Something about Wine

Blenheim, December 28th 2015

Do you see that red rose in front of the grapevine lines? I was wondering why only roses, and only red roses? Moreover, the way it's planted doesn't look like anything meant to be artistic either. It wasn't just here, but also at the vineyards we passed by along the way.

Later, from my driver in Wanaka, I learnt that the roses are meant to be pest indicators. When pest season comes, before the grapevines get attacked, the roses get their turn. Thus, prevention time available for the grapevines.

Why are the grapevines short? I mean, why aren't the grapevines made to vine over a canopy where you can walk under it? Answer: To avoid the cold air as much as possible. This, I learnt from my wine tour guide. And, of course it is cold. :D

The last winery to visit on our wine tour, Spy Valley Winery, became where I learnt the most. 

I didn't know that red grapes and white grapes could be mixed in such a broad variety. At first sight, this table reminded me of Mendeleev's Periodic Table which I had been forced to memorize while in high school. Mendeleev himself I just realized was a Russian when I took a vodka tour in St Petersburg.

The weight (body) of a wine is the sensation of fullness perceived I the mouth through tasting. Combinations of varying concentrations of alcohol, extract, residual sugars and glycerol (only in more full bodied wines) determine whether a wine is more full bodied or light bodied. Tannins levels are usually higher in full bodied wines and add ageability but not body. The weight of a wine is not qualitative: great wines can be either full bodied or light bodied.

Acidity is usually a good thing in a wine, making it refreshing to taste, especially when balanced with enough of the grape’s natural sugars. Flabby, or flat, often describes the opposite of good acid content in a wine. However, just as with body acidity is not necessarily a mark of quality: there are great wines in all ranges of acidity levels.

I can't say I am fond of wine. However, I'm always interested about the 'how to', 'how come', and 'why for'. In one source I read that Dmitri Mendeleev was not fond of vodka either. He loved tea. I love coffee.

"Are you okay?" My Australian fellow group member was suddenly standing next to me while the rest were still busy wine tasting. I myself already felt light-headed. Too much New Zealand Pinot Noir, I bet. Aye.

Wine in Marlborough

Blenheim, December 28th 2015

I fell in love with Blenheim on first sight when I rode on Intercity from Picton to Kaikoura last winter. If you ask me why, I cannot define that. However, what made me decide to come to Blenheim and stay even just for one night was: the vineyards. They were vineyards I had never known before. The vineyards I knew were like the ones I saw in Khao Yai (Thailand), in Xinjiang (China), and in my Bible story books.
 
Thus I signed up for a wine tour that mentioned "vineyard walk and talk" in its itinerary. I understood there would be wine tasting, same as the wine tour I joint in Khao Yai, same as the brewery tour at Monteith's in Greymouth. At both places, the tasting came at the very very end of the tour which was about the making of wine/beer. I really couldn't wait to walk through a New Zealand vineyard. I wore trekking sandals and brought a hat. All set!

First visit: Wither Hills. How about this, how about that? We sampled four five variants of wine. "Oh well, maybe on this tour, wine tasting comes first to raise your spirit and energy for the walk," I said to myself.

I very seldom drink wine. But when I do, I always opt for red wine over white wine. It just tastes... uhm, better? After joining this tour, I brushed up a bit about what I had learned in Khao Yai, and searched other sources. Got it. What I felt better in red wine, was a "richer" taste. That's the word. Why? Because white wine is basically produced from the just the juice (of grape of course!) whilst red wine is produced fermenting the grape including skin, and sometimes stem, too. Grape skin and stem contains tannin. That's what makes red wine taste richer than white wine. But for me, it's simple. More ingredients -- juice, skin, stem -- thus richer.

The views from Wither Hills.

There's no doubt that Wither Hills winery is an excellent place to enjoy a great meal with the finest wine surrounded by remarkable scenery. But when will we walk 'there'?

Some more views from the top floor of Wither Hills.

Our guide led us to the top floor, and as just nearly everywhere in New Zealand: it's beautiful. But when will we walk 'there'?

 Or maybe we will be walking there? No, just look.

Next visit: Lawson's Dry Hills. Another wine tasting. Four? Five? I don't remember.

Scenery speaking, it's nothing like Wither Hills. But for one who seeks solitude over prestige, Lawson's Dry Hills might be a better option.

A close up on the vines from Lawson's backyard. We are definitely not going to walk talk here.

However, there's some written knowledge.

In case you don't know it yet, New Zealand's Sauvignon Blanc is judged the number one in this whole world.

Nah, that, Pinot Noir, is my favorite. (Reason of taking picture.)

"You prefer red wine?" my guide asked in a tone of disbelief.

Aha. I definitely don't look like a wine enthusiast. Not the least. And yet, I prefer red to white which is obviously higher in alcohol level. Was she aware that my favorite is Pinot Noir which is indeed among the highest of alcohol level within red wine varieties itself?

In case you don't know it also, New Zealand's Pinot Noir's alcohol level is often higher than that of other countries'.

Next visit: Highfield Terravin. Scenery speaking, this is my favorite.

