Les Vendanges - The French Grape Harvest
- stemeillon
- Oct 3
- 15 min read
Before I say anything I have to admit that every time I read "Vendanges" I think "Van Danjees" in American. Anyway. It was a crazy three weeks picking grapes in Alsace, a region in eastern France that closely borders Germany. I'll start with how I ended up there, then the daily routine, a description of the people, and then at the end I'll go into a bit of the wine making details if you're interested :) Words of warning, my English and French are smooshing into one, and I'm letting it happen. If it's comprehensible, it's good enough for me. My journal is a jumbled nightmare unless you speak both, which I guess is the best way to make sure no one will read it.
Getting There
So how did I get roped in? A friend of mine that I met in Nepal, Victor, lives in his van in France and suggested I join him at a domain called Marc Kreydenweiss, one of the original organic wine producers in France and apparently good vibes. I was having an awful time getting my social security number and finding a job in Paris so I thought, heck why not. A good three week break and I'll make some money in the meantime. So two days before it was set to start I agreed and booked a bus east. Victor and his friend Lydie picked me up at the train station after a nine-hour bus/bus/bus/train journey. We drove through rolling green hills with gingerbread house villages nestled into the valley, all surrounded by grape vines. Low hanging clouds flew over us in a way I'd never seen before, it was mesmerizing. We pulled into a gravel parking lot and I pitched my tent in some armpit-high grass after trampling it down like a dog. Good enough. The rest of the night we made dinner out of Victor's van, caught up, and had a lovely time.
A Day in the Vendanges
05:45 - Wake up, change into my work garments, begrudgingly pack up tent. Illegal camping means I didn't want to leave my tent around all day. It was often soaked through (but I stayed dry inside so whatevs)
06:00 - Drink tea and pack everything up
06:30 - Drive the four minutes to the garage/meeting point
06:35 - Take turns using the bathroom since we didn't have one at the camp. Change into my grape juice-encrusted pants and perpetually rain-soaked socks and shoes
06:45 - Sardine ourselves into the vans and drive to the grapes!
07:00 - Get to choppin them grapes up
11:30 (ish) - Casse croute (break bread, = lunch). Locally sourced meats, cheeses, bread, and some homemade olive/mushroom bread and a mystery soup. Cake and chocolate for dessert. I stayed away from the coffee because I didn't wanna have to #2 in the vines. The best part of lunch was sampling wine made from those very vines in years past, to see what it was we were helping to create
12:15 (ish) - BACK TO WORK
15:00 - Typically stop working at some point in this time proximity. Rinse our hands of juice and drive back to the garage
15:15 - "Sample" expensive wine in an apero. Maybe do some stretches. The apero lasted anywhere from 20 minutes to, one time, 13 hours with several deplacements. It was a good time for us to all hang out together and drink great wine
20:00 - For the first two ish weeks we usually ate around 8:00 and made dinner in the van. I'd set up the tent before it got too dark. The last week I didn't often eat dinner, more later
22:30 - Go to sleep no earlier than this, often closer to 23:00 or 00:00
We the Grape Pickerers
Like with most, the people are what made the experience. I was expecting a young crowd of travelers and seasonal workers, but it was mostly old dad-types, and a couple young dads, and a couple lovely older ladies. There was one very sweet and timid guy younger than me, 17, from a home that assists youth in troubled family situations (two of his friends came too but they abandoned ship after day two). As time went on we lost a few, gained a few. Notably we lost my two friends due to a relationship dispute and that was a huge bummer, but luckily I bonded well with almost all the other people in the group.
There was Stephane, a big teddy bear dad who, in a stroke of genius, categorizes thousands of jokes in his brain by word, so you can say a word and he'll fetch a joke on that topic. On the first day of work he said, "So, Stella.... are you sensitive?" I could only laugh, I said, "Um, not usually?" I quickly understood why he had to ask. Some of his jokes are so crude I told him that if he was in the US he'd get shot. My favorite joke was stored under "turtle": A man gets fired from his job and goes straight to the bars. He drinks until he can barely stand, and stumbles on a carnival booth with a balloons/dart game. The owner tells him that if he manages to pop all the balloons on the first try, he'll get a prize. So the man, drunk as ever, takes the darts and miraculously pops all the balloons. Astonished, the owner gives him the prize: a pet turtle. The man takes the turtle and leaves. Hours later, he comes back to play the game again. Seemingly even drunker than before, he manages to hit all the balloons first try. The owner says "wow, the drunker you get the better your aim!" The man responds "yeah yeah, just give me another one of them sandwiches." Ahaha. Anyway. That was maybe his most PG joke, but he kept us entertained. I can't write the others for fear of being misquoted and fired twenty years from now. But he kept us entertained for hours while we picked the grapes.
