The Valle Cinti is largely inhospitable to humans and grapes, unless one or both of them manages to establish a foothold on one of the precious few hectares along the banks of the rivers that flow along the 85 kilometer canyon. It is a beautiful, if stark, valley – a rocky floor with cacti and scrub brush, surrounded on one side with a stunningly red mountain range and on the other with one that is a drab grey-brown. My sense from my visit to Cepa de Oro was that perhaps humans help grapes survive there, because the grapes in turn make the stay a bit more pleasurable.

A tree, supporting a 100-year-old grapevine

The Spaniards, and Jesuits in particular, brought grapes into the Cinti Valley almost four hundred years ago, even though the indigenous presence itself goes back thousands of years, as documented by Riveras Casanovas in 2004. Most of the grapes would have been planted as seeds, and not cuttings, and would be brought down to the Cinti Valley from places further north, such as Potosí and Sucre, and they would require innovative methods to keep the sun and hail off of them. As I walked the vineyards with don Jaime Rivera, from Cepa de Oro, he shows me some of the strategies used – trees with umbrella-like shapes that give shade and deflect the hail. Plantings near rivers along what must be only a few hundred hectares of fertile soil in the 85 kilometer valley to protect against drought in the land that only gets about 3 months of rain a year.

Jaime Rivera Andres, on the left. Image taken from onlime, as he was holding his daughter most of the time!

Jaime Rivera named Cepa de Oro (“cepa” means vine, or the trunk of the grape) when he saw the sun reflecting off of the golden Moscat de Alexandria grapes, from which he would make white wine, and distill Singani, but now his son, Jaime Andres Rivera, is the fourth generation to make wine here. The latter has a particular love for the regional varietal La Vischoqueña that comes from a nearby town, as well as La Misionera or Criolla Negra, both of which are used for red wines. His father has a love for the unusual grapes that are not found elsewhere, or which are very rare, such as a varietal they call Borgoña which I’ve not seen elsewhere, and a black grape with a dark red juice to it called Lagrimas de Cristo (Tears of Christ).

With don Jaime Rivera in the vineyard. Note the flooding from the river.

My visit with them was not the everyday “desgustación, or tasting, because it took place at the huge birthday party thrown for Jaime Andres Rivera’s one-year-old daughter. Bottles were opened in between clowns and cakes and a meal, but they were amazing. A Vischoquena rose, as well as bottles of red Vischoquena and a rare bottle of Borgoña – all amazing and passionately discussed. The future for Cepa de Oro seems to be a focus of these primary local varietals, along with some Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, and of course, the pride of the region, some incredible Singani.

An amazing bottle of La Vischoqueña

Southern Tarija, in the far south of Bolivia

How far and to what heights would you go to find some wines that you’d probably never tried before? I crossed the south range of Bolivia’s Andes at over 3500 meters to the Valle Cinti, from the city of Tarija, in a sub-compact car I rented from the only rental place I could find in Tarija. I arrived in Camargo (elev. 2400M) to visit Bodega Vacaflores, with Marcelo Vacaflores. Marcelo retrieved me from the downtown square, and before I knew it, I was being invited to almuerzo (lunch), and then a bit of a tasting.

The rout north from Tarija to the Cinti Valley

During the desgustación, or tasting, we talk about the varietals in the Cinti Valley. The three most common are Moscatel de Alexandria, a white grape that is used to make a local white wine, but used also for a local liquor called Singani, which dates back several hundred years to the Jesuits. It is made in the style of eau de vie, because it is fermented and distilled, but uses grapes (which eau de vie does not), and is
classified as a brandy, for trade purposes. In this region, the national drink is made by nearly every bodega, along with their wine. A second varietal is La Misionera, often called Negra Criolla, is a vino tinto, or black grape. The last varietal, another black grape, is called La Vischoquena, comes from the Vicchoca region, was developed here, and is only grown in this region. We try some of each, and Marcelo talks about how they don’t filter the Moscato de Alexandria, but then sort of looks at me sheepishly and says, “well, mainly because we’ve never had a filter,” which is as good of a reason as any, I suggest.

We end up out at the bodega just outside of town, with his father who is also named Marcelo. The bodega has been operated for four generations, all small quantities of grapes being fermented from the three varietals mentioned, but add to those a bit of Merlot and some Cabernet Sauvignon. This is a shoestring affair – they buy most of their grapes, and use what containers they have, only recently having purchased their first stainless steel container. Wines are stored in a range of glass containers some of which go back nearly 100 years, from when glass was the best shipping option for liquids of various forms. All of the grapes come from growers who grow them from between 2400 to 2800 meters in elevation (7900 to 9200 ft.), and in very dry conditions, giving them a distinct, lush flavor.

Father and son pressing off Moscatel de Alexandria

The task today was to press off the Moscatel de Alexandría, which means setting up the wood press, pressing it off and carrying it up the hill to the containers in the bodega. The grapes had been fermenting in the lower building usually reserved for distilling Singani. Father and son work together, making repairs to the press as they discover a leak, and then repair a part that broke off. I step in to help when I can, but largely watch as they had me try different wines.

An old style still, for Singani

As they work, I am told about the family’s history of making wine and Singani, and the loss of the grape vines due to a drought, which they are now replanting. Marcelo discusses the desire to maintain the traditions of the varietals they have planted historically, for four generations, while also wanting to produce wines that are recognizable to outsiders.This is a tension I have heard several times – meeting needs of outside markets, while also wanting to introduce people to the local wines in which they take pride, due to a history that dates back generations and hundreds of years.

Now I just need to find people interested in coming this far, and to this elevation to taste wine with me!