This is the latest in the year that I have ever been invited to the bodega of Pou de Piques to see the wine harvest. To be honest there was not much of one left and the grapes were very small due to the extreme heat provoked by climate change.
The terrible rains in the start of the year were followed by months of unusually high temperatures and drought. At night we lay flapping slowly in the suffocating night air that did not cool down as was the norm. From this high base, the heat rose quickly in the morning, a pattern that lasted well into September and was extremely humid to boot. My kitchen walls sucked the damp inside for the first time in 18 years. They dried in strips of ugly rock hard bubblles.
The Sunday I arrived it was refreshingly cool, and later on the cloud dappled sky became on cloudy dome, welcome for me. I took the usual photos, but fewer as I have done it all before. An endless array of old wines, liquors and brandies had been brought by the men whose faces I knew well now and they were happy to see me again, making jokes about my antics two years before. I did not realise I had been the talk of the campo!
A skinny cat was rushing vertically up a tree under which the table was. It twisted and turned like a ballet dancer on the boughs, mesmerizing us. Meanwhile the meal planning was a bit chaotic so I got stuck in and helped, laying the table on which there was only a small bit of paper cloth left to cover half the plastic. There was also a lack of glasses, but we were all friends so it did not matter.
Ampero had made many sweet pastries and jellies, and savoury nibbles for before. Someone else had brought several plates of plump shrimp. It was very satisfying. This was followed be a rich paella with no seafood – I was pleased as strictly speaking if should be just rabbits, pork and chicken. Someone asked who bought the meat and were were the clams and such? Domingo, I replied. I only knew because when he called me he said he was off to buy the meat for the paella.
Once the paella was eaten, Ampero’s sugary desserts were placed up and down the table. In the meantime the rest was tidied up apart from a plate of prawn shells to attract the flies away from us. The men’s home brews were brought out in all kinds of bottles. Oh my goodness! We ladies poured most of it in the gravel underneath the table – it trickled down slowly and foamed up. I wondered if this homemade stuff could double as paint stripper and sort my kitchen walls out? The bottles were very interesting. Old, different shapes. I would go so far as to say they could have been collector’s pieces.
Predictably, the spirits went to my head and I felt slightly dizzy. No matter. An accordion was found and a man started to play old Spanish songs. The older men sang along and I jumped up and danced in a silly hop American style on my own. Everyone was laughing at my dysphoric rhythm and I recalled a moment many years ago in my childhood. The horror I felt when I won the worst dancer of the night award at a golf club summer party! It has stuck ever since…
My driver wanted to go home, but not before Domingo dragged my down to his barn and dug out an old motorcycle. Surprisingly it started up first time, though one headlight was dead. Have you got papers for that, I asked? Oh, no, no one has papers for these anymore, do you want to ride behind me?
And he patted the seat.
Not if I have not got a helmet I replied, grabbing at any excuse to beg out. But Domingo disappeared into his Alladin’s Cave and emerged shortly after with a helmet. And it fit. So I timidly eased onto the back, trying to find a place to position my feet without success. Off Domingo went, racing down the drive while my legs stuck out at angles. Then he turned around, up to the table, weaving between a hammock and tree and then back in circles to the barn. Doesn’t sound like much but it was a bit scary – and great fun much to my surprise.
So that kind of sums up the day. Not as it usually was. Crazy and disorganised and somewhat exhilarating!
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