In the intro to The Battle, I mused that in the screenplay version of the book, I'd find a secret enclave of extreme winemakers. Together, we'd hook up and deliver purity back to mankind and wine.
I thought that plot turn might have happened in a Loire limestone cave. I was wrong. The band of wooley vignerons most likely are in the Ardeche, the long stretch of interior Rhone land that stretches from south to north. Within that area, they possibly not only exist in my imagination but in the 250 meter high up 
.
I went up there for the night with La Gramiere's Amy Lillard, who's 
vines were minutes away from bursting into flower and who's husband helped me find the source of the tumeric scent.
We arrived an hour and- a -half late, never the less, with some good nature, Andrea Calek, bare-chested, shimmering with beads of sweat, fresh from the vines, slinked towards us in sarong like trousers, as if he were some exotic lemur .
.
I went up there for the night with La Gramiere's Amy Lillard, who's 
vines were minutes away from bursting into flower and who's husband helped me find the source of the tumeric scent.
We arrived an hour and- a -half late, never the less, with some good nature, Andrea Calek, bare-chested, shimmering with beads of sweat, fresh from the vines, slinked towards us in sarong like trousers, as if he were some exotic lemur .
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