The Vendange (grape harvest) is upon us in Roquebrun. It began last Thursday to be exact. In one place or another throughout the region the harvest is in full swing. On the roads, there are tractors and harvesters that you have to wait for a break in the traffic to pass. The cooperatives are abuzz with drop-offs and people congregating to chat about the harvest. More notably, there’s an excitement in the air that’s new for me. It’s the apex to many months of anticipation. I love being admidst it, and in a strange way I feel invested in it. I want the harvest to be good, and not just because I’m a wine drinker wanting something tasty to knock back.
On Saturday there was a fête in the village that we think is done especially for the grape pickers that follow the harvest from vineyard to vineyard in their tricked out campervans. We walked down to the esplanade expecting to see the usual array of locals, but hoo-boy were we wrong. Most were more of the patchouli/dreadlocked/Grateful Dead set. Except they They preferred their French punk band which was then followed by an hour or two of reggae tunes DJ’d until the next band was scheduled to play. As with the summer fêtes, the party went on until about 2 AM. I tried to sleep through it…but no cigar. Tim and his Dad went down to the esplanade (because if you can’t beat ‘em…) with Rufus. Rufus, I learned the next morning, had a GRAND time running free, meeting other dogs, and snarfing up what bits he could find around the BBQ pit. He brought home with him some vendange fleas as well. I know this because during the night they made their way over to me. Ew.
