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THE GREYTON POST
JUL /AUGUST 2025
Notes from the Sober Side: Navigating Greyton’s International Wine Quest
such French finesse it sends my niece into a fit of giggles mid-sip. So far, so civilised. Next up, the architectural marvel that is Ataraxia Wines, perched like a chapel of calm on the hilltop. While my crew swirl and sip their way through the heavenly tasting line-up, I soak up the views and jot down my sister-in-law’s musings: “berry notes,” “oaky finish,” and, curiously, “smells like triumph.” By her third swirl she’s trying to order a case, forgetting she tried to do the same at the
consequences of their enthusiasm with lamb tagine and linefish, I quietly assess the group’s capacity for post-prandial coherence. Not quite ready to call it a day, we swing by Newton Johnson, where things take a turn toward the transcendental. A flight of ten wines is described as “life-affirming,” and several party members visibly slide into blissful somnolence. The winery, known for its Burgundian-style Pinot Noirs, is indeed spectacular, even if my passengers are now communicating mostly in murmurs and clinks. We make one final stop at Bouchard Finlayson, where cypress trees, Tuscan charm, and a Sangiovese “practically Florentine” await us. My brother-in-law, now sporting a wine- streaked shirt, insists he’s “tasting the Medici dynasty” and launches into a rousing, if off-key, “O Sole Mio.” I pry him away from a cheese platter he’s attempting to wear as a hat and guide him back to the car with quiet dignity. By the time we reach Hermanus for a breezy beach stroll, my passengers are in glorious disarray. My sister-in- law whispers that she’s “found life’s meaning” in a glass of Zinfandel. My lovely wife attempts to FaceTime the dog to explain the “oaky, buttery organoleptic complexity of the Chardonnays.” I dodge their pleas to “just try a sip,” all while documenting their poetic wine- fuelled nonsense. As the sun dips behind the waves and the ocean breeze does its gentle work, I herd them back to Greyton—mission accomplished. Their palates are sated, their memories charmingly fuzzy, and I, the sober scribe of their vinous odyssey, live to drive another day.
Mike Ash
I n the mountainside village of Greyton, nestled deep in the Overberg, I’m the unsung hero of many a wine-fuelled escapade. As a teetotal, non-smoking, gluten-free vegetarian, I’m not exactly the first pick for a drinks party—until my friends and family realise I’m their golden ticket to a seamless day of wine-hopping through the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley. Armed with a notepad, unwavering sobriety, and a mildly amused expression, I’m the designated driver, sommelier scribe, and memory-keeper for their increasingly blurred adventures. After working their way through Greyton’s own oenological gems, including the internationally acclaimed Lismore, known for its elegant Syrahs and Chardonnay (even after a devastating wildfire), and the award-winning boutique winery Delphin, which consistently punches above its weight, my wine-loving companions begin to yearn for an “international” twist. “We’ve done local,” they mutter, “let’s go global!” So, I herd my merry band into the vehicle and point us towards the nearby Hemel- en-Aarde Valley, a slice of vinous paradise tucked between the Babylonstoren and Kleinrivier mountain ranges. Renowned for its Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, and Méthode Cap Classique (South Africa’s answer to Champagne), this valley offers a heady blend of world-class winemaking and views so divine they could forgive even a slightly scorched palate. Our first stop: the ever-stylish Creation Wines. The estate is famed for its culinary pairings and immaculate hospitality. A charming sommelier says “Merlot” with
last stop. I gently intervene before she attempts to purchase the hillside itself. Feeling the need to balance the grape with some grain, we head to Mogg’s Country Cookhouse, a charming family- run eatery nestled among the vines. While they attempt to soak up the
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