MUGA – The Ultimate Bodega

The shutters and windows of my apartment were left slightly ajar overnight to coax the fresh country air into the parlor. Early morning sunlight stole its way through the curtained windows and tickled my eyelids until no longer I could resist the beckoning promise of a new adventure...this time flying solo without the aid and benefit of Tom's excellent command of Spanish dialects, his knowledge of the geography and cultural morays of each Spanish venue visited.

I went to the open window to catch a glimpse of the early sunrise and breath my lungs full of crisp morning air. As I cast my gaze out the half-shuttered window portal, the first of this day's many surprises and delights caught my eye.

 Directly across the calle and about twenty feet above my window, perched atop a brick chimney, was a long-legged stork, standing on the edge of its huge nest of sticks and twigs. I recalled from folklore that good fortune is promised the family whose abode is chosen for the nest of a stork family. So...I adopted the folklore and interpreted this sighting as an omen that my stay in Haro would be filled with nothing but good fortune.

Two hours later, after my morning coffee and pastry, I directed my footsteps down the cobbled pavement until I reached the stone stairway leading to the bridge crossing the Rio Ebro.

Rio Ebro

The crisp morning air and bright blue sky was absolutely energizing and I stopped briefly mid-bridge to listen to the water as it gurgled and splashed its way over a shallow rapid downstream of the bridge about 150 meters. Swallows darted back-and-forth over the swirling water, snapping their little beaks as they captured and ate the tiny insects, invisible to the human eye, which hovered close to the water's surface.

There are three Bodegas clustered on either side of the railroad tracks about 2 kilometers from the village. Muga is the largest and most modern. The approach to the Bodegas, along a narrow, cobbled calle, wound through a vineyard and past a small cluster of pastel colored houses with terracotta roofs and a beautifully crafted stone lane to which the little villas were tied by similarly laid flat, stone walk-ways leading to their vestibule(s).

The neighborhood's entry was a set of huge, wrought-iron gates supported by stone columns either side of the entrance. Baskets of blue and yellow and red and white flowers cascaded down the columns to add a splash of color against the gray stone, adding one more dimension of beauty to my morning paseo.

The cobbled walk-way eventually led me to the railroad tracks and an underpass which allowed access to the adjacent Bodegas, one of which was my much revered Muga. There was no doubt now, that my long-held fantasy of standing amidst the giant fermentation vats and oaken casks of aging Tinto Muga was a mere heart-beat away!

My pace quickened measurably with intermittent pauses to snap a few photos as I approached the entrance of Bodega Muga. Everything, from the gardens, to the century-old stone buildings to the setting at the foot of the arroyo on which perched it's ancient host village, Haro, presented an aura of quality and ambiance that can only be associated with tradition and antiquity.

It occurred to me that Muga is, at the same time, both an antique and a treasured artifact of a wine making culture that spans at least one, perhaps as much as two millennia in the valley of Rio Ebro!

Muga reception area and gift shop

I hastened to the Bodega's entry, climbed the stairway and stepped into the foyer of Bodega Muga's reception area and gift shop. The next tour was scheduled an hour hence, so I wandered about lusting after the beautiful jewelry, glassware and other items promoting or complementing Muga's impressive selection of tinto and blanco wine.

As I wandered about, I noticed an open door to another foyer that led one outside the reception area. In this foyer was a magnificent bronze statue and stairs that led, presumably, to offices on an upper floor.

Appended to this small foyer was a glass-walled room with a large, approximately one meter wide LCD viewing screen. I assumed that this would be the place where tours congregated to view a video prologue that is patterned after the vignettes you can view on Muga's impressive web-site.

Another large glass exterior door, tied the foyer exit to a long, sloping ramp-way that paralleled a gated calle and an approximately three meter high stone wall with cascading vines of colorful morning glory spilling over the top. I couldn't resist stepping through the door, drifted down the ramp and begin casually strolling the calle.

The calle led to the rear of the building and a plaza-like area for vehicles either delivering or loading freight. The plaza was used as well for employee foot traffic transiting from building to building. The center of the plaza area had a peaceful garden and some benches...probably a resting area for employees taking a break for lunch or a brief respite from the afternoon's heat underneath some flowering trees.