There was Peter, who, the first time that I cut across from him, he snipped my hand within two minutes. Blood everywhere. He felt SO bad, but by the end of the day I felt worse for him because EVERYONE knew and bullied him all day. But we forged a close friendship, a blood bond, and it was refreshing because he was outrageously gay and I was in need of a gay friend there. It felt like I'd been hit on by most of the men there, and I could tell it pissed them off that Peter was allowed to put his arm around me and they weren't (he played the role well as soon as he found out they were pissing me off). He was nutso, he called me his favoReet cRRazee geRL, and I called him mon petit psychopath <3.
Then, Yves. I can best describe him as a 60 ish free-spirited tractor pirate. He told me he once drove his tractor for ten days through the mountains in the Vosges range to get back home, but mostly for fun. One time we all got accidentally very drunk after a crazy long day of work in the rain, and I told him I liked his cap. He said wow thanks you can have it! So I said I'd give him my adventure cap, that had been with me through Mongolia, Nepal, the Tibetan Himalayas.... and then he said "Wow! In exchange I'll give you my guitar!" The trade was crazy. But I was happy and he was happy and plus he has carpal tunnel and can't play guitar anyway. He used to work for a traveling circus until it tanked, and then spent years living in France but working crazy hours in Switzerland to save money for a house. Now he's with his partner who reminds me of a beautiful witch (the good kind) and once I braided his hair to match mine and he looked like a pirate Viking. He invited me to potentially join him on a journey across the Atlantic in the largest sail-powered cargo ship in the world in end of October aha. I would if it works.
The person I had the hardest time with was one of the permanent workers, who was in a cowboy delusion but always grabbed his hat by the rim (my Wild West folks know that's a big no-no). From the first day he threw all sorts of really gross comments at me and some of the other gals... Example: **Points to nude model calendar hanging in the garage** "you want to model for next year's calendar?" Smirk. Smirk off, pal. One time at the apero he told me he collects girlfriends from around the world and asked me if I wanted to be his American, and that we could a lot of fun together ;). I told him that first of all, I appreciated his little comments less and less. He said oh okay sorry. I said no no, wait, there's more. I said, I am not attracted to you. There's zero connection. He said ok I get it sorry. I said no no, wait, there's more. Because I found out you're MARRIED with CHILDREN. And that pushed me over the edge of disgust. He said OK I GET IT, forget it, let's be friends, high five. He held up his hand and I looked at it blankly and said, "I don't even want to do that! See ya!"
I was so proud because I've been trampled before by guys like that and I get flustered and don't know what to say until minutes later. In the past I tried to report gross men and sometimes it backfired, or even the administration turned against me.... it really doesn't inspire women to stand up for themselves. But from that moment on he left me alone and even seemed a bit scared of me, and I can't tell you how satisfying that was. Papa bear Stephan told me it brought him great joy that I told the guy off because in the past years he's always had his "vendanges girlfriend" and then told every detail to the rest of the team. There isn't a word strong enough but not profane to categorize him, so I'll leave it at that. The bummer is that I found out his home life was rough growing up, clearly he had no proper role models, and that the people he's friends with say he's actually a decent guy when it doesn't come to relationships. I dunno.
On an angelic flipside, there was the darling Veronique. Fifties, artist, beautiful soul. She was there to get back into nature and the working mindset. One Sunday we went mushroom foraging in the forest and walked up to a castle in the pouring rain, and then the rain cleared and we sat in the pines and breathed in the fresh air. It was so healing. We showed each other videos of our cats and oh also I got zapped by an electric fence. We gossiped and talked about life and love, and we only found four little mushies but we cooked them into an omelette, had some wine and chocolate pudding, and laughed a lot and cried a little.
There was also Axel and Axelle. Axel is 29, oozes kindness, is married with kids, works for the vineyard full-time, and it threw me for a loop because I'm not used to meeting young people with an anchored life. I think it was a good reminder to me that people are all living different things, and I greatly admire that some people know what they're doing. He invited me to stay with him and his family for a night in Strasbourg at the end of the vendanges to that I could discover the city a little bit, I was very appreciative of the warm welcome! The other Axelle is also 23 and one morning, Yves woke me up in my tent at 06:00 with his little speaker and dragged me outta my sleeping bag and to his friend's house (Axelle), who he'd also intrusively woken up. He really wanted us to meet I guess. We groggily shared a coffee and within five minutes of meeting me she offered to let me stay on her couch! I was super flattered. I stayed there for a week ish, and we had some great times. She works like craaaazy. I can tell she's passionate about the work she's doing and I really admire how much committed she is to learning about the wine business, especially given how much work it is.
