Ancient Vines

Off-roading from the beaten path in Priorat, one of the world’s most magical but least-known wine regions.

by Kate Dingwall

You know what to expect from most wine regions. You’ll drive through rolling green hills, stopping at a tasting room or two to sample before strolling through a manicured vineyard.

Priorat is not that. As I drive into the county, out my window is one of the most dramatic panoramas I’ve ever seen, an almost mystical, mountain-topped skyline and a deep, rocky valley with barely a house in sight. If I look down, the road drops off drastically. Unsettling, yes, but I’m distracted by the sunset washing over the mountains and turning the landscape gold. It’s otherworldly—surprising, as we left Barcelona just 90 minutes ago.

That’s the magic of Priorat. The area is close to the Catalan capital, but it’s rugged and remote, defined by the rough cliffs of the Serra de Montsant mountain range.

Despite the striking landscape, Priorat is one of the most outstanding places in the world to make wine.

A glass of Priorat red wine

That said, farming here isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s a foreboding and almost impossible place to grow grapes, with vineyards often reaching inclines of 50 percent. But local winemakers love the challenge. One could compare them to sculptors coaxing figures out of marble and painters building landscapes from oil and pigment—artists working with difficult mediums to make masterpieces. From rocky, treacherous, highelevation terrain, Priorat winemakers carefully tend to vines and turn their grapes into elegant, powerful, age-worthy wines.

Freshly harvested red grenache grapes

Winemakers here call it divine intervention. In the 12th century, Carthusian monks set up monasteries in the mountains, drawn to the area’s connection to the almighty. They saw the mountains as the foot to the ladder to God.

Today those monasteries are in ruins, but the area still serves as a mecca of sorts, if only for winemakers. Compared to the packed tasting rooms of larger wine regions, Priorat is intimate. You’ll often have the wineries to yourself and tastings are typically one-on-one with the owners or winemakers. (Foot traffic is limited, so make a reservation beforehand.)

Priorat’s Escaladei Monastery

As I pull up to one vineyard, the winemaker greets me, apologizing for the dirt on his hands and his puppy jumping to welcome me. Later in our tasting, he sees me raise my eyebrows at the mention of a new wine he’s working on. Next thing I know, he’s climbing up barrels to extract a sample. “I want to know how you like it!”

During these tastings, the biggest topic is terroir—how every single detail of the land comes together to make singular, special wines. For example, Priorat is completely sheltered from inclement weather by the Serra de Montsant mountains. During the day, the county is soaked in Spanish sun. At night, the Mediterranean winds chill the heat. You can taste the weather in the wine—full-bodied but mineral-driven and fresh, like it was kissed by a cool breeze.

There’s also the soil: deep reddish-black, made up of craggy chunks of slate. Locals gave it the name llicorella for its midnight colour. As anyone there will tell you, it’s a small region—there are fewer than 5,000 acres of planted vines, compared to California’s nearly 900,000—but it is incredibly special.

You can make Priorat a day trip from Barcelona, but if time allows, stay a while. Although Barcelona never sleeps, Priorat is the opposite. It’s no wonder monks sought serenity here—dinners are serenaded by little more than crickets or a strong gust of wind.

(While the terrain is rugged, accommodations are not. There are many beautiful B&Bs on winery grounds and luxury hotels like Terra Dominicata, a former monastery turned boutique hotel.)

However long you stay, bring wine home. Each bottle possesses an ability to snap you back to Priorat, if only for a sip.