It would be difficult not to look back on 2015 as anything but miserable. The glimmer of hope produced by the swift despatch of Des van Rooyen from Finance, and the accession of Pravin Gordhan to that most vital of offices cannot make up for the attrition of the preceding 12 months. Given everything that had gone before, notably the incompetence, rapacity and cupidity with which the administration sets about its business, the presidential climb down in December could never be more than momentary remission in a body politic afflicted by a cancer that needs radical surgery.
It's less fun living under the cloud of the Zuma maladministration than most people realise. In the bad old days of the ancien regime, South Africans traveling abroad used to avoid discussions of where they were from, or pretended that they were visitors from another unnamed English-speaking former colony. Then, in the post-1994 euphoria, the pendulum swung sharply in the opposite direction. The new flag appeared on travel gear, lapel badges, scarves and bandanas: we all wanted to be identified with the success story of the “Rainbow nation”. Sadly, that same pendulum is more than midway back on the pre-Mandela arc. In a few short years, President Jacob Zuma has restored the sense of cringe.
This is not an extraordinary achievement, though it would make a fitting epitaph when the time comes to etch a few well-chosen words onto his headstone. It is also – as these things often are – a reflection on our own hyper-sensitivity. Most Brits did not feel the need to cover their heads with a bag when Margaret Thatcher was at her worst, or Tony Blair toadied up to Bush to collaborate on the illusion that the Iraq War was nothing less than a necessity. From 2000 to 2008 Americans could face the world despite the twin catastrophes of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. In our case the conditioning was the result of a more prolonged association with the evil of the apartheid era.
So it is something of a surprise to find that, notwithstanding the Zuma effect, South Africa still basks in something of the Mandela-era glow internationally, that we are regarded as an exotic and happy story, a country whose positive attributes have washed away much of the unsavoury past. On a recent trip which began in Bordeaux (where wine buyers are always welcome, irrespective of the politics or human rights record of their various nations) and ended in Rome (which has welcomed everyone since the Barbarian invasions) I spent some time in Spain. There, I discovered a restaurant which is actually called “Pinotage” and boasts a suitably Cape winelist.
Unsurprisingly the proprietor (an ex-Zimbabwean named Roger) loves South Africa's home grown variety, and is ready to sing its praises to whoever visits his two restaurants in Arties, about 8 km from Baqueira in the Spanish Pyrenees. The Vall d'Aran – the wider geographical location – used to be something of an isolated enclave, with its own distinct language, culture, history, architecture and cuisine. It is situated on the northern side of the Pyrenees – so more accessible to France than to Spain; at least until the construction of the tunnel which goes through the mountain from nearby Vielha. Nowadays the region survives on the winter charms of its ski slopes, of which there are over 100 kms of pistes serviced by 33 lifts, and its summertime attraction for hikers and mountain bikers.
I'm not sure I'd want to be there in peak season – but then I'd not want to be at any resort invaded by hordes of energetic, healthy, risk-taking, fun-loving fellow human beings wanting to engage in the kinds of fear-inducing activities for which you have to be athletic, agile and super-fit. I'm the kind of person who uses a lever-model corkscrew to minimise any risk of damaging my wrist and shoulder muscles while extracting a cork from a bottle. Still, having found myself in the Vall d'Aran for the second time in the past five years I was happy to sample the fare at Pinotage. There's little notably South African about the food offering, which has clearly been fine-tuned to the needs of the skiing set. However, the predominance of South African wine, especially the fuller bodied, richer and more sumptuous examples made perfect sense in the climate. If you've just walked into an ancient stone building, stepping from a metre of snow into a space filled by a roaring fire, you are unlikely to want a bottle of Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc.
It occurred to me that there is often a dramatic disconnect between how locals pair their own wines, and what happens in export markets. South Africa in mid-summer - even when we're not experiencing a record-breaking heatwave - does not conjure up a House & Home table setting with a couple of 15% alcohol opulent red wines served alongside a casserole of ox-tail. Part of the reason that Sauvignon Blanc does so well here in summer, notwithstanding the manifold shortcomings of the majority of what lands up in bottle, is its intrinsically refreshing quality. By the same token, in the midst of the Medieval Warm Period – which, by all accounts, was a lot hotter in the inhabited regions of Europe than mid-summer 2015 - the French were exporting light red wine from Bordeaux to their major market in England, hence the generic term “claret” to describe the beverage.
From this it seems clear that climate change – whether anthropogenic or not – is likely (in the short-term) to have more of an impact on which wines are consumed in places other than in the regions where they are produced. John Gladstones, one of the great modern viticultural experts, has argued that it would take at least at two degree average temperature increase before there would be a measurably negative impact on the major wine appellations. It would take a lot less than this – as the current heat wave has made clear – to persuade punters to amend their choice of wine.
If this assumption is correct, then it is also easier for producers to respond to climate change. Either they need to develop export markets where the consumption preferences match the varieties already planted in their vineyards, or else they need to alter their planting strategy to anticipate the trends which the weather conditions will impose on what is consumed. Since both of these game-plans are a lot simpler than looking for new sites in what previously were considered inhospitably cool regions, and are accordingly less disruptive to family life, you can expect our white wines to become more fashionable, just as you can anticipate a shorter selling season for Cape reds in the domestic market.
This isn't exactly rocket science. Circumstances are changing in front of our eyes, production cycles in the world of wine require long-term planning, and only the fittest (or, if you prefer, the most agile) will prosper. What is also clear however is that there are many ways to adapt – not all of them as radical as the scaremongers have suggested. Metaphorically speaking, if you're not able to grow fins and gills, and it is tricky to move to higher ground, it is worth considering the simpler and less costly expedient of building your house on stilts. DM