Jean-Maurice Raffault
Our tasting finished, Rodolphe Raffault and I emerged from the cool and dark seclusion of the Cave Monplaisir into the crisp October sunshine.
“Would you like to see the vines of Clos de l’Hospice?” Rodolphe inquired.
He didn’t need to ask twice.
Just a few minutes later we had made the short journey round to the entrance to the clos, to find the gate firmly closed. One quick stab at the remote control secreted in the cab of his towering grey van, however, was all it took to start it rolling clear. A few more moments passed before I found myself among, for the first time, the vines of the Clos de l’Hospice, a historic vineyard in the Chinon appellation.
The Clos de l’Hospice is a remarkable vineyard, in more ways than one. The first and perhaps most curious feature is that the gate through which we passed is shared with the Résidence Odalys Le Clos Saint Michel, a mini-complex of tourist accommodation and swimming pool, and the driveway up to the vines doubles as a parking zone for the residents (I will explain why all this is so in on the next page). It was a tense moment as we squeezed between the wall and the parked cars, but we made it through, although I wondered out loud how we would have managed in a larger agricultural vehicle. An enjambeur, for example.
“It can be a little difficult at times,” was Rodolphe’s rather diplomatic response.
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