Last Tram to Wine Central

As the middle-aged woman fell off the swing, a gallery of onlookers cheered, and two men who didn't know each other high-fived. It was 4pm on a Monday afternoon. Welcome to the Franschhoek Wine Tram.

Magnificent Franschhoek Valley

10AM: It's fair to say, adrenaline isn't pumping through the veins on this Autumnal May morning in Franschhoek. Damp air, puddles from overnight rain, and a blanket of grey clouds set an ironically sober mood over the normally picturesque valley. Inside the station-café-giftshop, apart from a few lunatics already buying branded scented candles and tea towels, it’s pensive. People clutch coffees, check timetables and huddle around maps like military generals planning a major offensive.

“What if we get overwhelmed by the Red Line?”

“How do we get back if we get stranded out there?”

Shrugs of shoulders, furrowed brows, another check of the small print, deep swigs of now-lukewarm Americanos. The PA crackles into life:

“Blue Line departs in 5 minutes. Repeat. Blue Line departs in 5 minutes”.

This is it. No turning back now. Resigned to our fate, we troop out into the gloom. An even darker bank of clouds rolls down the valley as we take seats on the tram (well, technically, it’s a bus). And then silence. Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more.

Twenty minutes later, we’re face-to-face with the enemy... A rack of wine with a pairing of Turkish Delight. I mean… have you ever had Turkish Delight for breakfast?

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Franschhoek Valley, a 90-minute drive from Cape Town, is home to over 40 vineyards. Set in picturesque grounds of rolling hills against a mountain backdrop, each one boasts a central manor house/building containing a distillery, wine cellar, and, crucially, a tasting room. What's more, some bright spark has linked them with a tram system, making it easy to move from one to the next and sample the wares. Yes, hold on to your carafes… it's a wine crawl.

Super Tram

Brass tacks: There are five different tram routes, each named after a colour and each featuring about 8 vineyards. Realistically, unless you are Ollie Read, you only need to buy a ticket (about £16) for one line and then visit several venues along it. Which line to choose is down to personal preference. I guess some vineyards are prettier than others, or you might prefer a certain type of wine? God forbid, you might have some actual wine knowledge. Who knows? Anyway, we have purchased a Blue line ticket and our tram - actually a bus for the first couple of stops - sets off at 1030, which, even for a budding alcoholic, feels early to hit the sauce. Remarkably, the first batch of trams and buses set out half an hour ago, meaning a regiment of our finest warriors are already out in the battlefield, pretending to know their Syrah from their Shiraz.

What follows is a blow-by-blow account of potentially the world’s greatest day out (outside of Flamingo Land, obviously). Or what I can remember of it anyway.

WARNING: This is not a technical wine blog. It's more of an attempt to describe the action and atmosphere.

1) La Bri

It's raining cats and dogs as we scamper into the calm tasting room on the upper floor of an old Huguenot farmhouse. A welcoming fire crackles as we choose a table and scan the menu. Each vineyard offers several set selections of wine, perfect to consume in an hour, meaning you can get the next bus/tram. It’s almost as if they’re in cahoots! There's also usually an option to pair the vino with cheeses or meats. Or, at La Bri, Lokum (Turkish Delight) or Biltong.

So, before the clock has struck 11, we're looking at three small-to-medium glasses of red wine, an unexplained complimentary glass of white, and three small bowls of Turkish Delight for ZAR150 (approx. £7). What a time to be alive.

Breakfast of Champions

Despite probably reciting it a million times, our friendly server delivers a speech with great enthusiasm, giving the background on each wine and some tasting notes.

Rapidly scrambled down snippets include:

• a hint of cigar

• very fruity

• berries

• lingering tannins?

Then we are left alone. We swirl, we sniff, we analyse the colour, we don’t know what we are doing. We drink. Wine paraphernalia surrounds us. Old barrels, vintage posters, rows and baskets of bottles.

On the next table, a couple, dressed like they're going to a party at Gatsby's in a flamboyant retro suit and dress plus Royal Ascot hats, do the same dance as we do, and we exchange a nod of novices. Rain outside, roaring fire, blissful ambience, the wine exploding inside us like a grenade, pure pleasure.

Wine count:4

2) Holden Manz

As the rain begins to relent, the bus pulls into a picture-postcard vineyard, replete with a fairy-tale lake and scattered clumps of magical-looking trees, stopping outside of a resplendent Cape Dutch-style country house.

I can't remember which vineyard this is

Inside, it’s swish and modern; polished wood, faux-marble animal heads, a fire, a Van Gogh replica. Ambient house music plays as we head upstairs and take a seat in the tasting room, which feels like a contemporary restaurant and boasts stunning views over the lake.

Cool servers buzz around, and we order the luxurious-sounding ‘Gold Pairing’, which is actually the cheapest.

Our man, David, arrives with a trio of bottles: Chenin Blanc, Proprietors’ White Blend, and Vernissage & Visionaire, plus another unexplained but welcome complimentary glass of rosé.

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and, like a stirring Shakespeare soliloquy, commences his wine speech. Vaguely remembered tasting notes:

• creaminess

• oak

• Cape sunshine

We drink. The room is almost full, producing a nice murmur of conversation and glasses clinking over the deep throb of beats.

