I spend my life looking for wi-fi when I'm on the road. The angst burns into a fever when I can't get on line, when the code doesnt work and I can't keep in umbilical touch with my world back home. The pursuit of connection is a metaphor for existence, chasing one's tale (not a typo) in searh of connection that eventually turns into irritation. Then you find it. A comfort that you might not want to leave, forcing you to stay still, cease exploration. A trap.You see, that's the difficulty in love and also in assignment. Here I am in hogging the connection when I should be down in the town exploring.
So much for morning philosophy. You might have guessed, I'm in the Canaries, on assignment. I have to be careful in these posts so I don't scoop my story, so many of the particulars and details will have to wait until they come out in print. So, bear with me please.
So, how random is it that the day I land in Tenerife, Mr. Asimov posts a story on Canary wines? There are no accidents.
A friend of mine was talking about the magnetism on the Canaries, and I suppose all force of attraction are at full strength.
First tip: do not take the ferry from Tenerife to La Palma, especially if you get sea sick and especially if you want to make a 10am flight on the return to Lanzarotte.
We thankfully missed the tour buses. That's the third tip.
I've never been big on getting to the top, but going to El Tiede, the third largest volcano in the world is essential in understanding the specific terroir of Tenerife . Seeing the magma, frozen in its tracks is humbling.
Tip three: eat basalt nurtured potatoes.
Generally I see land that has seen chemical warfare but not holocaust. I see quite a bit if moss in the vines, evidence. And even in those who are working better, this moss lingers. So do irrigation pipes from previous owners or previous interventions. I've not see anyone work the soil yet, (this was written pre-La Palma) or plant to open up the soil without plowing, but I haven't yet seen the soil of the only biodynamic vineyard Crater, to see what they are up to. But the raw material to work with, strange soils, little top soil, and ancient vines that look like some prehistoric sea creatures or at least plaited, hyperbolic vines and those vines on their own roots, is profound.
This was still made in old lager, foot stomped, full stems, minimal sulfur at crush and at bottling. On the nose at first dead, like an old and spent Barolo. The palate was fresh, fleshy prune and molten, with bright lemon edge on the long, ashy, and uplifted finish. Opened for two hours, it just kept on getting better, the nose eventually catching up to its tongue, until it was gone way too soon. Monje is the only one on the island with older stock as most wineries were not selling commercially back then except for the co-op. With many thanks to Felipe, an unusual man for sure, for opening this up for us.