Piczo

Greeting from a Grape-picker

I think that today, no right now, would be the best and probably most accurate time to type this editorial/journal entry. If I waited till tomorrow, I might either be dead or unable to at least type simple sentences. And if I am capable of moving, I suppose all I would do is complain and whine about how hard it is to move and what a stupid thing I did and how Icould never do it again. So having just finished two cups of espresso, swallowed 4 Ibuprofen, taken an hour long HOT shower, I finally feel it best to sit down and tell the world exactly how I spent my anniversary of my first month in France. That is right, exactly one month ago, my United Airline flight fulled with 63 exchange student landed in CHarles de Gaulle Aeroport in Paris. Exactly one month ago I ate Indian food with the Roberts, my host family, and celebrated their daughters departure for India. Yes, one month ago I drove down the Route des Grand Crus for the first time in awe at the beautiful scenery of the Burgundy countryside. And even though I am an exchange student in France, I consider myself first and foremost an exchange student to Burgundy, which is the gorgeous wine region of France. And because I am living in Burgundy, my experience is completely and utterly different than most exchange students in France. And so on my one month anniversary of my arrival in Fixin, France, I participated in grape-picking for the world famous French wine! It was something that had been long planned. In fact, on that very first night, my second host father, Phillipe Bernard informed me that I would be participating in one of Burgundy's more famous activities. After all, if you know anything about the region, it definitely has to do with the wine. And since Phillipe Bernard owns 45 acres of vineyards, and produces 50,000 bottles each year, and is also hosting me for half of exchange in France, it seemed only natural for me to participate in this activity. And so, on the morning of September 27th, my obnoxious alarm clock frightened me from sleep at 6:30. I quickly threw on a pair of old jeans from my host brother Antoine, because Leonie said that I would surely ruin the pair I wore suring picking. I also put on a tee-shirt and my Verona Cross Country Country Sweatshirt, and grabbed a special glove for my hand so that I would not cut it up during the picking. Downstairs, I brewed a full pot of coffee and drank it black, so that by 7:15, when I set out for Clos St. Louis, the vineyard of Phillipe Bernard, I was fully ready. Or so I thought. Walking along the Route des Grand Crus at half past 7, and I was shocked to see so many people, well actually I saw more tractors than people. Tractors riding up and down the avenue carrying pickers and barrels of grapes for harvesting. At Clos St. Louis about 30 people had gathered around Phillipe, who was giving out directions to the group. He was telling everyone about the days activities, the grape-picking, the breaks, lunch time, and the various vineyard plots we would be going to. People come here from all over the world to participate in the picking of the grapes, but I was surprised that the only foreigners in the group were Andrew, me, and a Chinese couple that spoke almost no French. "Too bad they are not Japanese, huh?" Phillipe chuckled. Then as a group we all set out for the first plot, just across the Route Des Grand Crus and Phillipe's house. Everyone received a large black bucket to put the picked grapes in and a small red pair of special grape cutting scissors. They did not appear sharp, but after Andrew seriously cut his pinkie, I realized that these scissors are seriously dangerous. The first thing I noticed on that morning was how cold it was. Although the sun had not fully risen in the sky, I was cursing myself for not having thrown on more or warmer clothes. My hands were numb were frost and I had not even begun to work yet. The group walked down to the end of the vineyards, where we were all placed in a specific line of grapes. I pulled my special glove over my hand, bend down, and began the tedious task of graping Burgundy grapes. The first grapes we picked were ripe and purple, which would be later used to make Red Wine, the speciality in the area. Early on in the picking process, some experienced men came around and explained to us what we should be picking. Since the season so far has not been so good, there would be a lot of mouldy grapes. We should leave those on the vines or just cut them off and leave them on the ground. Those kind of grapes can not be used to make wine, or anything for that matter. Instead, we should just collect the ripest, freshest, and most tasty grapes we could find. I emphasize tasty, because I had the tendency to try every single grape from a bunch I picked. And finally, finally, I am began to understand that there are in fact differences between the taste of grapes according to their locations. In an earlier post, I whined about how I could not tell the difference between a wholesale Bourgogne and a Grand Crus. But I see how the grapes grown on the sides of hills, with deep roots and less