Faro, Portugal
The car rental guy moved like someone scooping coleslaw at a midwestern potluck—unhurried, deliberate, as if the line in front of him didn’t exist.
The road into town wasn’t much faster. Storm Nuria was rolling in hard—phone alerts buzzing, palm trees whipping, all the usual shenanigans.
By the time I got to the hotel, the sky had turned dark and loud.
Dinner plans? Canceled.
I was relegated to the hotel bar.
Now, I usually try to skip hotel meals—especially in a place like Portugal, where good food is almost always just a short walk away.
But last night, with the rain coming sideways and everything else shut tight, I gave in.
A glass or two of Vinho Verde. A plate of grilled fish.
And you know what? It was perfect.
Especially here—where even a simple meal surprises you. Where quality still hides in plain sight. And where, sometimes, we forget how affordable pleasure can be.
This country rewards the wandering kind. And maybe, in our own way, this little club does too.
It’s not perfect, but it’s full of people—like you—who are curious, open, and always ready to explore something new in a bottle, a region, a story.
And six years into this wine journey, this month, I’d say we’ve learned how to wander well.
This week marks the six-year anniversary of our club—a milestone we didn’t set out chasing, but one we’re proud to raise a glass to.
More than 25 collections curated. Thousands of bottles uncorked. I still remember the look on people’s faces when we first tried the Tacana Reserva from Gualfín—inky, smoky, completely unexpected. That sense of discovery has never left us. A community built one shipment, one glass, one conversation at a time.
We’ve flâneured through vineyards together—from the valleys of Salta to the Piedmont hills, to the quiet backroads of Alentejo and the windswept slopes of the Jura—places where no one’s looking for wine… yet.
Along the way, I’ve learned as much as I’ve shared.
We’ve raised glasses in Buenos Aires, Paris, New York. I’ve made friends. Discovered new wines. Heard stories I still carry.
I’m looking forward to many more of those encounters.
Of course, these past six years have had their share of turbulence.
Elections. Trade policies. Delays. That vague but growing sense that the ground is shifting.
Still—we’re here.
We also had a reason to celebrate: the best harvest we’ve ever had at Rancho Gualfín. No frost. No setbacks. A full, healthy vintage—finally.
Sometimes, the best things take years.
And sometimes, they arrive quietly.
This morning, the sun is already out. The light shifts fast, the streets wake up, and just like that, the storm feels far away.
And that reminds me of something Epictetus once wrote.
Every situation, he said, has two handles: one that leads to distress… and one that leads to equanimity. It’s a line I’ve come back to often over these past six years.
We don’t always choose the storm. But we can choose which handle we reach for.
Virtue, the Stoics believed, wasn’t about controlling events. It was about choosing how to meet them—with clarity, steadiness, and grace.
By being part of this club, you’ve practiced that too. You’ve chosen curiosity. Patience. Taste.
We’re still learning—more than I ever imagined we would. Like how cellared wines—like a high-altitude malbec—develop in ways that surprise you. Or how a simple story from a winemaker can change the way you taste a wine forever.
So thank you.
For being the kind of person who looks for joy in unexpected places.
And as always, write me. Tell me what you’ve been drinking, what you’ve loved (or not), and what you’d like to see next.
You can reach me at Explorers@bonnerprivatewines.
Six years in. Still flâneurs. Still raising glasses. Still just getting started.
Salud from a sunnier Faro,
Diego
