A glass of courage
Brothers persevere in producing world-class wines in Syrian civil war
Chateau Bargylus is on the wine menu of some of London’s finest restaurants, including Heston Blumenthal’s Dinner, L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon and Gordon Ramsay.
Reaching the Michelinstarred establishments of the world might seem par for the course for a top Bordeaux or Burgundy, but for a bottle of Bargylus, it is little short of miraculous.
That is because it is the only internationally recognized wine produced from grapes grown and picked in Syria — a country wracked for the past four years by a horrific civil war, and where for most, the main goal is staying alive, not sipping syrah.
Despite the difficulties, Bargylus last week became the first Syrian wine to be exhibited at the Vinexpo wine fair in Bordeaux — the world’s largest — placing Syria well and truly on the wine map.
The feat is all the more remarkable because in many parts of the country, those found drinking any kind of alcohol — let alone a boutique red — face 100 lashes or worse from fighters of the medievalminded ISIL and other jihadist groups.
The Domaine de Bargylus comprises 12 hectares of vineyards on a tree-lined plateau in the Mediterranean province of Latakia, northwest Syria. The Romans used what used to be called Mount Bargylus — now Jabal Ansariya — for their own wineries two millenniums ago, as did the Greeks and Phoenicians before them.
“Today, it must be the most difficult wine to produce in the world and probably the most dangerous,” said Sandro Saade, a Syrian-Lebanese 38-year-old who runs the estate along with brother Karim, 41.
He should know. Last June, two stray mortars tore through one of his vineyards.
“We don’t know where they came from, but probably from a village around three kilometres away controlled by ISIS (or ISIL) kind of people,” said Karim. “The situation is not great, we have to admit, but we have no choice but to continue.”
Workers took cover again last August when government forces and rebels clashed within 100 metres of the farm. Thankfully, there were no casualties, just a few bullet holes in fences. “We have been lucky. We are in an area that is relatively preserved — most of the time,” Sandro said.
The Saades, a Christian family with a wine-growing history, planted grape vines in Latakia in 2003. They produced their first vintage in 2006.
Their grandfather had owned land there confiscated in 1960 by Egypt’s Nasser regime when it briefly took over Syria. Returning was not just about winemaking but reclaiming roots in what the French call “terroir” — the local soil — in a region increasingly hostile to Christians and other minorities. “Wine ties you to the land,” said Karim. “You cannot just pack up and leave.”
The Syrian coastal mountain range is the heartland of President Bashar Assad’s Alawite community. Should he lose Damascus, the president may retreat here, and possibly seek to establish a breakaway Alawite state.
Although last month, an explosion in the nearby Latakia port killed four, the province has largely been shielded from the war. Despite this, neither Saade brother, based in Lebanon, has set foot on the wine domain in four years due to the risk of being kidnapped.
Wine-making in a war-torn country is not just life-threatening, it is a logistical nightmare.
The brothers rely on 35 local workers, from “Muslim, Alawite and Christian families, a little bit of everybody. The people who work at Bargylus are open-minded and have no issues with that. Most people want to live like (they) did before the war,” Karim said. Staff are in constant contact with the brothers in Beirut. The tricky part, however, comes with the approach of harvest time, when the brothers need to taste the grapes for maturity. The only way to do so is to ferry the fruit on ice in a taxi across the border to Beirut, a trip that should take four hours.
“But there have been many cases when the taxi couldn’t get through and had to go back and fetch a new batch, either because the border was closed or due to a security issue either side,” Sandro said. Bottles, corks and labels take months to import from France. Once the wine is vinified and boxed, it takes 45 days or so to ferry it to Belgium. The land itself is not easy to work. The limestone, flint and clay is tough on tractors, and there is a lot of wind.
Despite all the challenges, the brothers insist the winemaking that goes into producing 45,000 bottles annually matches top-notch Bordeaux or Californian estates, using techniques “close to biodynamic.”
“The difference here is we do it in the middle of nowhere.”