fifth word of my hopelessly mangled Italian is out of my mouth the voice at the other end replies, Oh, yes, we have been expecting you, Meeester Mainly, and the door is buzzed open. So much for all the Italian language discs I put on my iPod.
As I’ve thought about this moment over the last few weeks, I’ve resolved that I have to approach this experience as a complete beginner – I have to be humble, assume nothing, keep my mouth shut and just watch and listen really, really well. I recall that great passage in one of Rilke’s letters about being a beginner, always. It’s a lovely passage and I wish I had copied it into my notebook or something, but I can recall the gist. Approach things with humility, respect and love, and assume nothing. Here it is. I was also reminded by a friend a few weeks ago to just follow everything they tell me exactly. Not almost exactly, but exactly exactly. He illustrated his point with the godawful eighties movie : “The Karate Kid” – just remember: “Wipe on. Wipe off.” “Wipe on. Wipe off. Just like they tell you to do.” Ok, got it.
Picture: Luciano with the basket presses, disassembled for cleaning.
I wait for Luciano in one of the small reception rooms off the office. I’ve been in here at least a dozen times, tasting, but this feels really different – yes, he and Barbara, his daughter, did invite me to come to learn with Luciano in the cellars, yes yes, but this time I still feel like a supplicant awaiting my moment to kiss the feet of the pope. Or at least the bishop. Luciano walks in and greets me warmly, we catch up for a bit, then he asks me what it is I hope to accomplish with this “stage” at his winery. An important caveat here: Luciano speaks very little English – so I am struggling along in my wretched Italian. (Did I mention that the word “wretched” is among my top five favorite words ever?) Well, I reply – I am really here to learn, just to learn, I’ve read so much about how wine is made, I’ve watched it being made, I understand the basic chemistry and technique of it, blah blah blah, but there’s no substitute for real, actual experience. So all I want to do is learn – learn learn learn. Luciano nods appreciatively, takes me around the winery introducing me to his crew and his brother Luca, who manages all the vineyards, and suggests I come back at 1.30 after lunch to help Luca with gathering samples for analysis. I ask if I can hang out with the guys cleaning up and organizing the crush pad for the start of harvest next week. Yes, yes, off you go, scamp, he tells me with a laugh.
Half an hour later I am helping Christian, Ivano and Andrea organize pallets, sweep up dirt and mud, hang tarpaulins, set up the destemmer and crusher and other equipment when it hits me like a board in the face: the whole time I was telling Luciano that I just wanted to “learn,” I was using the wrong Italian word and instead was telling him I wanted to “teach.” Oh dear sweet Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Donkey. “Oh yes, Mr. Wine God, sir, I’d like to bring my little college-educated ass into your winery that you’ve built from scratch into world-renown and show you how it’s done.”
At least he was laughing ... still.
Shit.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Nice move there, Alan, you stupid, moronic, impolite, uneducated boob. The metaphorical tail is well-tucked in between the legs. Well, if nothing else, the world here knows that I’m the Newbie. They are all incredibly nice that whole first day, explaining things twice, and even speaking slowly the second time around, showing me around, buying me a coffee, humoring me in general. By the end of the day I’ve regained some of my pride, having done a “fine” job of collecting random samples with Luca in the seven Dolcetto sites. These samples are analysed overnight to see where the overall ripeness of a given vineyard is, and as such, influences the order in which sites are picked. Why they’ve given this job to such a blithering dolt is beyond me. I’m supposed to take 25 individual grapes from each row, 300 from each plot, all taken at random spots, some from the tops of bunches, some from the shoulders, from the middle or the very bottom, from big bunches and small … and I am so focused on being “random” that I randomly recall the rusty old hubcap full of shotgun holes that I found in Arches National Park as an undergraduate in Geology and kept as a souvenir, calling it the “Random Point Generator” … and I promptly lose count. Fuckety fuck.
Six finally rolls around. I am doing much better about keeping the mouth shut. I stop at the Altares for a coffee, then drive back to my apartment frustrated by my gaffes but still happy that I didn’t completely embarrass myself this first day. Well, yes, I did, in fact embarrass myself completely – just thankfully not into a tiny little ball of nothingness.
Yet.
Wipe on, wipe off.
Wipe on, wipe off.
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