Kindness of Strangers

After leaving Jose Manuel’s vineyard, we were ushered across the street to the museum and the Quinta de Avessada by Luis, an energetic young man who promised us a completely interactive tour of the Douro’s wine making history with the assistance of robots! We weren’t sure what this could possibly mean, but we were excited to find out. Luis asked us what language we spoke. We said English or Spanish. “Uh, I speak somewhere between English and Portuguese,” he told us, sounding a little nervous. “Don’t worry,” we said, “so do we these days!”

Luis took us through a number of photos that were blown up and displayed on the side of one of the large stone houses we had seen earlier, showing the earliest farming, wine production, and shipping techniques. Traditionally, women cut the vines and men transported them down the stone steps in rustic baskets strapped to their back, weighing upward of 80 kilograms. From there the wine was crushed and sent downriver to Porto, where the wine was stored and aged, and the law commanded that all port wine be stored in the same region of the country. This was a dangerous journey until the Douro was dammed in the 1970s, so villagers would build small chapels on the hillside as a marker of dangerous rapids. Eventually, a Scottish man named Forrester mapped the river so that transport could be undertaken more safely. We asked if, like champagne in France, only port grown in this region could be called port wine. “No, we don’t care,” he said, “anyone can call it port anywhere!”

We made our way into the large, dimly-lit stone warehouse, where a number of displays were on exhibit. Here, we were explained the three secrets of what makes port wine from the Douro region so good. First, he showed us a large, square stone vat that was used to store the wine. Early on, winemakers learned that the vats helped to stop the rapid fermentation process. Luis was very proud of the technology they were employing at the museum, and was excited to show us a DVD they had put together. A photo montage splashed across the screen to the “Lord of the Rings” theme song, and we were invited to take into the Douro, a “land of Love songs and legends.” The whole affair was home-grown and charming.

Next, he explained the secret of why stomping grapes by foot is so effective. Not only does it release more juice than a machine can, but the body temperature that is transferred to the grapes aids the winemaking process by helping to release more sugars. It takes about five hours of stomping to do the job, and it’s not an altogether jolly affair like you’ve seen in an “I Love Lucy” episode. “Here,”Luis said, “I show you.” He pointed his remote control at a mannequin, which looked like a chic model from a department store who had been attacked by the costumer from “Oliver.” Suddenly, the mannequin sprang to life, his arm mechanically moving a staff up and down, up and down. Next, three other mannequins who stood in the vat, pants rolled up to their bony, alabaster knees, got in on the action. They marched, herky jerky, from the front of the vat to the back, a large metal arm propelling them back and forth. Meanwhile, the first mannequin shouted commands in garbled Portuguese: we had no idea what the mannequin was saying, but it sounded mean. The mannequins abruptly stopped.

This was clearly the centerpiece of the exhibit, and Luis enthusiastically explained that grape stomping can be a militant affair, with a “boss” shouting at the stampers for a solid two hours. Then, they get to take a break, and a boy with an accordion comes out and plays while they frolic in the grapes. Then, more work for the last two hours. Finally, Luis showed us how the wine is transferred from the vat to the holding tanks. In order to demonstrate, a long vacuum hose, lined with red lights, ran from one end of the warehouse to the other. The displays were campy, informative, and truly charming.

The doors open into another section of the warehouse, looking rustically chic, with a lit-up bar sitting in the middle of a dim room, as large barrels lined each side: the tasting room! The room was smartly put together, making you want to linger for hours, which we did. For five Euros, we each tried two moscatels, and it also included our very worthwhile tour of the museum. We sidled up to the bar where, between tastings, we sampled their home-grown grape jelly on toasts, which was outstanding. We began talking with Miguel, the farm’s engineer and Luis’ brother, and his girlfriend, Raquel, both young, lovely people. Raquel told us that a Polish gameshow had been filming here a few months ago. The premise of the show is that contestants move from country to country, answering questions related to that country; if people answer questions correctly, they get to move onto the next country. If not, they’re shipping back to Poland. Their little quinta had been selected to host one of Portugal’s stops! Since they’ve only been open since February, they’re hoping the show will promote visitors…at least Polish ones.

After leaving the quinta, we returned to our pension for dinner, giddy with the experiences we had today. There was no menu or prices, just a choice between meat and fish; I chose the former and Maikael chose the latter. First we were delivered a variety of couvert, including a stout cylinder of fresh cheese. “What kind of cheese is this?” we asked Senhor Viereia. “Cheese from here. From the Douro.” So, too, was the olive oil. We set one of our bottles of wine on the table that we had gathered along the way today, and he opened it without hesitation. No corking fee. No convincing us to buy one of his bottles.

The meal was simple, local, and delicious: pork ribs braised for hours in vinho tinto, falling off the bone. Fried mackerel, lying in a tidy row on a rustic silver platter. A salad of ruby tomatoes, dressed simply with oil and vinegar. We were stuffed to the gills, and declined dessert. Then, I saw them pluck one of the large, green, oval melons that were stacked in the fireplace. They served a wedge to the Dutch couple; I had to sample it. We ate sweet, juicy melon, groaning but happy.

It was one of those rare moments where I couldn’t help but say out loud, “Right now, I’m living the dream.” We’ve already had so many had so many challenging experiences in three week that I need these days to keep me going and remind me why we’re doing all of this in the first place. Our trip is about meeting real people in real places, eating their food, drinking their wine, and being truly thankful for the kindness of strangers.