Wine

The white grapes are being harvested when we take the main road out of Ambrolauri heading west. We turn off to the right after a few minutes, onto a dirt road so steep I’m glad we’re in a four-wheel drive. Murad Vatsadze lives at the top, in a large house that accommodates several generations of his family. The yard, lively with the usual country cast of dogs, cats and chickens, is on a flat terrace. Right behind it, fanning down and up as they follow the vertiginous profile of the mountain, are rows of vines interspersed with fruit trees. The position of these vineyards is breathtaking and as close to ‘heroic’ viticulture as I’ve seen in Georgia: all the work here must be done by hand on rocky, limestone and yellow clay so steep it’s hard to keep upright. In the valley far below, the Rioni River flashes silver as it rounds a bend.