Taking another bend, the road narrows further. The beech trees bow together to enclose us in an emerald tunnel and the hawthorn scrapes at the wing mirrors.
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For this place – Kahketi, at the foot of the Caucasus mountains – is not only the home of Georgian wine: it is the home of all wine.
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I like a technical winery visit as much as the next wine geek, but this was something else. He emerged from the earth, kicked soil off his boots and led us over to the tasting shed.
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The road begins to wind and wend its way round the volcanic spurs. The car ascends the ridge and the vague nausea of travel sickness from the bending roads abates as you meet with the view at the top.
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