The next morning after Andrew went surfing, we drove to Mogor Badan. 10 years earlier Andrew had come here with some friends before his best friend got married. They told stories of an eccentric man who greeted them after rising from cellar, popping out unexpectedly. Speaking quickly he explained the specifics to his intricate process of creating wine. He channeled the wind to a level below ground to cool it, filtered through organic egg whites, planted red roses along the grape vines, each part in his wine making process precise. They were captivated, and today we were on the road with our family. Mexico is beautiful, open free land in this area.
Our wheels drove over roads as the warm dust lifted behind us in a dull golden cloud and children lost their fight against sleep, round cheeks red around the edges as the light shown in the car windows. You could miss the entrance if you had been there 100 times last week, but by luck we turned down the desolate road, no sign of life, no marker, just dry weeds and a KM sign. Our silent car wound down the road, my eyes taking in the empty landscape, no people or building, just hills, it was freeing. As was the silence of sleeping children.
We saw something, we were here. A fine restaurant had been added, the walls made of air or hay.
We parked the car with no nearby roads, cars and cracked all the windows and snuck out. Only in Mexico can you leave kids in a well ventilated car and wine taste with your husband just down the line of sight. The wine exploded on my tongue, and I knew I would be ruined forever.
We sat and listened to the wind ripple through lines of grape vines, cooled by overhead pine trees, fresh warm air around us.
After an hour a couple of the kids woke up and we got them out of the car. They rubbed their eyes, but woke up to a world of adventure ahead of them.
A group of men in fine clothes came to wine taste from Guadalajara and stood in a little circle. People here love children, so they smiled at them respectfully, listening to the woman tell us about each wine we tasted while the children chased a playful cat, or jumped over rocks, climbed mysterious stairs.
We were invited down the cellar, but Elijah in quiet places is a bad idea, so I mentioned to the children that I had seen a sheep’s head on a fence post, “Who can find it?” and the three older ones dashed off to explore this disgusting idea as we descended the stairs into a cool room filled with impressive barrels, the ground damp gravel.
They found the head, we tasted the wine, we kissed goodbye to our friends and the kids waved at their cat who feigned indifference.
“Do you think we have time?”
“Well–it’s not like they close, they live there, we could try and see…”
We loaded the car.