One to watch: A guy wearing a pastel pink polo shirt plus a woollen jumper draped over his shoulders like Alan Partridge in Paris, reveals his presence with a genuine delight at audibly using the British term ‘wanker’.

Wine count: 8

3) Eikehof

After a quick transfer at the café-giftshop-station, it’s all aboard the tram, and we're soon gliding through the valley's alluring vineyards as the Groot Drakenstein Mountains looking on. The clouds have cleared, and there’s even a threat of sun as we disembark at the tram stop. It’s a short walk up to the Eikehof vineyard, through a grove of Oak Trees, past a couple of decorative vintage cars, to a main building that looks like something you’d find in the Australian Outback. Got any goon juice, mate?

It was sunny, honest

Inside, it’s farmhouse-chic. Wooden poles and beams, old photos, reclaimed wooden tables, gnarled branches on the walls and funky hanging lightbulbs. Surprisingly, we are the only customers.

Our server, with the best South African accent this side of Leonardo DiCaprio, tells us Eikehof is still a family-owned affair and was founded 123 years ago. She also mishears my partner's name and calls her Mrs Jones instead of Jane when delivering a trio of reds plus a sensational cheeseboard.

Tasting notes:

• passion fruit

• breakfast wine (does this exist?)

• peaches

Mrs Jones and I take the final glass into the back garden/epic vineyard to bask in the relative warmth of the sun. Vine rows stretch towards the mountains. A confusion of Guinea fowl, a sort of chicken-turkey (a Churkey?), flutter around en masse between the shrubs. And an ostrich peers at us over a neighbouring fence. This is not a joke.

Wine count: 11

4) Rickety Bridge

By now, like in Las Vegas, the outside world is almost irrelevant. Our armour is alcohol. We're even almost ready to start talking to strangers! On the downside, the quality of my notes, scrambled hastily on my phone after the servers depart and already of very poor quality, get even worse:

Genuine but unintelligible entries discovered the next day include:

• People ate Vleminckveld goody

• Why can't you take Charlie to a movie by yourself?

• MCC

• It's commercial

Where's that swing?

The tram arrives with the driver chewing on a toothpick - a dying art form we need to support. On board, it’s upbeat, almost a party. Loud conversation and hysterical laughter. Just when I'm in danger of mildly sobering up, the hostess/ticket inspector gives me a small complimentary glass of wine.

The giddy passengers wave at whoever we pass; car drivers, farm workers, security staff - hilarious to us, but the recipients' blank looks suggest otherwise. They’ve seen it all before. Probably every day.

Bathed in the sun, Rickety Bridge is another beautiful Cape Dutch-style building. White and green colour scheme, terraced gardens, manicured lawns, and, yes, a SWING (Chekov take note). This vineyard’s tasting operation is big and bustling. The main room is full, so we’re 'relegated' to a gravel-floored annexe furnished with the ubiquitous wine paraphernalia.

A trio of glasses appear and the server pours from a glistening bottle.

Tasting notes:

• vanilla

• buttery

• good with steaks and brownies

• spicy

• smooth

• oaky

• hints of chilli.

• on the nose

Wise, almost sommeliers now, we nod sagely, sip, and survey the scene. A father at a nearby table tells a joke. A family member responds by calling him Dadjokes.com. On the next table is a British hen party, dressed to the nines but wallowing in misery. Downcast faces, everyone staring at their mobile phones, monosyllabic. They are a nightmare for the waitress to serve, staring blankly and requesting bespoke menu offerings when they can be bothered to speak.

The booze and the weather leads to many people milling around outside on the tiered lawn. A middle-aged woman confidently mounts a playground-type swing. The middle-aged woman falls off the swing. People roar with laughter as she lies on the floor. Two men, seemingly strangers, high-five. I take a closer look... I recognise that rose, yacht-casual look... it's Alan Partridge from earlier!

Wine count: 15

5) Grande Provence

There have been no fatalities involving this tractor

The end of the bottle is in sight. It’s a tractor-trailer ride from the tram stop to the venue, which seems risky considering the passengers’ various states of intoxication. "There have been no fatalities… this year", says the driver.

The main tasting room is out of action, so we find ourselves at a table in the heart of the distillery. Imagine the Crystal Maze Industrial Zone. We order the ‘Angels Tears’ set (scrawled as Angela Tears in my notes) and look on as FIVE more wines arrive.

Tasting notes:

• dry and crispy

• creamy

• pomegranate

• watermelon

We drink surrounded by tanks, pipes, gauges, and dormant machines towering over us. How do they make wine anyway? Don't you just crush a few grapes and do something with the juice? How has that simple act formed this worldwide industry? What was Lambrini?

They've bottled it

A couple perform an interesting version of a waltz in the aisleway. Hang on, I recognise that trilby. It’s The Gatsbys from Vineyard No.1, hammered. We have a confused conversation where I think I establish it's their anniversary. What a way to celebrate.

Then, something catches my eye outside. A blur, a shape... a flash of pastel pink... it’s Alan Partridge inexplicably sprinting past the door. He wasn't even on our tram or tractor, so I don't know how he got here. Or where he's running to at full speed. And that's the last time I see him.

5pm. No more wine. We survive the trailer ride back to the tram stop. "There have been no fatalities… this year", says the driver. Before I know it, I’ve purchased a scented candle in the station-café-gift shop. And wait, is that a pub around the corner?

Total wine count: 20. I think...