The rough and ready salt-of-the earth winemakers of South Africa have been known to, at times, give me kak for being a soft handed, soutie poofta who spends all his time drinking, and none of it working. And despite the fact that they are not entirely incorrect with this assessment, I readily took Adi Badenhorst (possibly the saltiest and earthiest of the lot) up on an offer to stay on his farm for a few days during the harvest, and help out.

Monday morning dawned, and with the White Stripes’ Ball and Biscuit grinding in my earballs, hot coffee in hand, and first cigarette lit, I cruised into the Swartland, to the Paardeberg, onto the Kalmoesfontein farm. Adi bought the farm in 2008 after leaving the more fancy-pants Rustenberg in Stellenbosch. The farm was quite the opposite then, not having been used in 70 years. After a couple years of work, the place is fantastic, and all that is missing is a big gate, and a tree lined avenue to make it the Rustenberg of the Swartland. With his lamb-chops, parrots, and team of Zimbabwean workers, Adi farms the Paardeberg like a cowboy. He makes seriously charming red and white blends, from mainly Shiraz and Chenin Blanc, but also throws in some lesser known varieties such as Grenache Gris. (The first image is some of South Africa’s only Grenache Gris on the way to the press.)

Jasper, Adi’s right-hand man met me as I arrived, and we had a coffee, chatting about the harvest while watching Adi’s staff and the interns set to work; each one easily taking a role, fitting into the greater machinery of the harvest. I sipped on my coffee, realizing that it would soon be me swinging a spade.

Adi arrived and I was introduced to the three interns, or “the United Nations” as he called them. Meike, the German, is currently studying viticulture; Diego, the Chilean, AKA Diablo, is known for constantly looking stoned; and Vikram, the Indian, AKA Kapil Dev, well his parents co-own one of the largest wine estates in India. He’s going to be big in India. These three were hilarious. Meike went around her business quietly – quietly shaking her head at the antics of Diablo and Kapel Dev.

The first day was relatively mellow. Tuesday was set to be the busy day. It turned out to be the busiest of the harvest to date, with us taking in 17 tons of grapes and performing six Chenin pressings. But before that I had some deadlines to meet, and a rugby match to attend with the United Nations.

This column is supposed to be about wine, so I do not want to go into detail about that Varsity Cup experience. It was my first one, and was somewhat surreal. Imagine, if you will, thousands of white supporters screaming for their team, jumping and shouting as 30 young men drive their bodies into each other, all accompanied by the less than melodic sounds of Ninja and Yolandi Vi$$er. I felt it my duty to lean over to each to the interns and ask them to not judge us too harshly, we all have our faults.

Jasper, The United Nations, and I headed into Stellenbosch where I drank too much, and bonded with my new harvest buddies. I didn’t drink a lot, just  too much for someone who was supposed to get up at 05h30 when 07h00 is considered early. Sadly, I got to the cellar an hour late. I made a coffee, rolled a smoke, and swiftly got to work avoiding the bloodshot eyes of my co-workers.

The day consisted of receiving trucks of grapes, and processing them as required. It was mainly Shiraz and Chenin Blanc.

The bulk of the work came from the Chenin pressings.

This is basically what happens: The Chenin we were working with had been picked early in the morning and had been stored in a cool room a kilometer or so from the farm. It’s important to work with cool grapes to help keep fermentation temperatures low. Grapes arrive in kassies (crates), about 80 at a time and are weighed – each one is anywhere between 15-18kg – before being fed into the press via the crusher – or on Adi’s farm, the klappomp – a device which according to Adi “makes other farmers nervous”.

One guy stands on the truck, sliding off kassies, another catches the kassie and turfs it into the ‘klappomp’, a third sorts leaves out and adds a little SO2 to the mix to prevent oxidation. Once the press is full, or all the kassies are empty, the press begins.

Performing this task can send you into a blissful meditaitive mode; the rythmic sliding, catching, emptying, sliding, and catching sends one’s mind far from the toil of harvest and into the wheat fields of the Swartland, between the old bushvines, soaring…

“HEY! Wat die Fok! Look what you’re doing Soutie! Jirre.”

Until, of course, you toss a kassie of grapes onto the floor.

The press we were using holds around a ton of grapes. It is a cylindrical machine with an inflatable balloon inside. This balloon inflates when the press is on, gently pressing the grapes against the perforated side, letting the juice run out and the skins and stalks stay behind. This juice is then pumped into a waiting tank.

Once the pressing is finished the press must be cleaned, all the stalks and skins removed and shoveled onto a truck. This is a somewhat arduous business. Below is a little snap shot of Kapil Dev and Diablo hoisting the skins and stalks onto the back of the truck. Each pressing has about six trays of this to shovel. It’s, er, character building.

The physical work was enjoyable. Tough, but hardy and refreshing. It was made easier as Kapil Dev and Diablo were hilarious, Adi even more so, the coffee plentiful – the espresso machine is the most expensive piece of equipment in the cellar – there are grapes to eat, there’s the specific pleasure of having a rolled cigarette dangling from your lip as you heft crates and blow smoke, listeneing to Led Zeppelin while doing manual punch-downs, and because every time you looked up, this is in front of you:

On a slightly more juvenile level, I amused myself in the cellar heartily for a bit as it seemed almost everything anyone said was a setup for a “that’s what she said’ joke.

“pull it out before it spills”

“You need to be gentle with that pipe”

“Suck until juice comes out and then stop.”

“The first time I tried to do that, everything got stained red”

And so on. Very silly I know.

We worked until 19:30. The beer after that day was a good one. The dinner with wine even better. I had shoveled, and pressed, and cleaned, and punched down for hours. Harvest is that, day in and day out for a couple months each year.

It’s a strange world, the one of wine. I remember standing looking at grapes being crushed, feeling the sweat on my brow, thinking at how the environment in which wine is made is so different from the one it is tasted in. Suits and ties, waiters and sommeliers, decanters and Riedel glasses. It’s as if we are trying to distance the liquid from its birthplace. It’s weird. Wines that have been memorable to me have been drunk outside, in the fresh air, closer to their source. Not in some stuffy room where anoraks sniff and swirl guardedly over their little splash. That’s not wine. Wine is – and here I am going to sound like a tofu eating, gaia-loving hippy – suited for the outdoors, it comes from the earth and surely our enjoyment of it must link to that in some way? Next time you taste a wine think of the blood and sweat that has gone into the its production; think of the workers’ hefts, the lifting, pulling and grunting, the aching muscles when you take your next sip.