Wine with the Mayor
Summer Wedding Road Trip, Day 2
By the time we eat breakfast on our first morning in Izmir, I’m hangry. I have two deadlines in the next few days, and we have sightseeing to do and people to see, so I work while shovelling food into my mouth, exactly the way I suggest to the people I teach meditation not to do.
First stop: an olive oil museum.
“I’ve seen how people make olive oil,” I whine, as we drive through rolling hills and past wind turbines.
“Where?”
“In Portugal.”
As the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve committed a faux-pas.
“Olive oil in Portugal,” the poet huffs, “is not olive oil in Turkiye.”
“You’re right. But they probably won’t let Django come in. I’ll just wait outside and do some work.”
“Let’s see,” the poet says, which is what he always says, and we arrive at the museum, which is inside a stunningly beautiful old stone factory. The museum employees do not so much as bat an eyelash at the schnauzer viewing their historical relics.
Which are pretty cool. Did you know olive trees can live to be over 3000 years old? Also, randomly, they have an exhibit of old apothecary bottles, which I have always loved.
The thing about hanging out with Turkish people and not speaking Turkish very well is I end up going with the flow a lot of the time, without knowing what the flow is. I become like Django, sitting in the car, being transported to mysterious places while people make noises around me. I learn that our next destination is a vineyard—the first one I’ve been in Turkiye. (I may have mentioned my lack of enthusiasm for Turkish wine.) I tell the poet that he can do wine tasting, since I have too much to do afterwards.
We drive through tiny villages and back roads and make several U-turns before arriving at the kind of estate that feels like trumpets should be playing when you arrive. There’s a massive not-for-swimming pool in the front; a sprawling, perfectly manicured lawn; and two golden retrievers roaming around on it, as if they had been placed there by a stylist for Architectural Digest.
The vineyard gives tours in English and in Turkish, so I join the English group, which consists of 10 intimidatingly well-dressed people, all of whom eye me suspiciously. The guide goes on about the winery being established in 1999, something about albino grapes, blah blah blah. It’s not that I don’t care, but as my friend Carlos says, I am far too interesting to know anything about wine. Also, I am once again starving. I go to join the Turkish group so I can blissfully not understand anything. I ask the poet if there will be food at the wine tasting. If there is, maybe I can just have a bit.
He shrugs.
“Bread sticks?” I suggest.
He laughs. “This is not a Canadian winery. I don’t think so.”
But the people at the front door, to whom we’ve already paid admission, tell us that dogs are not allowed inside the winery.
Django and I go to wait for everyone on the plush lawn. I drink in the coolness of the shade and the view, which stunning, aside from all the drunk people posing for photos in front of shrubberies. Django eyes the two Goldens, probably suspecting that they are allowed inside. I can’t help but think about the amount of water they use here, and what it would mean to the farmers in neighbouring villages.
I text the poet.
“I’m so hungry.”
“I know.”
“Like, I’m starving.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure they won’t have breadsticks?”
“We’ll find you something.”
Ten minutes later, he emerges.
“The Mayor of Istanbul was on our tour!”
Of course he was, and if I’d been allowed in, I could have met him and this post would have been way more interesting.
We put Django in the car in the shade and join everyone in the tasting room.
There are breadsticks.
I’m overjoyed.
To celebrate, I try the 4 kinds of wine on offer. They are all, I must say, very good. We head back to the friends’ house, where I try to huddle off in a corner to do my work.
“Sit with us at the table!” they protest. “Do you want melon? Tea? Chocolate? Pringles? Do you need more space for your laptop?”
Django bounces around the yard with the two other dogs. I get everything done in less than an hour, while the conversation swirls on around me.