alcohol flows in a plastic bucket in the Kefreya wine and arak factory
Even Syria produces wine, and why not? Lebanon does, quite nicely, and after all some 10 percent of the Syrian population used to be Christian. Besides, quite a few of the Muslims don’t seem to have a problem with drinking alcohol here, either. We visit the Kefraya winery (in order not to be confused with its namesake in Lebanon, the wine is actually called Kafraya), which produces just three varieties, it seems: red, white and rose. We are being shown the facilities, which consist of large underground concrete tanks, where the wine is being aged after filtering. I know of stainless steel, of wooden barrels, even of earthen work amphora-type containers, but I never heard of concrete. Scrutinising the bottle of red – the white and the rose variety are really undrinkable – it specifies ‘aged in oak barrels’. In fact, the whites and the roses have equally been ‘following old times in wooden barrels’. I didn’t see any wooden barrels? “Ah, we add wood splinters to the tanks, for the taste”. That still doesn’t quite explain the label.
the Kefraya wine and arak factory, open for tour groups
the concrete tanks in which the wines age
the three varieties, red, white and rose (despite the different bottle, all the same stuff)
even the rose is ‘following old times in wooden barrels’
this is the best arak we have tried so far, the VIP version of Kefraya
not sure who the guy on the bottle is, could well be the owner
the distillation column, and the bucket at the end
the chief distiller, who checks with his hand the difference between methanol and ethanol and makes me taste the latter
labeling and packaging department
Of course, having grapes, you can also turn them into arak, and that part of the factory activities is much more successful. In fact they produce three different araks, the best being the VIP, which indeed is of superior taste, much better than we have had so far. We also witness the process, from the distillation columns to the bottling. I am surprised that the alcohol is captured in large plastic buckets, until I understand that this is the methanol, not to be drunk, and only when the ethanol transpires, a hose is connected to underground tanks where the collection, and later the mixing with anis, takes place. The guy who controls the switching process – I am being told that methanol comes out at 85 degrees C, ethanol at 51, and he just feels the temperature with his hand – makes me taste the raw alcohol, straight from the column. Hmmm, I am glad they mix it later.
I just cannot get enough from the fully laden trucks that criss-cross this country
We spend the afternoon in Rabah, a rather non-descript, but therefor perhaps typical Syrian village, or small town. Its only claim to fame is that our tour leader’s parents have a house here – and that provides us with a local connection: a group of 10 year old kids and some young adults accompany us on a walk through their village, unhurried, relaxed, chatting. Even the kids already speak some English. The houses are predominantly concrete, some seem to have been abandoned, but many more are under construction, shell partly finished, but awaiting final completion. Yet there is no indication that any further activities have been planned, there are no building materials around, or equipment. The explanation I get is that people have no money, they wait till the get some again to continue, but somehow that doesn’t seem the whole story. There is just too much of it.
Many of the houses that are occupied support a balcony, covered with vine ranks, providing not only shadow but also the basic resources. Highlight is a home-cooked dinner at the balcony of the parents, overseeing the village and the church whilst enjoying the food, the company, and the home-made arak.
next: on the road to Aleppo.
view of Rabah from my hotel balcony, with the huge church in the middle
