I took a month off and chased wine across Europe. Trains, little cars, slow boats, and a few sweaty hills. I paid for everything myself. No freebies. No sponsor. Just me, my notebook, and a tote full of corks that TSA did not love. For a blow-by-blow diary of every stop, my longer write-up lives here.
Do you need to be a wine nerd? Not at all. I brought my curious nose and comfy shoes. That worked.
Here’s what felt good, what didn’t, and a few spots that still live in my head, rent-free.
For mapping routes and double-checking opening hours, I often dipped into TastingEurope, a one-stop guide to food-and-drink adventures across the continent.
Two resources I kept bookmarked: the book Wine Trails: Europe – Lonely Planet Online Shop for day-dream-worthy itineraries, and this practical guide to Europe's best wine regions and their tours that breaks down logistics region by region.
Bordeaux & Saint-Émilion: Gravel, Glam, and Very Good Bread
I booked tours at Château Pape Clément and Château Smith Haut Lafitte. Both asked for reservations. The guide at Pape Clément said “gravel is our gold.” Let me explain—those stones keep vines warm at night. The Cab smelled like pencil shavings and blackcurrant. Nerdy? Yes. Tasty? Also yes.
In Saint-Émilion, I loved Château La Dominique for the rooftop view over the vines. Red umbrellas. A breeze. I ate lunch at L'Envers du Décor. Duck, crusty bread, and a glass of Merlot that made me sigh. Tasting fees ran 20–40 euros. Worth it.
What I didn’t love: the summer crowds in the old town. Also, many places won’t take walk-ins. I got turned away twice. My fault. Book ahead.
Tuscany, Italy: Stone Roads and Big Smiles
Antinori nel Chianti Classico feels like a museum built for wine. Clean lines. Cool tunnels. I touched a warm barrel and the guide laughed. Barrique is the word for the small oak barrel. It gives vanilla and spice. Simple as that.
At Castello di Brolio, I walked the castle wall and looked at rows of Sangiovese. Later, I tried Bistecca alla Fiorentina in a tiny place that used a paper menu and a QR code. Funny mix, but it worked. In Montalcino, Podere Le Ripi poured Brunello that tasted like cherry, leather, and a slow afternoon. We talked about malolactic fermentation—the step that turns sharp acid into soft cream notes. Sounded fancy. Tasted cozy.
The snag: driving those hills. Tight turns. Sun in your eyes. Bring a patient friend, or hire a driver. My day ran 50–80 euros per tasting with tour and snacks.
Douro Valley, Portugal: River, Rails, and Tawny Dreams
I rode the old Linha do Douro train to Pinhão. Window down. Hair wild. At Quinta do Bomfim, I sat on a terrace and tried a 20-year tawny. It smelled like dried fig and orange peel. A staffer said the schist soil breaks into layers and warms roots. I nodded and kept sipping.
Quinta do Seixo had views that looked fake. Like a postcard. I took a short boat ride on a wooden rabelo after, just to feel the river do its slow thing. Tasting fees were 15–30 euros. Easy.
Downside: heat. July felt like an oven. Steps were steep. Bring water. Wear shoes with grip. I learned the hard way.
Rioja, Spain: Oak, Tapas, and Late-Night Laughs
I stayed in Logroño and hopped to Haro for cellar visits. Bodegas Muga gave a kind, clear tour. López de Heredia felt like time travel. Cobwebs. Old barrels. Magic. At Marqués de Riscal, the Frank Gehry hotel looked like shiny ribbon candy. I didn’t stay there, but I stared.
Quick guide the team gave me:
- Crianza: shorter aging, bright fruit.
- Reserva: longer aging, smoother edges.
- Gran Reserva: long nap in oak and bottle, savory and calm.
If you’re curious about how Rioja fits alongside other regions like Rías Baixas or Priorat, dive into my road-trip notes on tasting across Spanish wine regions.
