Dobleve

On our way out of Portugal and back into Spain on a trip a month or so ago we drove through the Alentejo region, both because we’d never seen it, and more to the point – they have a wine tasting route (Rota dos Vinhos do Alentejo) you can follow right out of the country. Now if you’re thinking Napa, or Sonoma or even Walla Walla, like we were – well – it wasn’t that. To be sure it was some of the most beautiful country side we’ve driven through. There were rolling fields of colored grasses and flowers, and not a single soul to be found between the small towns you drive through. Naturally we chose as our first stop the Rota dos Vinhos headquarters where we received reams of very professional promotional material. Armed with information we set out to find the first winery.

This did not prove an easy task and although we had no less than four maps and found several road signs, it took us the better part of an hour to find the first winery. We saw cows, farmers and a lot of grass but we couldn’t find anything resembling a winery. Once we found our first stop we realized the problem: every sign for it had been pointing in the wrong direction. Every single sign.

When we finally found the winery we wandered around the grounds looking first for a wine tasting area or shop and then eventually just for someone to ask about possible wine tasting. When we wandered past a room with a bed in it we figured we had gotten way off track and tried to find our way back to the car. We finally met a gardener who seemed to understand our intent (we don’t speak any Portuguese) and we seemed to understand his – that we should follow him. We made our way to a locked door where he indicated we should wait. We waited for a very long time while various Portuguese men walked by and told us (we think) “don’t move” and “wait here”. Our worries that we had offended or done something wrong were not allayed when a man finally arrived to open the door and seemed completely at odds at our presence. He at once began to point to various (unopened) bottles of wine and explain their tastes and virtues to us. After a long recitation he asked if we were ready to buy some wine. Somewhat at odds ourselves, never having bought wine at a winery without tasting it, we bought five bottles. We asked if we had come at the wrong time or off season and should we expect other wineries to be open, etc. He said essentially “but of course, just like here you will have no problem.”

Off we went to try the whole thing again. We stopped along the way however at a fantastic little restaurant in Estremoz called Café Alentejano (at Rossio 14 if you’re ever in the neighborhood). It’s a restaurant you might miss unless you’re looking carefully. We were looking and we drove by it 3 times! Once inside you have to walk down a long hallway to sit in back and it first it might be daunting – it’s a packed locals’ joint with bench style seating and a TV blaring Portuguese news and sports scores in the corner. You eat surrounded by giant – and I do mean huge, one of them could fit five of me inside – wine caskets. It’s a grill house and the meat (we confess we’re not sure what it was so bad is our grasp of the Portuguese language) was melt in your mouth delicious. That, along with the house vinho verde (at 2.50€ for the carafe), made clear why so many locals lined the tables. We ate and drank ourselves silly for a serious steal.

Our final stop was at a wine coop in Borba. Things looked very promising as we drove into a town (rather than onto a dirt road with cows staring us down). There were grape and wine signs everywhere and we easily found the Adega Cooperative. Once inside we wandered the aisles looking at bottles of wine wondering how in the world to choose a wine. We had read that Portugal has over 100 varieties of indigenous grapes but didn’t know where to start. Finally we decided to choose a few bottles and ask if we could buy them, open them and try them right there on the spot. All of this we tried to communicate with an elaborate (yet not at all sophisticated) set of hand gestures, bad Spanish and the odd English word to a woman who only spoke Portuguese. Eventually she understood our meaning, if maybe not why we wanted to open wine and drink it right there, and she brought out some of her own already opened wine, some glasses and a corkscrew.

We had two bottles open and were working on opening the third when a police car raced into the parking lot and came to a rather dramatic halt right in front of the door. We’ll admit, we were alarmed – had they arrived because of us? Was what we were doing illegal?? One of the officers raced in the door (and to our minds) hollered something at the cashier who hurried into a back room. We waited, hands frozen around our wine glasses. After what was likely 30 seconds but seemed an eternity to us (long enough to anxiously run through the possibilities of an arrest in a foreign country) the cashier came out with three bottles of wine, the officer paid for it, and then left in nearly the same hurried and dramatic manner in which he had arrived.

We proceeded to buy a probably ridiculous amount of wine (it is quite distinct, was a more than fair price and any purchase helped support a local growers’ cooperative) and left for home.