Learning the Art of Wine Writing from History’s Greatest Travel Writers

The sun sets over the Parthenon

The lure of traversing vineyards and penning narratives about wine has never been more popular. Nonetheless, this revered pursuit finds itself embroiled in a persistent crisis. With declining revenues in established wine publications and major tech giants curtailing visibility, there is an ongoing fragmentation of authoritative voices, leading to the dispersal of a formerly captive audience. The imminent rise of A.I. poses additional challenges, necessitating an uplift in content quality for sustainability.

In such high-stake situations, a seemingly excessive interest in the English travel literature of the early 1900s could appear frivolous. Dallying over the elaborate expressions of educated men who write comfortably about antiquities might seem discordant amid the constant stream of digital alerts and the pressure to produce content and manage finances.

However, this challenging landscape simultaneously offers a rich terrain for indulging in the sophisticated prose found in classic travel texts. These writings, often marked by whimsical, benign voyages, possess a unique charm that renders them timeless. Thus, under the guise of research and a brief diversion, I delved into the enchanting narrative of Robert Bryon’s famed Road to Oxiana.

First published in 1937, the book recounts his travels through the Levant and the Middle East. With a self-deprecating tone that is likely more resonant with British readers, this work is acclaimed as a classic for its keen blend of humorous personal narrative with sharp observations. The author’s vivid, sensory prose brings to life exotic locales, detailing both the landscapes and the lives of the people.

The focus of the book is largely on the magnificent Islamic monuments, yet the author’s extensive knowledge is imparted subtly, interspersed with lively diary notes that capture the vivid and often unpredictable nature of his travels. While he expertly weaves in scholarly insights, these are secondary to the personal and often humorous accounts that prevent scholarly detail from overshadowing the narrative. For him, while architecture is a primary draw of travel, it does not alone define his story.

Henry Vollam Morton, another revered travel writer of the past, also captures the reader’s interest despite some criticisms of his personality. Recently, I’ve been engrossed in A Traveller in Southern Italy (1969). Though less lyrical, Morton’s work shares a similar framework, driven by a fascination with the lives of the Saints, and his prose, while modest in flaunting knowledge, is adept at unveiling insights unobtrusively.

The topic of wine, as well, offers fertile ground for writers to explore their niche expertise. To me, the most captivating wine journalism, like the finest travel writing, stimulates and resonates deeply, kindling a desire for actual experience. Ultimately, the most memorable writings on wine often transcend the subject of wine itself.

Paul Theroux, renowned American author, once mentioned, “travel writing begins in journalism, slides into fiction, and ends in autobiography”. Recalling the vivid and refined columns of Hugh Johnson or Michael Broadbent brings to mind a remark by Hemingway: “If a writer knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one ninth of it being above water.”

About the Author: Chris Lehoux

Meet Chris Lehoux, an experienced wine connoisseur and dedicated blogger with a deep passion for all things wine-related. With years of expertise in the industry, Chris shares insightful wine reviews, valuable wine tasting tips, expert pairing advice, and captivating tales of vineyard visits. Join Chris on a journey through the world of wine, where every sip is an adventure waiting to be savored!