Cradled by arid mountains, reached by a winding two-lane road, everything was peaceful there, in the middle of a Friday afternoon. You would never guess that, just to the north—less than an hour’s drive away—sits the southern reaches of one of South America’s great metropolises. Later, I’ll fight the traffic. But that seems a million miles away as I rolled up just in time for the final tasting tour of the day.
Moments into the tour, the guide, Victor, led me through a gate into a completely unexpected space—a lush, rambling, secret garden. Later, I’ll walk through a wholly invented ruin. And after that, a little time in a basement with blood-spattered mannequins. It is the strangest, loveliest wine tour I’ve ever taken.
Paradise of Impossibilities
On this day I was at Santa Rita, a winery very well known amongst Chileans. Victor told me it was named for the patron saint of impossible causes. “If you have something bothering you, pray to Santa Rita,” he explained, with a hint of a smile, just barely hanging onto the punchline. “And, of course, drink a glass of Santa Rita wine.”While its appellations are rooted firmly in the new world, wine came early to Chile, with Spanish conquistadors planting vines all the way back in the 16th century. It wasn’t until the 1800s that French grapes arrived, but the current boom happened much later. Between 1995 and 2005, the number of wineries in Chile increased more than five-fold.
The hacienda here at Santa Rita dates back to 1790, although the first grapes weren’t in the ground until 1880. The winery was founded by a businessman named Don Domingo Fernández Concha, a cousin of the founder of Concha y Toro. He not only planted French varietals—he brought in a team of top French winemakers to make sure they were raised right.
Concha was very religious, a big believer in Santa Rita, and gave his winery her name. We strolled through the vast, lush gardens, called Centenario Park, which cover almost 100 acres. Orange, almond, and eucalyptus trees. A 16-room luxury hotel housed in the original estate, now called Casa Real. A private, neo-gothic chapel, which feels more like a scaled-down cathedral. At its peak, the guide noted, more than 100 families lived and worked here. “It was like a village. They had their own dairy, butcher, and baker,” as well as a theater, a school, and, of course, a soccer field.
After a visit to Italy, Concha came back with designs in mind—and built some ancient-looking Romanesque baths. The fairly recent “ruins” remain, complete with pillars, a portico, and a big, blue pool.
Living Wine
“We see ghosts in here hardly ever,” Victor laughed, explaining that the walls were built from limestone, eggs, and sand. It’s stood the test of time, almost—two columns collapsed during an earthquake that registered 8.8 on the Richter scale. The cellar is dark and moody, with hundreds of French and American oak barrels aging the good stuff under the low archways.These contain just a tiny fraction of the total wine made by the company. Santa Rita is a very big operation now, producing as many as two million barrels every week. Their most popular export is 120 Reserva Especial, a cabernet sauvignon.
In the “Cellar of 120 Patriots,” I saw a film as well as a museum-like display complete with bloody mannequins, bandaged and stretched out on camp beds. They bring to life the day in 1814 when Chilean soldiers, fighting the Spanish crown, came to this place to hide out and recover.
And in a place known for the impossible, it’s perhaps appropriate that a grape, once thought to be dead, came back to life. In the 19th century, a pest called phylloxera devastated European vineyards, particularly those in France. Carménère, a Bordeaux red, was wiped out. Or so everybody assumed. “They thought it was extinct,” Victor explained.
But, it turns out, that actually wasn’t the case. For some 150 years, Chileans had been cultivating what they thought was a second type of merlot. It wasn’t. In 1994, Santa Rita brought in a French expert, an ampelographist from Montpellier’s school of oenology.
He identified that second kind of merlot as carménère. It was a surprise to everyone. “All the winemakers in Chile were shocked,” Victor told me. The grape still grows in abundance all around Santiago, and it’s become a signature variety for both Chile and Santa Rita.
The tour ended, as every winery should, with a tasting. Together with local meats and cheeses, I sample some of their top bottles. A Gran Reserva Sauvignon Blanc. Carménère. A gold medal-winning cabernet sauvignon. And, of course, 120, their signature label, which includes a series of different varieties
