I love the thousands of rock carvings in Portugal’s remote Vale do Côa going back 25,000 years ago. A whole valley covered in them where peoples used to come together in summer to hunt and gather.

It’s easy to imagine a group of women retuning to an empty storage pot they had used a couple of weeks before to collect wild grapes, only to find they had been magically transformed into a dizzingly joy-filled liquid we now call wine.

It’s reassuring to know vines continue to produce wine there today.