*** Extremadura. Wine from Extremadura. Ribera del Guadiana wines, modern wines from Spain * Vins d’Extremadure. Vins de Ribera del Guadiana, Espagne * Die Weine der Extremadura

The earth has a memory and remembers the people who worked to obtain grapes from its vines and then used ancient arts to turn them into wine, wine which runs through its furrows as if through veins. This is a land of gently rolling hills with vines that dye them green. Beyond them are the banks of the Guadiana river- la Ribera del Guadiana – which twists and turns, bathing the fields and disappearing where the sky and earth meet in an infinite embrace. This land is the guardian of the memory of the people who lived there; invisible links between those who devoted their lives together to working it. It remembers times when castles dominated the skyline, rising up from rocky crags. The wind would caress the red hue of the earth, September’s vines and ancient olive groves. Fertile fields, land sculpted by man’s hand, a hand which strokes vines into creating bunches of grapes that sweeten palates and colour white tablecloths. It is a miraculous landscape which keeps the memory of its existence intact: the memory of its people, the memory of the Earth.

The earth has a memory and remembers the people who worked to obtain grapes from its vines and then used ancient arts to turn them into wine, wine which runs through its furrows as if through veins. This is a land of gently rolling hills with vines that dye them green. Beyond them are the banks of the Guadiana river- la Ribera del Guadiana – which twists and turns, bathing the fields and disappearing where the sky and earth meet in an infinite embrace. This land is the guardian of the memory of the people who lived there; invisible links between those who devoted their lives together to working it. It remembers times when castles dominated the skyline, rising up from rocky crags. The wind would caress the red hue of the earth, September’s vines and ancient olive groves. Fertile fields, land sculpted by man’s hand, a hand which strokes vines into creating bunches of grapes that sweeten palates and colour white tablecloths. It is a miraculous landscape which keeps the memory of its existence intact: the memory of its people, the memory of the Earth.