Immediately behind the plaza, was a long, stone building and a loading dock, filled with empty pallets and stacks of seasoned oak. I was to learn a little later in the morning, that the oak planks were remnants from sections of logs, source of the hand-made staves for Muga's oaken wine casks and barrels.

 I started snapping off photos as fast as I could, mesmerized by all that was before my curious eyes and totally inchoherent of the fact that I was probably in an unauthorized area of the Bodega. Duh!! There wasn't anyone within sight-or-sound...until a loud and somewhat distant voice interrupted my muse.

“Ayyy...Senor!...blah blah blah blah blah............!!!!!” (Excited Spanish vernacular that I was incapable of understanding, but from the man's tone and temperament, concern was very, very obvious and there was no second-guessing that his intent was to ride me out of the area).

As the man approached and confronted me within finger-thumping distance of my chest, I raised my hands, palm-up, and with a shrug of shoulders said, “Lo siento, no comprende o no hablo español,” and smiled. I then made a sweeping gesture and said, “muy bonito, ¿verdad?” with eyes held open wide in wonderment.

Fortunately, the man was small in stature and not in the mood or temperament to do anything but to gesture emphatically for me to follow him. I was suitably embarrassed but at least attempted an apology that was not received with the least bit of sympathy or understanding.

The man led me back the same way I had ventured forth. He had a lively discussion with the Senorita who was obviously in charge of the tour operation and gift shop. Casting a last lingering look with a scowl that could have shriveled grapes to raisins, the man turned on his heel and disappeared behind double-doors of the glass-walled tasting room.

The young Senorita approached; I held my breath, expecting a polite invitation to depart the premises, knowing that Jonathan and our friend, Tom, would be terribly ashamed of me and disappointed that I had blown the opportunity to complete this long-awaited tour.

La Senorita was tall, dark-eyed, olive-skinned, immaculately dressed and her comportment was exactly that of a high-bred, educated Spanish lady. In a word, she was muy beautiful. She held out her hand and with an engaging smile said, "Bienvenido señor. ¿Hablas español?"

Never have I been so reluctant or embarrassed to admit my mono-lingual status. Fortunately, she was multi-lingual, and with my “Spanish-challenged” vocabulary unmasked, she asked if I had, perhaps, been separated from my tour. I immediately seized this “face-saving” opportunity she deftly presented.

I explained that I had recently arrived hoping to join a tour, having traveled 7,000 miles to visit this, the source of my favorite tinto Rioja for years. She patiently and pleasantly explained that there were, unfortunately, no English-speaking tours available on weekends. “However,” she continued, “there is a tour that begins in about 10 minutes to which there is one remaining pass. It is narrated in Spanish, but you are welcome to join as my guest if you wish.”

I was flabbergasted at her generosity and hospitality and with as much grace and composure as I could muster after being such a “doink” and wandering off on my own, I gratefully accepted her invitation.

Muga - Bodega Tour Guide

She inquired as to how I had originally become aware of Muga, and when I told her of Tom's childhood in Spain and his discovery of the Rioja wines on one of his many trips back to his beloved Spain as an adult...and the story of Jonathan's $90 bottle of Muga Gran Reserva...we had a good laugh together! She shook my hand, and with her warm and sincere welcome I was instantly, completely and forever, a Muga patron of infinite loyalty!

Ten minutes later she found me, handed me my Tour Pass and led me to the room from where my first “self- guided” tour had begun. With an impish little smile, she introduced me to my Muga Tour Director...non other than the man who had interrupted my reverie in the “back-plaza” not more than twenty minutes back in time!

He was not amused by my presence!

Late in the afternoon, I retraced my steps along the cobbled calle with my Muga stemware in which I had sampled several delicious wines in Muga's tasting room. The tour's concluding gesture to its loyal clientele was truly a pleasure and very instructive. (I did manage to compound my previous devious behavior of the day, by abscounding with the corks from some Gran Reserva and the very refreshing Blanco). I'll do my best to get the wine glass in one piece across Europe, Asia and the Pacific Ocean, back to Seattle where it can grace Jonathan's collection of stemware.

I gave thanks to the Stork, to whom I had delegated responsibility for the day's good fortune earlier in the day!

                                          Mission accomplished!