30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 15: Châteauneuf-du-Pape Wine Tour

(Previous chapter of my journey: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 13: How Monet's Gardens in Giverny Stole My Heart)

Today's adventure was a happy accident. My original tour of 'Van Gogh's final footprints in Provence was cancelled a few days ago, so I just randomly booked a wine-tasting tour in Châteauneuf-du-Pape since the reviews were pretty good. I had little expectation as it was just something pleasant to fill a blank slot in my itinerary.

The meeting point was only a five-minute walk from my hotel. I was the first to arrive in the quiet morning light, soon joined by two friendly ladies from Florida. As we wondered where the guide and others were, a man walking up the stairs. 'Are you Romain?' one lady asked. A slight smile. 'I think I am,' he replied with charming French humour. He explained it would be an intimate group of five, with the other two meeting us directly in the vineyards.

A half-hour drive later, the landscape transformed into endless rows of vines. Our other companions were a retired couple from Vancouver on their annual 'wine tour' holiday. Our guide, Romain, told us Châteauneuf-du-Pape is a promise of quality: strict laws forbid dense planting, every grape is picked by hand, and 'quality over quantity' is the creed. It was France's first-ever AOC-certified wine region.

Our first stop was walking into the vineyard. The soil was carpeted with smooth, sun-warmed pebbles. Romain explained these pebbles act like a natural heat tank, absorbing the Provençal sun by day and gently releasing warmth to the vines' roots at night. This land is dedicated to just two wines: dry red and dry white.

We then visited our first winery, Famille Brechet, where Romain outlined the whole process of winemaking. For white wine, grapes are pressed first, then the juice is fermented for months. For reds, seeking colour and tannins from the skins, fermentation comes first. The CO2 released pushes the skins and seeds to the top, forming a 'cap'. This requires careful 'cap management,' regular stirring to extract the desired flavour and colour. The separated skins are pressed once more, yielding a final, concentrated 10% of juice. This precious juice may be poured back into the main wine, the timing of which is each winemaker's secret recipes.

Next, we stepped into a cool, humid cellar. The complex scent of ageing wine met us before we saw the rows of oak barrels where 'maturation' works its slow magic. Romain explained how the oak softens tannins, lending a rounder, smoother mouthfeel before bottling, packaging, and the final journey to a glass.

Then came the main event: the tasting. We tried four of the estate's wines – two whites, two reds. It was astonishing how distinct each was, even from the same winery. I was impressed by the rich knowledge behind wine tasting.

Our next visit was to Domaine Pierre Usseglio, a winery founded by an Italian family and now in its fourth generation. But why an Italian family here? Romain had the answer: 'Provence' comes from the Latin 'provincia', meaning province. This place was once a Roman territory. So, descendants of Rome (Italy) putting down roots here was only natural. 'My mother is Italian,' Romain added proudly, 'she is the best Italian restaurant.'

And what is the difference between a 'Domaine' and 'Châteauneuf'? A 'Domaine', he said, often holds vineyards scattered across different plots, yielding diverse grapes, while 'Châteauneuf' focuses on the core areas. He sketched out the Rhône wine hierarchy for us, its pinnacle being the 'Crus,' a level we were fortunate enough to sample that day.

After two winery tours, Romain had booked us a table for lunch at a local spot, then slipped away briefly to see his children as his house was nearby. The five of us settled in for a leisurely meal, and conversation flowed easily. We asked the Canadian couple how they'd met. The story was classically sweet: a clichéd bar night where he was dragged out by friends and she was newly single after divorce. They clicked instantly. Now, 23 years later, he's a dear friend to her son (they golf together), and they have a daughter of their own.

I'd noticed his quiet care for her all day. When he and I were walking in the front, while his wife was chatting with the other two ladies at the back, he'd pause our conversation and slow down to let her catch up. At the restaurant, he swapped seats with her so she wouldn't be in the sun. They were a lovely, kind pair.

When the wine list came, I was completed lost and not sure which wine to order. The gentleman suggested, 'Why not try the 2016 with us? It's a good year.' Later, when the bill arrived and we all agreed on splitting the bill, he gently intervened: 'Our Hong Kong girl here didn't order much. It wouldn't be fair to split evenly. How about we split among us four, and we'll take care of her portion, would it be alright with you all?'

The others agreed instantly. I was overwhelmed by their hospitality and asked: 'Really? Are you sure?' His wife said warmly: 'Of course. You're young and unemployed. We're retired. Let us.' The warmth I felt in that moment was brighter than the Provençal sun. It was, without a doubt, the best day of my solo trip.

For the past two weeks, I was used to being on my own without anyone to share beautiful sights and delicious meals with. No one even bothered to ask where I am heading next. But here, in just a few hours with these strangers, a simple, profound kindness had lit everything up. I thought to myself: I'll work hard when I am back in Hong Kong, not just for a future of leisurely retirement, but to be able to pay this generosity forward one day. Sometimes the smallest act of thoughtfulness can become the brightest memory in someone else's journey.

After the lunch, we visited Domaine de Beaurenard, a pioneer of 'biodynamic' wine in the region. Romain said if 'organic' is a step towards nature, 'biodynamic' is a leap, adhering to a stricter, holistic philosophy. We tasted four of their pure, vibrant wines.

Our final stop was Romain's own private cellar. Like a curator, he presented three bottles from his personal collection – not from Châteauneuf, but of different origins and years – offering us a masterclass in comparative tasting.

By day's end, I'd sipped my way through over a dozen wines. Though I only tasted, the warmth was intoxicating. On my last day in Avignon, a disrupted plan with little expectation had yielded the richest of surprises. It made me think of winemaking itself. The slow accumulation of experiences – the sunshine, the soil, the care, the time – eventually yields something complex, sophisticated, and memorable. Perhaps we're not so different. If we focus on enriching ourselves, patiently allowing our wisdom to ferment and mature with time, we too might become someone with depth, warmth, and a story worth savouring.

(My journey continues: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 16: Nice's Blue Coast and Chagall's Pink Palette)