The status of the Island of Korčula is described on a legal document dating from 1214, elaborated through the centuries. It is one of the oldest collections in the region and one of the oldest in Europe : to explore here.
It is because its rich vegetation, seen from afar, gave the impression that the island was all black, that the ancient Greeks named it Korkyra Melaina. Even at that time, the vineyard was an existential, philosophical question. Planted in oasis where the land, bathed by the sea and the sun, was amassed with great pain; carried by a wine tradition on the island of Korčula for 2500 years. We can find Pošip in other islands, but apparently it was born in this island and the master of Pošip is Luka Krajančić. Here on the south coast of the island, Luka guides his guests through tastings like a poet as much as a winemaker. He produces world-class wines. A talented craftsman!
Slept off POSIP Intrada
Country / Region : Croatia, Dalmatia
Designation : Island of Korcula / Cara
Color : White
Ageing : Stainless tank and barrel
Grape Variety : 100% Posip
Terroir : Calcareous, karstic
Intrada will lead you in closed which receive flavors of oregano, fennel, mint, marjoram, as so many small close secrets.
He will reveal you Korcula – Black Island, plunged into the infinite blue of the sky and the sea, the depths of which receive the memory of friendships of former days, and the hope of meetings to come.
Some words on stones
Provided with a peak, my grandfather tore away them from the hollow, for then épanneler;
While crashing the vineyard, in fact, he drew, stock after stock,
there is one hundred the year, my path.
Then raising low walls with the extracted stone,
he took in the black pines a part of their earth,
and between two rows he cultivated Swiss chards,
to feed his children, because his life was bitter.
Grey borders of rock,
these limits marked with their imprint my road and today,
In their view, my look livens up and,
freed, settlesat the top of the closed,
where grandfather sits.
Clearly among stones I see again him:
An old ass, an umbrella, a stick,
its French-style beret, and a wooden heap to warm
if the wind knocks for good.
And such a buoy, such an anchor, at the moment,
these eternal stones show me the way,
and come to inflate my sail of the same wind which gave to grandfather
and his calluses, and his(her,its) enjoyment.