Lost in a desert of garrigues, bordered by walls of dry stones, Le Clos des Fees looks like a picture perfect postcard. The vines were planted with pickaxes, barely touching the layers of parent-limestone, in pockets of pure clay, zigzagging along impressive green oak trees. The stones were taken out of the vineyards one by one, by hand or pulled by a horse, then patiently and skilfully stacked by generations of wine growers from another era. They worked hard and long hours.
The village elders claim that as far back as they can remember, the tortured looking vines were always considered "old".
In the distance, the blue cliffs of Vingrau, almost shooting up vertically, have been around for far longer, whipped almost constantly by the winds from the Tramontane. At the foot of the Pyrenees the nearby Mediterranean Sea glistens. And if the fairies still gather and dance during the solstice, they do it here in this unique, different and mysterious place.