Walk talk? No. Sampling wine. Again. Four? Five? I don't remember.

 

My heart leaped. There. Yes, there. We are going to finally walk talk.

Oh, come on. Where is everybody? Still tasting wine??

Usually when you, I, I mean, are in a tour, I don't have enough time to take pictures. This time, I had more than enough to turn from one angle to another, to change lenses and filters, and to wait again.

You should be curious of what I'm going to write about next. :D

Food for Thought

When I packed Ground Zero into my backpack, the other me cried,

A photo posted by Shuni Vashti (@automidori) on Dec 17, 2015 at 7:59pm PST

"What an irrelevant book you are taking with you! New Zealand! That's the complete opposite to Nepal, Pakistan, Afghanistan... "

"I know. But, I have already started reading this and I cannot wait until I return from New Zealand to read the rest."

"You should have brought this book with you on your Silk Road journey. It would have been more appropriate."

"I know. But, at the time I went on the Silk Road, even on the second time, this book wasn't  published yet. Besides, I had other authors with me: Paul Theroux and Colin Thubron."

The dialogue concluded with whatsoever, Ground Zero is thrice worth to enjoy instead of Jetstar's paid iPad of low taste choices."

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Christchurch, December 26th 2015

One of the few things I don't like about New Zealand is that I have to make a quick decision of what I'm going to have for dinner. Dine in, or take away, decide now, before 6:00 PM -- the latest! I'm talking from Christchurch, a city considered big to New Zealand standard. I'm talking in summer, a season with people twice the amount last winter. 

To my discontentment,  I watched the cute lovely cafes and shops on New Regent Street preparing for closing. Some were like had been shut for a long time ago. Dead quiet. Even the Chinese ones. I think New Zealand is the only country where the Chinese become lazy. Aha.

I walked up and down the street near my hostel, Jailhouse Accommodation. To the left and to the right, in search for food. Closed. Closed. Closed. Thai Restaurant... uhm, no. Afghan Restaurant... uhm, looks good. My taste buds are sometimes more Central Asian than Asian. But... entering and dining here alone, I gazed through the window, seems being out of place. I walked away. Closed. Closed. Closed. I came back, gaze through the window, a man sitting near the window smiled at me. But... ah. I walked away.

"Hey! Do you think you are entering the country or the restaurant?" questioned the other me. "Order for take away and eat at the hostel!"

I came back. Pushed the door open, read the menu, and pointed at one that said had lamb something. New Zealand and Central Asia combined, lamb should not be missed.

The Afghan man (which I found out later) behind the counter replied but I couldn't understand his English. "Bla, bla, bla. But if you want, I can give you... bla, bla, bla." To whatever that was, I said yes.

Not long after, several men came in. They too looked Central Asian. They sat at a long table in the corner. I watched dish after dish laid in front of them. Surely this restaurant is a place to celebrate a feast. Furthermore, a place of no worries about halal or non-halal, in a country where you are a minority. A big picture of Kaaba hung on the wall.

"Would you like this, too?" the Afghan man pointed on a big plate he was about to serve to his guests.

"Oh! No." I didn't bother to ask what that was. It just looked huge. That can feed me for three days.

He continued preparing my order. I was curious and excited. What would it be like?

"Would you like some curry?"

"Excuse me?"

"Curry. Like this." He dipped  into a big saucepan.

"Oh, curry. No... thank you... I think this is enough." Errr... did he look disappointed? Ah... if only I had few more days in Christchurch, I would gladly go sampling his cuisines.

While handing out a twenty dollar note and waiting for the two dollar change, I asked him,

"Excuse me. Where are you from?"

"Me? I'm from Afghanistan." That minute I scolded myself. Afghan Restaurant, you know it.

"How about you? Where are you from?" he asked me back.

"Indonesia."

"Indonesia? But... you are Chinese, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"I worked in Malaysia for two years. My boss was Chinese. She was nice. Very very nice." He paused. His eyes gazed far away. I could tell he didn't say that because I was Chinese. He meant it.

"Ah ya, there are many Chinese too in Malaysia," I commented.

"Chinese people, nice people. My boss, her name was ... (I don't remember.)" He turned his gaze from the glass door to me. He was like: Don't you know her? Such a nice person.

#####

Afghanistan. The owner of the Persian Restaurant I entered in Auckland last winter was also an Afghan.

Afghanistan. Malaysia. Ground Zero formed a relationship with my New Zealand trip, although New Zealand is never mentioned in the book. The story of an Afghan who aimed for a new life in Australia, traveled to Malaysia, and then Indonesia, but then got deported by Indonesian government... might also be part of the life story of this Afghan in Christchurch and that Afghan in Auckland. They had been the lucky ones, who eventually made it.

My hand dropped, because I didn't expect my package to be so heavy. Indeed, it was a large portion. Presentation speaking, it's not pretty. Some people might not stand the strong spicy scent as well. But I, savored everything until the last grain of rice; rice like I had in Turkey. Ground Zero on my left, Flat White coffee on my right, I continued my journey of mind, in Afghanistan.