Diary of a bottle of wine
Hy, my name is Barolo, I was born in 1947 and I am... ... ehm.... a bottle of wine. Of good wine, to be clear! In fact, many would guarantee that I'm a bottle of excellent wine, but I don't want to brag. I would rather let judge a good connoisseur, but... this is precisely the matter: I've never found one that I really thought compatible with my characteristics!
You have to know that taste does not last long, but the memory of it can last forever, and inspire unique sensations for a lifetime!
Well, I must confess that I have always had the ambition to be something special, something unforgettable for the lucky one who one day will taste me. Considering my age (and being a bottle of wine, I consider it a boon), I would like to become something absolutely unique, even because I don't know many relatives of my own age.
What a special moment would I like to underline, considering that short later I will not exist anymore? A particularly romantic moment? A professionally successful? A silent, meditative, or rather an event with many happy people?
I still remember my childhood very well, at the beginning of the 1950s. ...My first steps out of the cellar! I already knew I was something special, or at least that I wanted to become. Well, unfortunately I was the only one to consider it this way. For all the others, I was one among many. So I quickly realized I would have only two chances in life: emigrate abroad or aging. Or better, both things.
When I was five years old, a Scottish connoisseur came to take me away in his country, together with five boxes of my brothers and sisters.
Until then I had never left home, imagine in such a far land.
...Far, and cold. It was certainly a fascinating place, and I must confess that this special touch of mystery had perfectly suited to my personality. ...But those continuous noise from the bagpipes was really annoying.
I stayed in the cellar of a fascinating castle, together with thousands of bottles from various parts of Europe, and not only, but with which I honestly have never socialized. ...They were too pretentious, everyone thought to be the best.
I have only made friends with a funny bottle from Adelaide Hills. We spent most of our time studying history and culture, ...and to mock the others from time to time... .
We were very happy when we were suddenly loaded on a truck, then on a plane, then on another plane. Finally, on arrival, we were in California. A completely different order of magnitude, and soon I realized how others were interested in my history, my culture and my experiences.
I spoke about the centuries-old origins of my house, boasting (just a little bit...) that Camillo Benso Count of Cavour was my great-grandfather. No one could conceive such a profound past.
There I fell in love with a young Californian. She came from Napa Valley... but what a temper! She was very courted; her sparkling character fascinated everyone, ...and she did absolutely not despise to get tasted by many people. "Forget her!", repeated my Australian friend. Fortunately, I had many admirers too.
So it happened that one day at an event I met... ...
To be continued.