As the road passes south-west through the Climens estate, a left-turn will take you down a narrow road, rough-surfaced with grey fissured tarmac, and overshadowed by tall trees on each side. On one side of the road are some metal gates, adorned with a weather-beaten sign which reads Attention au Chien, but the driveway behind is overgrown with weeds, the little house beyond clearly derelict; there hasn’t been any dog to cause concern here for many years I think. And on the other side of the road there sits an impressive stone edifice, smothered in ivy. Although the design is triumphal there is an air of faded grandeur about it; the little panes of glass in the windows are cracked, and secured with metal bars, and I can’t help wondering if the building will eventually succumb to the engulfing greenery.
It is not to be though; just beyond this lost temple, seemingly transplanted here from the deepest corners of Percy Fawcett’s Amazon, there lies a 19th-century château, a small collection of winery buildings, and some finely situated vineyards. This is Château Liot, one of Barsac’s unsung heroes, a source of consistent and reliable wine very much in the Barsac style. Or at the very least a Liot-interpretation of the Barsac style.