Trebinje seems to be an exceptional piece of earth, hot and dry, but giving balanced and elegant wines, although usually quite heavy and rich. Beautiful as a town, close to such touristic attractions like Dubrovnik, Mostar and Kotor, it surely deserves more attention – especially from wine lovers.
Trebinje is a small town, lost in the dry mountains of the southern edge of Herzegovina; hidden in a deep valley that resembles the end of the world upon entering. But I knew that there are some experienced producers of quality wine there and my trip to this town did not disappoint at all. What’s more, I couldn’t stop marvelling at the assets that Trebinje possesses and enjoys.
As lost as it may appear, it is not difficult to reach – situated in the corner between Croatia and Montenegro. It is a short drive from Dubrovnik or Herceg Novi, both highly-touristic spots of the eastern Adriatic coast. But you need a car, which I don’t have. I do not drive. Americans will feel shocked, Europeans less surprised. Using public transportation, I made quite a nice circle to reach the town. I came from Montenegro, via Dubrovnik in Croatia, and went to Mostar – to see one of the most famous bridges in the world, and to spend a night before continuing my journey. I could just have well have stayed in Dubrovnik, but a young traveller’s budget is not adapted to this terrifyingly commercialized, UNESCO-protected Disneyland.
Staying in the centrally-situated Hotel Platani, the small historical center surrounded me, with the old famous plane trees above, after which the hotel was named. Tired, I went to the first nice-looking restaurant, ‘Tarana’, where I ordered half a litre of their house wine and a plate of Herzegovinian prosciutto (‘pršuta’ in Serbian) and hard cheese marinated in olive oil (sir iz ulja). This is one of the places where ‘vino de casa’ is not worse than any other sold by bottle – their white is Žilavka from Anđelić, another great producer I was going to visit in Trebinje. This was divine food and, as I discovered later, only a modest beginning. The aforementioned Žilavka got a medal from Decanter magazine – a dry but fruity wine, of a golden-green coloir, elegant in its structure and so different from many rich, strong whites of the Mediterranean climate.
The next day was a Sunday and I took a cab to the Monastery of Tvrdoš, which is – I guess – not more than 5 km from the town center. The typically small Orthodox church is from the very beginning of the 16th century, constructed on the ruins of older temples, the earliest of which dates back to the 4th century. The main part of the winery is, however, rather new.
The monastery has a long wine-making tradition; one which suffered under the Ottoman Empire, and later from the two World Wars, Communism, and the war in Yugoslavia. As a matter of fact, they started their quality wine production only in the early-2000s. In the cellars I was warmly-received and the long talk I enjoyed with one of the cellar workers was only briefly-disturbed by groups of tourists coming to visit the church and sample their wines and spirits.
The monastery has seven wine and three spirit labels, with the spirits all being produced from grapes. As every respectful producer of the region, they have their Žilavka, an autochthonous variety, appreciated much by the Austrian-Hungarian emperors who sourced it from a Hungarian producer in Lastva, a village to the south of Trebinje.
Tvrdoš’ Žilavka was a beautifully balanced white, minerally and with refreshing acidity. The strong sun, additionally reflected by limestone, makes the wines strong, with this one containing 13,7% of alcohol. The vines grow on stony, dry and poor soil with their roots reaching deep into the rock. It is not unlikely that the name could be traced from the word ‘žilavost’, meaning tenacity and strength.
I’ve heard once that, genetically, Žilavka is not that far from Riesling. Indeed, whoever loves German and Austrian Rieslings will most probably appreciate Herzegovina’s tenacious whites. Also the Chardonnay, ‘Oros’ (Greek for ‘mount’), proved to be an elegant wine – with its fruity and honey notes and spiciness.
My first red was a Merlot, blended from two vintages: 2008 and 2009. It’s called ‘Izba’ – an old Slavic word for cellar or pit-dwelling. In medieval times, the monks kept their wines in such an ‘izba’. This light, plummy wine was beautifully rounded by oak, its exciting herbal notes (mint and sage?) underlined.
By Mariusz Rybak
(Source: autochthoinos.com)
