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Each 20 minutes or so, an older diesel-powered train pulls into a spray-painted station. Nearby, a law enforcement alarm pierces the almost continuous road noise. Daily travelers rush by falling apart, ivy-covered fencing panels as storm clouds form.

This is maybe the last place you anticipate to find a well-established vineyard. But one local grower has cultivated 40 mature vines heavy with plump mauve grapes on a sprawling allotment sandwiched between a row of historic homes and a commuter railway just above the city town centre.

"I've seen individuals concealing illegal substances or whatever in those bushes," says Bayliss-Smith. "But you just get on with it ... and keep tending to your vines."

The cameraman, forty-six, a filmmaker who runs a kombucha drinks business, is not the only local vintner. He's pulled together a loose collective of cultivators who make wine from four discreet urban vineyards nestled in private yards and community plots across the city. The project is sufficiently underground to possess an formal title yet, but the collective's WhatsApp group is named Grape Expectations.

Urban Wine Gardens Around the Globe

So far, the grower's allotment is the only one listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's upcoming world atlas, which features better-known city vineyards such as the eighteen hundred vines on the hillsides of the French capital's renowned Montmartre area and over 3,000 grapevines overlooking and inside Turin. The Italian-based charitable organization is at the forefront of a movement reviving city vineyards in historic wine-producing nations, but has discovered them throughout the world, including cities in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Vineyards assist cities stay greener and ecologically varied. These spaces protect land from construction by establishing permanent, productive farming plots inside urban environments," says the association's president.

Like all wines, those created in urban areas are a product of the earth the plants thrive in, the vagaries of the weather and the individuals who tend the grapes. "A bottle of wine represents the charm, local spirit, landscape and history of a urban center," adds the spokesperson.

Unknown Eastern European Grapes

Returning to Bristol, the grower is in a race against time to harvest the grapevines he grew from a plant left in his garden by a Eastern European household. If the precipitation arrives, then the birds may seize their chance to feast again. "Here we have the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he comments, as he cleans damaged and rotten grapes from the shimmering bunches. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they're definitely hardy. In contrast to noble varieties – Burgundy grapes, Chardonnay and other famous European varieties – you don't have to treat them with pesticides ... this is possibly a unique cultivar that was bred by the Soviets."

Collective Activities Throughout Bristol

The other members of the collective are also taking advantage of bright periods between bursts of fall precipitation. On the terrace overlooking Bristol's shimmering waterfront, where medieval merchant vessels once floated with barrels of wine from France and the Iberian peninsula, Katy Grant is collecting her dark berries from approximately 50 plants. "I love the smell of the grapevines. The scent is so evocative," she says, pausing with a basket of fruit resting on her arm. "It recalls the fragrance of Provence when you roll down the vehicle windows on holiday."

The humanitarian worker, fifty-two, who has devoted more than 20 years working for humanitarian organizations in war-torn regions, inadvertently took over the grape garden when she moved back to the United Kingdom from East Africa with her family in 2018. She experienced an overwhelming duty to maintain the vines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has previously endured multiple proprietors," she says. "I deeply appreciate the idea of natural stewardship – of passing this on to future caretakers so they continue producing from this land."

Sloping Vineyards and Natural Production

A short walk away, the final two members of the collective are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of the local river valley. Jo Scofield has cultivated more than 150 vines perched on ledges in her expansive property, which tumbles down towards the muddy River Avon. "People are always surprised," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled grape garden. "They can't believe they can see grapevine lines in a city street."

Today, Scofield, sixty, is picking bunches of deep violet dark berries from rows of vines slung across the cliff-side with the assistance of her child, Luca. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has worked on Netflix's Great National Parks series and BBC Two's Gardeners' World, was motivated to cultivate vines after observing her neighbor's vines. She's discovered that hobbyists can produce intriguing, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can sell for more than £7 a serving in the growing number of wine bars specialising in low-processing vintages. "It is incredibly satisfying that you can actually make good, traditional vintage," she states. "It's very on trend, but really it's resurrecting an old way of producing vintage."

"When I tread the fruit, all the natural microorganisms are released from the surfaces into the juice," explains Scofield, partially submerged in a container of small branches, pips and crimson juice. "This represents how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers introduce preservatives to eliminate the natural cultures and subsequently incorporate a commercially produced culture."

Challenging Environments and Creative Approaches

A few doors down sprightly retiree Bob Reeve, who motivated his neighbor to plant her vines, has gathered his companions to pick Chardonnay grapes from one hundred vines he has laid out neatly across two terraces. Reeve, a northern English physical education instructor who worked at Bristol University cultivated an interest in wine on annual sporting trips to France. But it is a difficult task to cultivate Chardonnay grapes in the humidity of the valley, with cooling tides sweeping in and out from the Bristol Channel. "I wanted to make Burgundian wines in this location, which is somewhat ambitious," admits the retiree with a smile. "This variety is late to ripen and particularly vulnerable to fungal infections."

"I wanted to make European-style vintages in this environment, which is rather ambitious"

The temperamental local weather is not the only challenge encountered by grape cultivators. Reeve has had to erect a barrier on