sunlight, taste better, although grow a lot less. Taste is good for wine, but the quantity is the most important thing when you are grape picking. What I found was that the fields that had good drainage tended to have the easiest grapes to pick. That is there were much more bunches of grapes to cut and put away in the better fields. And usually when their is better drainage there is a lack of mouldy grapes, which is another good factor. The group strutted along their designated vines, plucking away at bunches and throwing them into the black pots. When we were finished, one of the experienced stronger men would come around with a huge container on his back. We were then supposed to dump our pot in the container, so that he could take the grapes to the truck and we could continue to fill up on more and more grapes. I thought that these container carrying men had the easy job, prancing around with a container on his back and waiting for the others to do the diry work of picking and dumping. But then I saw how tough and heavy each container was. I also made the stupid first time mistake of actually dumping half of a pot of grapes on one poor fellow's head. He groaned and then pulled out a hanky to wipe away all the squished grape juice seeping off his head. Needless to say I did not see him once more during the rest of the day. After about an hour of picking, the group stopped for amid-morning break. Me and my tiny bladder caught a ride with a truck back the Bernard's place and grabbed my camera and used the facility. The others drank coffee and ate some of Martine's delicious Chocolate and Quiche, all the while discussing the days grape picking strategies. Everyone was a little bit worried at the amount of mouldy grapes we had to keep throwing away, but the full-time vineyard employees did not seem all that worried. When I returned with my camera, Phillipe had the group take a nice group shot with a vineyard backdrop, then he ordered us all back to work. For about 2 more hours, the pickers were hard at work, navigating up and down the vines, finishing up, and then being placed in another vine line. Andrew and I had a nice discussion as we plucked away at the grapes. Lucky for me, I had a great glove on my left hand, which indefinitely spared my hand from deep painful scarring cuts. Andrew is going to have a major scar on his left picky from a cut. When Leanie lent me the glove, she explained that every year at least one picker per vineyard has to go to the hospital with an infection. She already knows I am a bit of a spaz, and figured that one person would invariably be me without protection. But the gloves did not just protect me from the scissors. There were thousands of creepy-crawlers hidden in the vines. Andrew nearly wrestled with a HUGE Daddy-Longleg Spider, while encountered some sort of little fiend that hissed at me. I took my scissors and snapped the little bugger in half and then hissed in triumph. Even though grape-picking is pretty interesting on the whole, it is also very boring. At school, I encounter boredom from having a hard time understanding and drifting off during class. But out in the vineyards cutting cutting cutting, I have boredom from the monotony of the act. Up and down you stand up, then kneel back down on the cold ground, plucking away at the grapes and then throwing them in the black pot. Then when you are all filled up, you stand up again and pour the contents into the container of one of the men, who takes it to the truck to bring back up to the winery. Over and over and over again. Your brain gets exhausted from doing the same thing over and over. Thus when the group headed up to the Bernards for lunch, I was really pleased. Martine Bernard is absolutely incredible in her capacity to cook. Next Saturday she has to cook for 150 people, touring and working here in the vineyards. The funny thing is that I thought just the 30 of us would put a lot of strain on her efforts.But in reality 30 people is a dream come true for her. For lunch, she miraculously brought out two huge pots of Chicken and Vegetables with wheat on the side. Phillipe served wine, of course. While he prompted Andrew and I to do our part in helping. I stood along side of Martine and served people from the pots, while Andrew read a loud the roll call. Everyone got a laugh at his pronunciation at French names. Phillipe said that if they though that was funny, then wait till tomorrow when Julie does the roll call. Wait.... tomorrow? It will be a miracle if I survive today. After I finished serving the group and myself, I devoured a delicious plate of vegetables and dipped bread into the sauce. Everyone enjoyed their tasty hot meal after a long fruitful morning. When we were finished, Martine brought out a little plate of cheese, which was also delicious. And finally, she brought out her famous handmade Strawberry or Raspberry Jam Tarte. Although, I had never eaten it before, Andrew had told me all about it, so I was really excited when I got to sink my teeth into Strawberry Tarte. Alongside a cup of hot coffee, I was very content. Of course all good things come to an end, and soon enough