This is a bottle of Imvini Wethu Cinsault-Pinotage 2019. 70/30, the Cinsault from nearly 100-year-old Franschhoek vines and the Pinotage from 50-year-old Stellenbosch vines. Its origins are in a German project to support the South African wine industry. Rather than type a load of stuff that’s already been said, here’s an article about its background by Tim Atkin which contains a lot of food for thought.
https://timatkin.com/the-human-factor/
My bottle came to me by a roundabout route via Germany. It cost me £17 and I have no complaints at that price - it tasted to me rather like a good Languedoc. Plus it’s a good feeling to know you may have helped, albeit in an infinitesimally tiny way.
As Tim has done the hard work for me, I can ramble on at free-associating length. Given the illustration of the gigantic twining mega-vine reaching to the skies on the label, plus the fact I’m looking at the trees on the first alfresco evening of the year I’m pairing this with the wondrous Henki. I’m sure you know it was a collaboration between plangent weirdo folkie Richard Dawson and Finnish metallers Circle, every track having a flora-based subject. The magnificent Methuselah is my favourite - part cautionary tale, part heavy-metal romp.
Searching for the oldest living bristlecones
On a former glacier in the Snake Ridge of Old Nevada
Quite unwitting Donald Currey felled the tree he sought
To gain a complete cross-section
…Richard tells us in an ominous tone. At this point our tale deviates from the official account. Unwitting or not, the Spirit of the Forest (the Henki) is not amused by Donald’s vandalism. He appears as we enter the heavy-metal section and, against a wall of guitars, tells him what he’s got coming…
Look to the air and you'll find me there
Whistling through your clothes
Rib cage, blossoming in the snow
After your insides have made a feast
For the jackals and the crows
Your song will echo down below…
…the last three words delivered in a blood-curdling scream that Rob Halford or Ian Gillan would have been proud of. Things slowly calm down, and after Richard has reminded us of Prometheus, and what happened to him when he also stuck two fingers up to the Gods (BTW did you know the liver was the source of all human emotion? That might explain my rather dyspeptic nature, not to mention one of Jon Anderson’s lyrics), he gives us his final summary…
Only when you are dead
Will you know you had
What you were looking for…
Or, as Joni Mitchell didn’t say - you won’t know what you’ve got till you’re gone.
Of course, the moral is ‘don’t screw with the Spirit of the Forest.’ Fortunately I know where he lives - or at least one of his manifestations - and I’ve visited him several times. He’s in a small clearing in the middle of the forest, unsignposted - you need a map to find him. His is a very special spot - all you can hear is echoing birdsong and gently creaking branches.
I think I’m still in his good books, but I’ll double check when I get another chance to see him next month.