Wine and travel

 I have managed to combine both, in visits to wine regions in France, Italy, Germany, Spain, the US and Argentina. And there are still more wine regions to explore in the future. 
My husband, when he retired, decided to study wine seriously with the world-recognised Wine and Spirit Education Trust (http://wsetglobal.com) He now has a Diploma, which qualifies him to teach about wine.
In the spirit of 'if you can't beat 'em join 'em' - the same spirit that led me to golf - I have taken and passed  WSET Level 2. (Level 3 and above requires much more study and expertise).
And both golf and wine have found their way into my novels. Golf, is usually a casual mention, but wine is central to the plot of my fourth novel, 'French Secrets', for which I did a lot of research into wine production, wine selling, and wine fraud. 
As in all my novels, romance plays a part as well. 

"Vincent twisted a grape from its stalk, handed it to me. I tested it with my fingers. It gave a little, was beginning to soften. I bit through the skin, my mouth watering as I tasted the rush of juice. 
Vincent picked a berry from another bunch, popped it in his mouth. His jaw worked. “There’s a different kind of texture in the seeds,” he announced. “I think we’ve got veraison.” 
I loved the word.  I rolled it around my tongue. 
“You’re miles away, again,” said Vincent. 
“I was thinking there should be a word for the ripening of love,” I said. “The way veraison means the ripening of grapes.” 
“I like that,” said Vincent. “That’s good. That’s real good. That’s romantic.” He thought for a moment. “What about loveraison?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound right.”
We filled a bag with grapes from different bunches and different rows, took them back to the cellar, crushed them, tested the sugar content. Vincent’s taste buds were in good shape. The berries were ripening all right.  
A happy buzz ran around the winery when Vincent made the announcement. Veraison. Veraison. The moment when grapes change colour from green to yellow, if they are white wine grapes, from green to pinkish purple if they are red wine grapes. 
“Melanie thinks there should be a word for ripening love,” said Vincent. 
Louis, a plump man with tender eyes, stopped sweeiping the floor and folded his hands over the top of the broom. "How about amoraison?"
“You’re a poet, Louis,” said Vincent fondly. He studied the calendar on the wall behind the tasting counter. “Looks like we’ll start picking earlier than last year.” ​