Handpicked experience · Santorini
Santorini, Greece
Three wineries and a dozen pours in an afternoon: the sun-dried sweet wine that Russia bought, cellars cut into the cliff, and the red grape rescued from near extinction.
Three producers visited in one afternoon, so you can compare sites and styles
Around a dozen wines poured, showing what volcanic ground does to a grape
Cheese and small plates served alongside the pours
A four to five hour shape that leaves the rest of the day free
Four or five hours built around three wineries rather than a circuit of viewpoints. Roughly a dozen pours across the three, with something to eat alongside, in a group of your own. If you were expecting a general sightseeing loop of Santorini, this is not that, and the difference is worth knowing before you set out.
Spread over an afternoon in the heat, with small measures and food between them, it is manageable. Attempted as twelve full glasses on an empty stomach it is not, and people do come unstuck. Use the spittoons, which nobody will think rude, drink water at every stop, and eat what is put in front of you. Whoever is driving afterwards should sit this out entirely.
Long before anyone came here for the caldera, the island's export was a sweet wine made by laying harvested grapes out in the sun for a fortnight until they shrivelled, then pressing what little juice remained and ageing it in barrel for years. It goes almost amber and tastes of dried figs and coffee. Most of it went to Russia, where the Orthodox church took it for communion, and that single market held up the local economy until the Revolution ended the trade overnight. Ask to taste it even if sweet wine is not usually your thing; it is the historical centre of the subject.
The older wineries are built as tunnels cut back into soft volcanic rock, with the entrance high and the floor sloping down, so that pressed juice ran to the storage vessels without anyone lifting it. The rock keeps a steady temperature year-round in a place with no shade and no timber. Several producers still use these spaces, and walking into one from a forty-degree afternoon explains the design immediately.
Alongside the familiar white varieties there is a dark-skinned grape that had almost disappeared by the 1980s, kept alive in a handful of old plots because nobody had got round to pulling it out. A few growers propagated it deliberately in the following decade and it now makes some of the most interesting reds in Greece. If a winery has it, it is worth the extra pour.
The planted area has fallen by a large fraction over half a century, because land near the caldera is worth more with a building on it, and water is scarce. Yields here are among the lowest in Europe to begin with — old vines on ash and pumice give very little. That combination is the single biggest pressure on the island's wine, and any producer will talk about it if you ask.
One winery tells you what one winemaker thinks. Three, tasted in an afternoon, tell you what the island tastes like and where the growers disagree — about oak, about acidity, about whether the wine should be drunk young. Ask each of them the same question and listen to the differences.
Collection is arranged from accommodation. Beyond the food served with the tastings, meals are your own. Bottles to take away and anything else are settled at the winery. Cancellation is free up to a day ahead.
Open it to pick a date and work out the price.
What the fare covers, and what to budget for separately.
The practical detail, and the answers people actually ask for.
No. The afternoon is built around three producers and their wines, with tastings and food rather than a circuit of viewpoints. Book something else if you want the caldera villages.
Not if you treat them as measures rather than glasses. Use the spittoons, take water at every stop and eat what is offered. Anyone driving afterwards should abstain completely.
A wine made from grapes left in the sun for around two weeks until they shrivel, then pressed and aged in barrel for years. It ends up amber, tasting of dried fruit and coffee, and it was the island's main export.
The Russian Orthodox church, which took it for communion in such quantity that the trade underpinned the local economy until the Revolution cut the market off.
They are tunnels cut into soft volcanic rock, entered high and sloping down so pressed juice ran to the vessels by gravity. The rock holds a steady temperature on an island with no shade and no timber.
A dark-skinned variety that had nearly vanished by the 1980s, surviving in a few old plots. Growers propagated it deliberately in the following decade, and it now produces some of the most interesting reds in the country.
Land near the caldera is more valuable built on, water is scarce, and yields from old vines on ash and pumice are tiny to begin with. The planted area has shrunk substantially over fifty years.