Chalon, France: Remedial Wine Knowledge and Struggling Without Closed-Caption

Over the last few days, I have learned so much about wine. To be honest though, the bar was pretty low for me from the start. Before I got in this ship, I knew that there were three types of wine: red, rose and white; I knew that I preferred red to white, but not in the summer; I liked Cabernet over Merlot and I love Italian wines but I think they have the edge only because my grandparents came from Italy—none of whom were in the wine business. That’s pretty much it. 

When my sister and brother-in-law, who know a great deal about wine, told us that they were going on a wine cruise, we thought that this would be a very different type of vacation for us.  We were right.  What we didn’t know was that nearly everyone on the ship are somewhere between wine experts and enthusiastic drinkers.  It became clear almost immediately that Bob and I were, at best, remedial wine drinkers. Besides visiting crumbling abbeys thanks to the French Revolution, I have spent a good portion of the week with my nose in a wine glass trying decipher smells beyond what I was really smelling…wine. 

 In the evening, we have lectures about the different wines from the region and our wonderful sommelier asks us what we are smelling in our glasses.  I am usually excited because more often than not, I’m smelling fruit.  But many of the noses of our fellow travelers are clearly experts as they do not hesitate to yell out things like , “pineapple,” “green apples,” “figs,” “bergamot” and “oregano.” To be honest, I couldn’t identify a bergamot  if it was in front of me (I had to look it up) let alone know what it smells like. Last night, we were tasting a white wine called “Pouilly Fuisse, a wine name I had never uttered in my life, but have said at least ten times a day since boarding the ship.  A friend of my sister’s said that she could tell immediately that this was no California white wine because it didn’t have the oak flavor so prevalent in white wines from Napa or Sonoma. Everyone agreed with her, and vigorously nodded their heads. I just stuck my nose back in my wine glass in hopes that it didn’t show that I had no idea what she was talking about.

When it comes to traveling around the countryside while in port, it would be really helpful if some of our guides came with closed-captioned.  I completely recognize that I am in a foreign country, cannot speak the language and the guides are teaching us about their culture in MY native language.  I have the utmost respect for them.  However, I don’t know if it’s my ability to hear or my brain is not creative enough to understand English words with varied inflections, but there have been a few times that I thought I was on the set of a Masterpiece or Britbox television show and couldn’t follow the dialogue.  For example, it took me two days to figure out that “winyers” were vineyards—which on reflection, makes perfect sense considering where we are and it is a bit embarrassing that I didn’t figure it out sooner. Another guide spoke repeatedly about the white “kettles” that make Burgundy their home. I have spent a lot of time in Ireland recently and have seen first-hand how kettles are a staple in any good Irish home, so I initially thought that maybe there was some kind of industrial-sized kettle used in winemaking.  Seeing none, I realized our guide was talking about cows, and referring to “cattle.”

In between talking about the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay grapes of Burgundy, conversations revolving around joint replacements and hearing aides have taken up a lot of our time. I am proud to say that I still have all the joints I began with, but know that I could easily use a new right knee, a left shoulder and frankly, two completely different feet. As most of our fellow travelers are in our same age demographic, in just three days, I have learned that I am not alone. It also appears that most are far braver than me and have actually taken the next steps—several of which I have been too chicken to take—to remedy their ailing hinges. Conversations around surgery recoveries and physical therapy regiments have been plentiful.  Yesterday, a woman was on the top deck of the ship with rubber bands around her legs exercising as her physical therapist recommended so that she wouldn’t “fall behind.”

 I would like to talk about the many hearing loss conversations the women have had about their husbands’ hearing, but at least in my case, I would again be violating HIPAA and will remain mum on the subject. I also like being married.