There was also Paul and Paul, one from the north and one from the south, and they became North Paul and South Paul. They seemed to love the work and both knew quite a bit about wine, despite being only 22 and 26. I think they are actually literally some of the craziest people I've ever met in my life. They work hard and super fast and every time it started raining they would loudly meow at each other through the vines. It drove everyone nuts. But they were super kind too, it was just funny all around. One night I went with the Pauls and Peter (I guess that makes me Mary) for Tarte Flambée, or Flammekueche, which is a specialty in the region. It's a flatbread similar to a sauce-less yeast-less pizza; the classic is cheese, bacon, and onion, although there are specialty tarts with different cheeses, mushrooms, or veggies.
Then there's Phillippe, an older dad-type too, part-time volleyball coach, and wise person. I appreciated his positivity and tranquility. He has been to Nepal three times and spent lots of time in northern India, and it was cool to hear about his experiences and exchange stories and observations. On that note, there was a guy who came and worked with us for two days at the end and he knew my favorite bar in Kathmandu! So crazy how little the world actually is. There was also Maarten, the only other non-French person there (Netherlands) and it felt good to talk about that sometimes. He only worked with us in the mornings because in the afternoon he conducted wine-tastings for visitors from near and far. But he taught me a lot about the process and always answered my questions with patience and passion for the craft.
I don't usually go so into detail about the people I meet, but I'd say it was the most formative part of the experience there. It felt like the more I was my crazy little ol self, the more I was able to connect with everyone. It reminded me that being yourself is always the best way to create meaningful relationships with others... I think I tend to over-adapt myself to others in order to be friends with everyone, but that's not real. I'm finding value in dressing just as I want, acting just like me, and seeing who sticks around. It's often the people I want. For a little while when I was in Nepal, I felt insecure of being so simple in appearance because everyone around me had amazing tattoos, piercings, dreadlocks, funky clothes, etc. I bought a couple rings because I saw all the people I admire around me wearing them, but it made me feel like I was eating from a fork with one bent prong. I was still perfectly functional, but I felt weird. I've come to find value in that maybe people appreciate that I am simple. I dunno. Or maybe, no one gives a flying hoot. I have a feeling it's something that I'll be forced to work on in Paris... I literally don't have the space for a cool jacket or jeans, so I will have to be content with my personality as an outfit. Anyway I digress.
The last night was our big fiesta and we made raclette (you melt cheese and put it over potatoes and meats and mushrooms, soo good). I made the most of my last access to fine wine, as did everyone else, and we DANCED. Never thought I'd swing dance to Johnny B Goode with tractor pirate Yves in a garage across from of a thousand-year-old church but there we were. By the end of the night everyone had let their loose screws fall completely out and we were salsa-ing to our heart's content. We did so until the sun rose, and with nostalgia already clinging to our hearts like morning dew, we closed the garage and went to sleep. The next day I went to Strasbourg with Axel, wandered around, and the day after that I went back to Paris. Also shoutout to a group in Strasbourg that laid out hundreds of pairs of shoes to commemorate the tens of thousands of children murdered in Gaza, as well as journalists who have been killed and silenced. The whole day people took turns reading the names of the children and journalists. It was really powerful, and absolutely heartbreaking.
More About the Actual Grape Picking and Wine Making Process!
As I said, the domain is known internationally for their organic wines. They don't use any chemicals or big tractors to work their land. In total, they have about 13.5 hectares (33 acres), and have been working biodynamically for the last 30+ years. For example, to keep the grapes from rotting and catching mildew (flu for grapes), they occasionally spray the grapes with a protective coat of natural sulfur. They use horses to work in the rows, because tractors violently compress the soil and horses help keep the soil oxygenated, giving a different flavor to the wine. I remember my first lunch, we were picking Pinot Noir (for red wine) and when I tasted the wine I thought "....oh. Why's it sparkling? Is that what good wine tastes like?" I was unconvinced but I later learned that since the wine is organic, there is more life in the wine itself (in the form of healthy bacteria) and it literally gives it a sparkly energy. The rest of the bottles didn't have the same energy as that first day, I think it was very particular or something. There are SO many factors that affect the taste, and no two vines or years will be the same. It's clear that to really know wine well you have to dedicate a life to it.
