Page 41 - Terčelj, Dušan. 2015. The Culture of Wine in Slovenia. Edited by Aleš Gačnik. University of Primorska Press, Koper.
P. 41
The Culture of Wine Drinking
How I entered this profession
Why did I decide to work in oenology? To re-educate Slovenes? Of course not. The
house I was born in stood on a gentle hill. On three sides it was surrounded by vineyards
belonging to farmers in the village of Žapuže, just over a kilometre from Ajdovščina on
the way to Vipava. Beyond the vineyards, approximately one hundred metres behind the
house, stood an old church, which we called St. Martin’s, even though there was a statue
of St. Peter on the altar. My maternal uncle had a vineyard in the neighbouring village. I
often used to visit him and accompanied him while he was working. In the summer heat
I would rock on a branch of a perry pear tree and listen to the cicadas singing in the oak
trees above the vineyard, or to the crickets guarding the grapes in the autumn. So even
when still very young I was invisibly tied to what went on in the vineyards and I have very
fond memories of this.
My first memory of wine comes from tasting a young Rebula. When still a child, I went to
Gorizia with my father one autumnal day. In an inn, he ordered himself a quarter of a litre
of Rebula. It was cloudy, fresh and still in the process of becoming wine. I took a small sip
and it seemed pleasant, resembling lemonade, slightly sweet.
Žapuže near Ajdovščina in the past and now. The author remembers his youth in front of the house in which he was born,
the author as a ten-year-old boy and the Church of St. Martin. Photo: Staša Cafuta and the Terčelj family archive.
When I was eight, my father sent me to school in Ljubljana. He was a great patriot and
did not want to buy me the black shirt worn by the Fascist balilla (the Vipava area was at
that time under Italian control, tr. note). I lived in various institutions until the second
half of grammar school and never really came into contact with the world outside or with
wine. When the Italians came to Ljubljana and I continued my education at the classical
grammar school, students had the habit of promenading along the street now known as
Cankarjeva ulica and in Tivoli Park up to the mansion with the statues of wolves in front of
it. At the start of sixth grade, a school friend invited me to a tavern for a glass of Portugalka
(Portugieser). When I asked him what Portugalka was, he explained that the Italians had
37
How I entered this profession
Why did I decide to work in oenology? To re-educate Slovenes? Of course not. The
house I was born in stood on a gentle hill. On three sides it was surrounded by vineyards
belonging to farmers in the village of Žapuže, just over a kilometre from Ajdovščina on
the way to Vipava. Beyond the vineyards, approximately one hundred metres behind the
house, stood an old church, which we called St. Martin’s, even though there was a statue
of St. Peter on the altar. My maternal uncle had a vineyard in the neighbouring village. I
often used to visit him and accompanied him while he was working. In the summer heat
I would rock on a branch of a perry pear tree and listen to the cicadas singing in the oak
trees above the vineyard, or to the crickets guarding the grapes in the autumn. So even
when still very young I was invisibly tied to what went on in the vineyards and I have very
fond memories of this.
My first memory of wine comes from tasting a young Rebula. When still a child, I went to
Gorizia with my father one autumnal day. In an inn, he ordered himself a quarter of a litre
of Rebula. It was cloudy, fresh and still in the process of becoming wine. I took a small sip
and it seemed pleasant, resembling lemonade, slightly sweet.
Žapuže near Ajdovščina in the past and now. The author remembers his youth in front of the house in which he was born,
the author as a ten-year-old boy and the Church of St. Martin. Photo: Staša Cafuta and the Terčelj family archive.
When I was eight, my father sent me to school in Ljubljana. He was a great patriot and
did not want to buy me the black shirt worn by the Fascist balilla (the Vipava area was at
that time under Italian control, tr. note). I lived in various institutions until the second
half of grammar school and never really came into contact with the world outside or with
wine. When the Italians came to Ljubljana and I continued my education at the classical
grammar school, students had the habit of promenading along the street now known as
Cankarjeva ulica and in Tivoli Park up to the mansion with the statues of wolves in front of
it. At the start of sixth grade, a school friend invited me to a tavern for a glass of Portugalka
(Portugieser). When I asked him what Portugalka was, he explained that the Italians had
37
