Spilt Wine

15. Château de Beaucastel

Monday 24 March 1986

I was disappointed with the news I received at Chapolet in Tain. Georges, with whom I had dealt for several years, was no longer there. Pierre, the man I met with this morning, was sub-titled Directeur Commercial /Marketing Director on the card he presented. Georges' card had read simply Georges Chapolet, propriétaire. There had been a corporate takeover and a restructuring.

Pierre told me the company had signed with a national distributor. After thanking me for my business over the years, he assured me that orders for the '84 Hermitage and Saint-Joseph would be honoured, but there would be no new orders. I no longer represented the company, and a formal severance notification was sent to my office in Vancouver last week.

As I drove southward on the N-7 toward Valence, I pondered. So, Georges has sold. More likely, his brothers forced him to sell. He often told me that besides taking their annual shares, they did little but press him to increase production and allow reputation to maintain the prices.

Ten kilometres downstream, I paused at Pont d'Isère and watched the torrent of water in the river coming down from the early melt run-off from the western slopes of the Alps. A kilometre downstream, this churning volume dumps into the Rhône, adding appreciably to the already strong current there. This is not an easy time for river navigation.

I sat for a while watching the tumult in the river, trying to gather my thoughts. I could likely buy the '85 Hermitage and Saint-Joseph from Etienne; I had been impressed with them and they had been offered. I could also add the Cornas; it, too, had been outstanding. I'll telex an addendum to the order at my next opportunity.

Okay, but what do I do with the rest of the day? Opening my satchel, I pulled out the battered indexed notebook and thumbed to R for Rhône, not finding what I wanted. After flipping pages, I thought, of course, C for Châteauneuf. I thumbed through the pages to an entry double-underlined in red, showing its high priority.

Need to come up with a better way to organise all of this – too much lost information in here. And I continue adding to it. I read the listing: Château de Beaucastel - Jean-Pierre & François Perrin, SE Orange on N-7 to A-7 circle, 2nd right into Chemin de Beaucastel, right side 1.2km past A-7.

Seeing the telex address and phone number were also listed, I glanced at my watch. Quarter past noon – not a good time to phone. Lunchtime in France is sacred. And I haven't eaten. I chuckled. Georges' invitation didn't survive the takeover.

Unfolding the Michelin map, I saw that the access to the A-7 was only two kilometres from here, at the edge of Valence. About an hour's drive down the Autoroute to the Orange exit. Pause for lunch at a rest stop short of there, where there will also be a phone booth.

Then, after glancing at the fuel gauge, I decided to fill up at a station before the Autoroute, knowing prices were ten or fifteen per cent higher beyond the toll gates. I chuckled at the mindset of the hypnotised captive audience who willingly overpay for fuel at the autoroute rest stops. But here I am, about to overpay for poor food at one of the same rest stops. Better I continue into Orange and find a proper lunch. Be there by thirteen thirty, still too early to phone Beaucastel, but with plenty of time for a crêpe or a galette"