There was a time when Guardia Mitre smelled of must. It was not a poetic image. It was literal. The sweet perfume of the ground grapes came out of the chakras, crossed the sheds and mixed with the wet air of the Black River during harvest times. In those years, the wine did not only occupy the...
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There was a time when Guardia Mitre smelled of must. It was not a poetic image. It was literal. The sweet perfume of the ground grapes came out of the chakras, crossed the sheds and mixed with the wet air of the Black River during harvest times. In those years, the wine did not only occupy the...