The prestigious National Geographic magazine has prepared a report on the history of winemaking in Azerbaijan, its stages of development, and its current state, APA reports.
Full Report: Explore Azerbaijan's Wine History—and Its Unexpected German Past
A hidden cellar reawakens
Three years ago, these wooden double doors were buried under a mountain of rubbish. The building behind them was dirty and derelict, shrouded by the gargantuan plane trees that line this quiet residential street. Locals in Göygöl, a small city in northwestern Azerbaijan, passed by on their way to the bazaar or to meet their friends for a daily gossip. None of them gave the abandoned structure — and certainly what might lay within it — much thought. Until one day, a man did.
The discovery of a German legacy
“I’d amble by all the time and always wondered what the air vents were for,” says Raul Abbaszadeh, a local youth worker and tour guide. “The older villagers would tell stories of the wine cellars down there.”
Eager to find out if those stories were true, Raul convinced local authorities to help clear the 70 truckloads’ worth of rubbish in front of the doors on Yakob Hummel Street. They discovered a wine cellar and a warren of narrow corridors that were home to termite-chewed wooden barrels and dust-blanketed inventories dating back to the 1930s. Everything they found once belonged to German winemaker Christoff Vohrer, who lived upstairs, Raul tells me. He leads me down a rickety staircase towards a cold and shadowy vault room, where the smell of fermented grapes still lingers in the air. Since Raul’s discovery, the cellar — which has yet to be signposted from the street — has been cleaned, supplied with electricity and transformed into a simple wine-tasting hall for tourists.
From Württemberg to Göygöl: The German roots of Azerbaijani wine
But this isn’t just some run-of-the-mill wine cellar. It’s a window into the birth of commercial winemaking here in Azerbaijan, a former Soviet Republic on the western shores of the Caspian Sea. This is a tradition that started in 1819, when around 500 families from the Kingdom of Württemberg (now Baden-Württemberg) fled the turmoil of the Napoleonic Wars. The Russian Empire’s immigration programmes allowed them to settle first in the western Azerbaijani cities of Göygöl and Shamkir, then later in Helenendorf and Annenfeld.
“When the Germans came here, every family planted more than 15 acres of vineyards and would make their own wine at home,” says Raul, laying out bottles of local wine for us to try. A small group of us sit down at the candlelit table, where the colourful tablecloth resembles one of Azerbaijan’s beloved carpets. I immediately tuck into the selection of pickles, cheeses and cold cuts as Raul regales us with stories of this Azerbaijani city’s surprising Germanic past.
The first commercial winery and ancient traditions
Vohrer’s homemade wines caught the attention of French traders who visited the nearby city of Sheki to buy silk, says Raul. They likened his wines to those from Burgundy, which gave Vohrer’s family the confidence to open Azerbaijan’s first commercial winery, Göygöl Wine Plant, in 1860. Viticulture is not new to Azerbaijan, though. Locals have been making wine for personal consumption since ancient times, and archaeologists have even unearthed jugs in Göygöl that contained traces of wine dating back to the second millennium BCE.
Rise, fall, and revival of the Wine industry
Since then, Azerbaijan’s love of winemaking thrived under some empires, and declined under others. In more recent times, former Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev’s 1985 anti-alcohol campaign led to the demise of most of the country’s vineyards, and it wasn’t until the 2000s that Azerbaijan started to revive its wine industry.
“Göygöl is the cradle of industrial winemaking in this country,” explains Aziz Gasimov, a vintner and oenologist who joins us for today’s tasting. “The entire wine industry of Soviet Azerbaijan was built on the basis of wineries founded by German colonists.”
Göygöl today: Honoring German tradition with Azerbaijani flavor
When the Germans were exiled after the Second World War, the Azerbaijanis took over their vineyards. Today, Rasim Omarov, chief winemaker at the 517-acre Göygöl Wine Plant, continues Christoff Vohrer’s legacy by producing wines made with both indigenous and European grapes, under the brand Xan 1860. I listen as Raul explains the various types of wines we’re trying from Rasim’s winery. There are two indigenous grapes in Azerbaijan, he tells me. The first is madrasa, a semi-bold, thick-skinned red which, according to Raul, is what the locals call the ‘Azerbaijani pinot noir’. The other is bayanshira, a light and fresh white, which is “just how the locals like their wine” he says. We also taste the more widely known chardonnay and pinot noir — which were introduced to Azerbaijan by the Germans. For good measure, there’s also a bottle of the semi-sweet saperavi and the crisp rkatsiteli, both grapes from neighbouring Georgia.
Native grapes and ideal conditions
“Here, in the foothills of the Lesser Caucasus, are ideal conditions for growing grapes,” Aziz tells me. “Moderately hot days and cool nights, as well as just the right amount of rainfall during the ripening period.” The region of Ganja-Gazakh, where we are today, is one of several key winegrowing areas in Azerbaijan. Others include the Shirvan Valley in the north, the Caspian shoreline in the east, Lankaran-Astara in the south and Karabakh in the southeast.
German footprints in Azerbaijani streets
Taking a sip of the bayanshira, which has notes of peach and apple, I notice a rusty metal contraption hanging on the stone wall behind us. It’s a cooper’s tool, says Aziz, and it dates to when the Germans crafted barrels in which to store their wine. But the German footprint here runs deeper than just grapes and barrels. The centre of Göygöl is a living pop-up book of German-Azerbaijani heritage. From one perspective, it’s unapologetically Azerbaijani: Soviet-era Ladas grumble by, their boots stuffed full of honey-dew melons, while men in flat caps pass the time, one hand on the backgammon board, the other twiddling their prayer beads. From another, it’s surprisingly Germanic: standing solemnly behind rows of houses with ornate woodwork is the neo-gothic St John’s Church, one of three German Lutheran churches in Azerbaijan. Down the cobblestoned street, visitors peep through faded curtains into the empty home of Viktor Klein, the city’s last German citizen who died in 2007. His house is currently being turned into a museum.
A toast to the future
Back at the cellar, it’s time to raise a toast. “Azerbaijan has enormous, untapped potential”, says Aziz, releasing the citrussy and tropical notes of the sparkling chardonnay. “We want to make our presence known and surprise the world.”
He’s right — whether it’s through developing tastings in Göygöl or expanding vineyards across the Caucasus foothills, for oenophiles looking for something a little different: the next great frontier could well be beneath a set of unassuming doors.