we were sent back to work. This time, we loaded into one of the rented trucks and headed to a field in the distance. The grapes were green, and thus used to make white wine, but I preferred to just eat them right from the vine. This field also had really good draining, because there were thick and healthy bunch of grapes. The only problem was that it was hard to locate the stem of the grapes because it was green and the same shade as the grapes. But I managed to figure out a way to combat the evil spiders, locate the stem, and control my devouring of the grapes. Since I myself prefer white wine to red wine, I also took much better care to pick the most perfect grapes. I figure since I am definitely going to be drinking this stuff soon, I may as well make it the best taste I can. Soon enough, we were back in the truck and being relocated to another red grape vineyard. We had to finish some of the vine lines that we had started in the earlier morning, but by that point I began to realize why grape-picking is much more strenuous then it looks. Leonie had warned me about it, but I had not really heeded her warnings. Firstly, the grapes are always located at the bottom of the plant. There really are not any grapes on the top, and those that are on the top are usually not ripe enough to be cut and used for wine. So basically you have to bend down or get on your knees to cut the grapes off. The problem is that after a few hours, your knees begin to throb. Mine were moaning in misery after about an hour and a half, so I decided to just bend over from the back and cut the grapes. That is even worse! My back was howling after less than an hour, and I found that I had get back on my knees, which hurt again. There really is not easy way to do this, except if you sit on your but, and even that has its downsides. The ground is incredibly rocky, so it is easy to cut of your butt. (I can not even sit down properly right now.) And thus after 4 or 5 hours of hard labor in the vineyards, I knees ached, my back throbbed, and my butt had scrapes and sores all over it. I was not in a happy place, but I pushed on cutting and throwing the grapes into the pot. To top it all off, as I plucked away at grape bunches, a furry brown spider crawled across the bridge of my nose, causing me to go into a fit of fury, which many people found hilarious. Another thing I want to point out is how dirty I had become. There was dirt on place I did not even know could get dirty. Plus my sweatshort was covered in those annoying little itchy grape seeds. Some had managed to get into my socks and pester me during the picking. I wondered how in earth I was going to be able to get clean again. Luckily, I had brought my camera, and Phillipe gestured for me to take lots of pictures of the group. He wanted the world to see his workers for his his future website, and he knows that photography is my side job. So he let me off from picking to take a few snap shots. But as you can probably tell from the photos, some dirt got on the lens, and a few photos came out blurry. Nonetheless, it was a good opportunity to get some candid photos of the grape pickers. Phillipe een allowed me to go back to winery to take some photos of how the grapes are de-stemed and sent into a big vat to wait and become Bourgogne wine. I watched as the tractor mechanically lifted the huge tub of grapes and pour it all into a mechanical machine that some squished off the grapes from the wine and then sucked them into a gigantic vat, where it would wait for the next step. The steps are different with the wine, though. Red graps for red wine must be kept with their skin so that the liquid turns red, while the white grapes and immediately stripped of their skin. The process is incredibly long and tedious, but also fascinating for me. I could not tell you how many hours I actually worked today plucking grapes from their stems. But if my body could tell you, it would say something like, "too long!" I had departed the Roberts at 7: 15 and returned at 6:15. Sure you can give or take a few hours of breaks, lunchtime, and photo time, but still I spent a long portion of the day plucking away. Relief came in the form of the group arriving back at the house and being greeted by Martine, who had made us even more food! In the courtyard of the winery, I zoned out with Andrew as the rest of group packed up their things to head home. Mostly everyone would return the next day for another day of grape picking in the Burgundy countryside. I, however, received an invitation from MArtine to help out in her kitchen cooking and cleaning up after breaks and meals. I will probably take her up on that. But all in all, grape-picking is very very very tiring, but worth it. Everyone that comes to Burgundy should try it once. And I emphasize the word ONCE. I do not think I can handle it more than once. My knees, back, and head might fail me, but it all comes down to the experience. The experience of living in this incredibly gorgeous place, and participating in a famous activity of the region. That is really what it is all about. And now what I need the most is a long deep sleep...