At mid-morning in early March, the air has a pronounced nip, intensified by a stiff breeze. It is bright but the sun imparts no heat. Inside the ancient Alaverdi Monastery, in the heart of Georgia’s Kakheti region, the stone walls are dark and brooding, and the air is still but the cold is much worse. Parts of the 11th century cathedral, standing amidst open flatlands stretching towards hills, are cordoned off for renovation and covered in scaffolding, so its true extent is hidden. Much of its interiors are off-limits to visitors since the cathedral’s origins date back to the 6th century and portions are fragile.
But even from the outside, it is stunning. Faded murals with Biblical scenes, mostly in earth tones, surround the main door of the cathedral. Peering inside reveals a bare interior with little embellishment, but for a massive partial fresco, possibly of Christ Pantocrator in Byzantine style dominates the apse.
As much as all of this is fascinating, the monastery’s bigger claim to fame lies outside the main structure—in the grounds that surround it, the damp rooms adjacent and the cellars that lie beneath. Together, they account for some of the best wines of Georgia. Signs of spring are already popping up in the sprawling grounds where vines of ancient varietals, native to Georgia, stretch out in neat rows. In a few months, these will be weighed down by plump grapes.
WINE LOVERS
From medieval times, monks from the monastery harvested and pressed the grapes and processed them in the monastery’s winery. At some point, the winery was destroyed by marauding armies and lay defunct for a few centuries, but has been painstakingly restored to its former glory and is now operated privately.
At the tasting room across from the church, the two main wines are showcased. The ruby-red Saperavi is intense in colour and flavour with notes of fruit, earth and spices. On the other hand, the golden Rkatsiteli, also a dry variety, tastes of pear and honey, and is slightly acidic with hints of savouriness. It feels a little incongruous to think that monks produced these wines, but sipping the delicious Alaverdi wines while gazing at the ancient stone structure provide an inkling of why Georgians regard wine as something almost sacred.
Georgia is considered to be birthplace of wine, its origins going back 8,000 years to 6000 BC. It is believed that Stone Age Georgians buried grape juice underground in winter to preserve it, and ended up discovering fermentation and wine. Wine is a big contributor to the country’s economy, among top five exports of the country and grapes are the second largest agricultural produce after grains.
Kakheti is Georgia’s easternmost province, sitting between mountains to the north and Alazani River valley in the south. It is the country’s largest wine producing region, accounting for over 70%. In March, with spring almost on the doorstep, the light is honeyed, almost the colour of Georgia’s most beloved golden amber wine. What distinguishes Georgian wine from wines from everywhere else is the use of qvevri. These are mammoth egg-shaped terracotta vessels, which look like amphora but without the handles, and are supposed to have been used here since 2000 BC. It is such an inherent part the country’s history that Unesco has designated it Intangible Cultural Heritage. Driving around the region, one can see old and worn out qvevri abandoned in open areas.
The qvevri in use are underground, well hidden. I head down a narrow gently curved sloping underground passage at Chateau Buera, located on the banks of Lake Lopota, which leads to an open cave-like structure. Once the eyes adjust to the dimly-lit interior, I see the floor scattered with the protruding necks of the qvevri with the rest buried in the ground.
The air is thick and heady with the smell of evaporated wine mingled with damp earth. The vintner opens the lids of a handful and offers a tasting, while keeping up a commentary on the history and process. It is easy to see the result of this process: a rich colour and flavour that combines the taste of grapes, earthiness and other fruits grown in the region. At the elegant restaurant above the winery, an evening meal paired with wines feels decadent. The wines progress from the lights of white to the richness of reds and end with fruity sweetness of dessert wines. From the floor to ceiling windows, the view of rows of vines tumbling down to Lake Lopota against a vivid sky lit by orange-red of the setting sun is the perfect backdrop.
A HISTORY WALK
The sense of history is more pronounced at Tsinandali Estate, which is the ancestral home of poet-prince Alexander Chavchavadze. Amidst sprawling grounds and towering trees and water bodies stands an imposing mansion. Underneath is the winery which has been producing wine since the 1800s. Going deeper into the wine cellar through arched and vaulted passages, it feels like the stone walls carry the wisdom and skill of generations of winemakers.
This experience repeats itself over the next few days. In the several towns that dot Kakheti, such as Telavi and the lovely hilltop Sighnaghi, family-run wineries offer a variety of wines and there is such joy in consuming it straight from the source. It is often paired with apricots, cheese, churchkela, and hearty Georgian hospitality.
The Khareba Wine Tunnel at Kvareli is a nod to modernity. Stretching for 7.7km, this is a tunnel cut into the Caucasus rock massif with an astounding collection of wines. A few minutes into the passage, natural light falls away and the tunnel is lit by pools of golden light. The temperature drops drastically to a chilliness. Little alcoves cut into the tunnel walls on either side are stacked with thousands of bottles; the alcoves resemble naves, an apt setting for an elixir. Instead of the qvevri, Khareba ferments and stores its wines in bottles in the underground tunnel but attempts to harness the same conditions as the ancient method. Its reds are full-bodied and intense, but the whites stand out for the tingling and crispness.
I am told again and again that wine is front and centre in Georgian life. So much so that during traditional Georgian feasts, a designated toastmaster, tamada, leads the table in a series of elaborate toasts with the cry gaumarjos, victory, but used to mean “cheers”. The toasts give gratitude to country, to friends and family, to guests and to life itself.