Thus, did I burst upon the wine industry in the very (make that extremely) early days of e-commerce.
This kind of thing had happened before, as when Kevin popped round and found me proudly typing my first book on my dad’s golf-ball typewriter. I felt that the fact that it was electric put me at the forefront of technology, but I was wrong. ‘You need a computer,’ Kevin said. And (typical of the man) popped round again later with a spare Apple 2E and plugged it in. This opened him up to an endless series of desperate phone calls.
‘All my files have disappeared!’
‘The screen has gone green!’
‘It’s making a funny noise!’
So, although I really didn’t mean to be there, I found myself at my very first wine function clutching a small notebook. Fortunately, I didn’t wear the green editorial eyeshade I had purchased, but I know I looked nervous.
‘So, who are you?’ I was asked almost immediately.
‘Um … I’m the editor of WineNews,’ I managed to say.
‘What! Is that a new magazine?’
‘Um … no, it’s on the internet.’
This was followed by snorts. I can only describe them as snorts because that is what they were.
‘The INTERNET! What is the wine industry ever going to need the INTERNET for?’
This exchange (and there were to be many more of them like that) was followed by a long (an extremely long) tasting of the wines of eleven Austrian winemakers who had brought proud samples of all of their wines (yes, all of them) which the assembled wine experts (and me) then tasted and discussed. This happened near Paarl, and it was a long way home to Tamboerskloof. By about eleven, when we were barely through the wines (and delicious dinner) I was beginning to wonder what I had agreed to.
Back at the Tamboerskloof ranch, I fielded the press releases, managed the dot-matrix printer (yeah, a step up from golf-ball typewriters) and made frequent calls to Kevin.
‘All my files have’ disappeared!’
‘The screen has gone green!’
‘It’s making a funny noise!’
We did that, or similar, for ten whole years and it is a great tribute to the Kidsons that we are all still friends.
The editing was not that difficult (after all, I was editor of Air Malawi’s in-flight magazine as well, and I knew very little about Malawi when I began, and nothing about Air). I also, now I come to think about it, edited the sole edition of Tobacco magazine for the same eccentric publisher, and I have never smoked a single thing. (Are we beginning to spot a trend here?).
I loved commissioning the articles and I learned a lot. I learned how to find (eventually) wine farms in obscure places. I learned about barrel samples, sometimes finding myself on my own, in a chilly cellar with somebody who was watching me hopefully as I swirled and sipped.
‘It’s very… very … um … warming,’ I remember saying of one robust red somewhere in Elgin.
I learned about blending. That was at Nederburg in a small, but seriously qualified group where lucky old Michael Fridjhon was fortunate to be partnered with me in a hands-on blending of not only red but white wines.
‘What do you think?’
‘Um … it’s very … um … nice.’
I learned about conflict management. On one memorable day, I waited patiently for internet signal to a wooden post in northern Namibia just south of Caprivi. The only message that came through (and I was waiting for important messages about Malawi and tobacco and similar) concerned a dispute between two wine writers who shall remain nameless.
I learned about the art of events. (Get there early and mark out your seat, and most importantly, who you might be sitting next to). I also learned not to make light remarks about not liking beetroot when solicitously asked about food preferences. Years later I found that information on a carefully curated list.
Oh … I learned such a lot. I never learned to be a wine expert. (Well, I’d mentioned that on Day One.)
But … and this is the huge but, and the reason I was still there after ten years, I learned about the enormous generosity and hospitality of the wine industry and the forgiving nature of those who made wine encountering one of those who just liked to drink it. I experienced the mind-blowing beauty of the Cape Winelands – and found my true métier in writing about wine tourism, as opposed the actual juice.
Someone else, writing this article would doubtless mention the parallel tasting of Sauvignon blanc at Blank, or the incredible historic wines they tasted at Blink. I remember them. I do. I remember the sense of wonder at an exquisite, and just perfect, perfectly chilled, perfectly presented and, most important, perfectly tasting sip of wine communicates with your brain.
You open your eyes (respectfully closed for the moment) and you are looking at the golden glow of a Cape afternoon or the drift of mist over autumnal vineyards. You are with people who care about wine and care about South Africa. People who have struggled mightily to condense what you are seeing into what you are tasting. People with total commitment and utter passion for their work and their wine.
That’s what I really learned. Respect. It’s not easy to make wine. It requires the kind of obsessive attention to detail and dedication that is probably enjoyed by no other commodity made by humans.
It requires love.
This article does not properly convey the importance of wine.co.za to the industry and the enormous jumps in technology the website has taken during twenty-five memorable years. It doesn’t convey the enthusiasm of Kevin ‘(I’m just off to redesign the site’) or Judy who has probably covered more kilometers in her little red car than even extremely frequently flying winemakers. These have been challenging years, and they just got a lot more challenging. Wine.co.za is there for the industry. As it always has been. Raise your (wine) glasses, please, and let’s hear it for Kevin and Judy and wine.co.za!
My favourite articles that I dreamed up and commissioned – The Latitudinal tastings from 2002 by Jay Heale who opened (and shared) chosen bottles at significant latitudes on his way to the Antarctic on the SA Aghullas.