I ate pintxos on Calle Laurel. Mushroom skewers with garlic. A glass of Tempranillo that cost less than water in some places. I shipped a mixed case home for 75 euros. It arrived fine. I also blind-sampled some of the highest-scoring bottles on the peninsula—spoiler: many are worth tracking down—and you can skim that rundown here.
Note: many wineries close on Sunday. Spain loves long lunches. Relax into it.
Champagne, France: Chalk Caves and Tiny Bubbles
Ruinart in Reims took me into chalk caves—the crayères. Cool air. Soft echo. The Blanc de Blancs tasted like green apple and chalk dust. In Epernay, I walked Avenue de Champagne and stopped at a small grower in Hautvillers who poured Extra Brut with a shy smile. Less sugar, more snap.
Costs here were higher. 30–70 euros per tour and tasting. Still, sabrage at a neighboring table made us cheer. The cork flew. No one lost an eye. Win.
Con: some places felt pushy on gift shop sets. I passed. No hard feelings.
Alsace, France: Fairytale Streets, Laser-Focused Riesling
I based in Ribeauvillé and biked to Riquewihr and Eguisheim. Half-timber houses. Stork nests. Tarte flambée with a dry Riesling at Trimbach. At Domaine Weinbach, a floral Muscat made me grin. It tasted like grapes, which sounds silly, but it was pure and bright.
Small tip: Riesling here can be dry or sweet. Ask. I say “sec” for dry. If you forget, smile and point. It worked for me.
Mosel, Germany: Slate, Loops, and Low ABV Joy
I tasted at Dr. Loosen in Bernkastel. Peach notes. Slate zip. The river curved like a ribbon. I hiked near Bremmer Calmont and looked down at tiny boats and neat rows. Back at the tasting, they talked about the blue and red slate. Warm soil; quick drainage. Crisp wines.
ABV sat around 8–10%. You can sip and still walk to dinner with a steady step. I spit sometimes too. It’s okay. The staff did as well.
Santorini, Greece: Salt, Sun, and Basket Vines
At Estate Argyros, I learned about Assyrtiko grown low to the ground in basket shapes. Kouloura. Wind stays out. Grapes stay safe. At Gaia, the tasting room sits by the sea. I could smell salt. The wine tasted like lemon, stone, and a tiny spark.
Santo Wines at sunset was crowded. Still pretty. Go early if you can.
Etna, Sicily: Lava Fields and Herbs in the Air
I drove up past Zafferana Etnea and stopped for honey. Then Tenuta delle Terre Nere poured a mix of contrade wines—same grape, different slopes. Nerello Mascalese tasted like red berry and ash. My shoes had black dust by noon. The mountain changes fast. Sun, fog, breeze, then more sun.
One weird moment: goats blocked the road. I waited. I laughed. It felt human.
Provence & Bandol, France: Rosé With a Backbone
Bandol reds surprised me. Dark fruit and thyme. At Domaine Tempier, I sat in the shade and tasted a rosé that could handle grilled fish, no sweat. In Cassis, I took a quick swim near the calanques and drank a white wine that tasted like fennel and sea spray.
July is busy here. Prices jump. Book early or go May or September.
Wachau, Austria: Stone, Apricot, Clean Lines
Domäne Wachau poured Grüner Veltliner that snapped like a green bean. I ate apricot dumplings after a short hike above Dürnstein. River below. Quiet. The Riesling here is dry and focused. If you like neat notebooks and tidy kitchens, you may love these wines.
The Good Stuff vs. The Gaps
What I loved:
- Guides who explained terroir without talking down.
- Mix of big names and tiny family spots.
- Simple food with spot-on pairings. Goat cheese with Sancerre; steak with Brunello; anchovies with Txakoli.
What bugged me:
- Heat waves. Afternoon tastings got rough. I switched to mornings.
- Pushy gift shop bundles in a few places.
- Appointment walls in Bordeaux. I get it, but it still stung.