The harvest is actually the culmination of a year's worth of work! Read here if you're interested in knowing more about all the other steps that lead up to the grape-picking part. When we arrived at the vines they gave us all a bucket and we set off into the rows to cut the grapes. Sometimes we had to sort through the grapes delicately and eliminate all the rotting and moldy stuff, sometimes we didn't... it depended on the process the grapes would go through to become wine afterwards. BUT if it smelled like vinegar and was orange we had to scrape that off the bunch with our little shears. Often little or big spiders and other miscellaneous critters crawled out of the grapes and onto us, and some people had little spider bites all over. Not everyone's cup of tea I think. When our bucket was full we passed it under the fence to the nearest row with crates, where a designated person emptied the buckets, or seau, and redistributed them. The whole day was full of shouts of SEAUUUUUUU with varying levels of enthusiasm. Usually we were across from someone in the vine, so we could make conversation and chat with everyone around. For maximum efficiency, we all were supposed to advance at the same pace so that the crates could be filled without too much difficulty, so sometimes we had to turn around and help the people on the other side catch up.
Once the grapes were in the little cases, a mini tractor (glorified lawnmower) would pick them up in the rows and load them into trash cans on a tractor by the road, which would then take them to the cellar. From there, numerous different processes are employed depending on the intended wine. For example, sometimes it immediately goes into pressers. The pressers have a membrane that expands and contracts while gently spinning all the grapes, carefully smooshing them into juice which trickles out into a massive tray below. The stems, murdered slugs and spiders, and grape carcasses end up as a crumbly mush that they discard... not sure where it goes next. The juice gets pumped out into into different barrels depending on what kind of wine they're making; the barrels can be made from any type of wood, further influencing the flavor of the wine.
For white wine, the process is: harvest, pressing, letting the must settle, fermentation, racking, wherein the wine is clarified and put in big barrels for 3-4 months to age, filtration (to remove impurities or stabilize the wine), and then bottling. The red process is much more complex (it seems to me) and all of it requires a lot of chemistry and know-how.
To recap, it's a lot of work, all year round. However, the wine industry in France is looking at a recession due to reduced alcohol consumption globally. For a long time the French government was complicit in attempts to disguise wine as healthy, saying that just a glass a day is actually good for you without proper evidence. In recent years experts have said that any alcohol, when consumed daily, is not medicine, and many younger French people I talked to have expressed distaste for the French government's handling of wine and health. There's even something called the "French paradox," where the French were supposedly healthier because of their wine consumption. "But to date, the health effects of alcohol have never been tested in a long-term, randomized trial" (Harvard Medical School, 2020). Anyway, French wine-makers are noticing the dip in demand, and some are even turning to non-alcoholic wine solutions. There's also the whole issue of global warming greatly affecting the health of vineyards all across France. If you're curious about more in the decline of wine production, you can read here.
What Now!?
Anyway.
I'm now back in Paris. My two housing options fell through at the very last possible minute, so I went back to Flore's parent's house near Paris for a few days, the time to find a new option. I posted on dozens of Facebook groups, sent messages to dozens of other people looking for roommates, and had a few hits. Yesterday I moved into a lady's house! She is offering me her couch until January, at a lower price if I help her son learn some English. She lives near Porte de Vincennes, which is a great spot in Paris for me. A little bit of everything and everyone around that area!
I've found that older French generations tend to have a lot of racist generalizations towards African and Middle Eastern immigrants, especially considering France's role in colonizing and destabilizing those regions. As my friend said: "Schrodinger's immigrant. Takes all the jobs but still doesn't work hard enough to merit the welfare." But it's almost exclusively immigrants who responded to my housing requests, and the woman whose couch I'm crashing now is an multitalented theater actress/comedian/dancer from the Congo. So it's not about wealth, or the space to host someone, but about recognizing fellow humans as family. She told me her French friends thought she was nuts for hosting me without having met me, and her response was that hosting me was the human thing to do... and that, when she was 23, she would have loved if someone had hosted her too while she traveled. I'm thinking a lot about all of this, and will say more eventually.
More soon, I just started a job at a cafe/bar/burger restaurant (Stella eat borgor, Stella happy). I loved my first shift and the other people there were super sweet, and the clientele is a younger crowd coming off work. I didn't drop a tray and only broke one glass, it was already empty though. I might have to buy a third pair of pants, it's really cold here. Also a long sleeve shirt that doesn't have all sorts of weird stains on it from my other travel work.
Thanx fer reedin,
Stella
I WANT (the easy and good parts of) YOUR LIFE!!!