Having left the ancient city of Acre, my American hustle-bustle kicked in and before you know it, I was in hitch-hiker paradise. The hills are fresh; so is the air and automobile tires. I walked essentially 30km from point a to b in all. This is an abandoned vineyard along the way, in a region called ‘Menachem” - a religious sect.
The vines tangled as I pushed on through route 899 and found collectives of farmers and start-up types. I passed a music school, and on my last leg of the journey made it to Sousa, like the fabled town from ancient Persia. The wine? Reeked of Moscato and roast chicken, however to my surprise quite the opposite.
The vineyards were small, and planted with such effect that you’d assume it was someone’s prize. Northern Israel is now becoming a heated appelation controle, ‘Golan Heights,’ which is debatable to where I was. However, the wine I ended up with was very typical to similarly edgy areas, such as Alto Adige. Behold:
I finally found a bar (right?) and sampled (once again) the Golan Heights Winery ‘Dry White’, which if you know your history: wine is wine. However, it took on the characteristics of a stunning Sudtirol Weissburgunder or just really, a dense Pinot Grigio.
There is a saying, I believe about a man and a mountain in Japanese; however, I learned mountains are for horses.
