August is the only month when Poet in the City takes a break. Even then it is rapidly becoming the time for those important but not urgent jobs like reviewing the database and up-dating the web site. And then there is the much anticipated holiday!
This year, for me, this meant a week of cycling amongst the vineyards of Alsace. This was very much a case of the agony and the ecstasy. Nothing compares to the the pure delight of free-wheeling downhill through endless rows of vines, heavily laden with Pinot, Sylvaner or Riesling grapes. On the other hand the slow climbs in low gear up the unforgiving slopes of the Vosges occasionally led one to question whether this was a holiday or an experience of forced labour.
Needless to say thoughts of poetry were not always at the forefront of my mind during these exertions. Nevertheless there is a certain poetry in viticulture, a marvellous combination of technique and mysticism that arguably shares some of the qualities of poetry composition. In the cool interior of a wine tasting cave, as we savoured the subtle differences between different grape and soil types, there was also a sort of Zen-like calm. I think that – in another life – I would be quite content to be a small wine producer, jealously guarding my terroir.
Rattling homewards on Eurostar we felt rather satisfied with the 355 km we had covered on our bicycles, particularly our 70 km detour into Germany, largely motivated by a desire to visit a recommended beer garden overlooking the Rhine. Our smugness was only slightly dented by the discovery that – despite all this furious peddling – we had still managed to put on several pounds. The food and wine of Alsace just proved too tempting. Still, that’s what holidays are for isn’t it?
