At this time of year, bottles carefully brought home from southern Europe are traditionally opened all over northern Europe in a fever of anticipation. But those who expect their treasured wine mementoes to prolong the warmth and languor of the summer holiday just past are all too often disappointed. The red, white or rosé that tasted so glorious on a vine-shaded terrace seems just plain ordinary under grey skies. Cue the perennial question: why doesn't this wine travel?

Except that it is rarely the wine's fault. That wine tasting is a subjective experience is vividly illustrated by this frustrating phenomenon. It is almost invariably ourselves, our mood and our environment that have changed rather than the wine. Modern wine is made to withstand long journeys. Many a bottle on a British supermarket shelf was trucked across the Channel only days before.

And this phenomenon is by no means restricted to wine. Dusty bottles of ouzo, Metaxa and Fundador lurk in cocktail cabinets everywhere as testament to hopeful travellers keen to import liquid souvenirs. Even professionals are not immune to the charms of local drinks that take on a quite unjustified allure when consumed sur place. I recall quite happily downing local brandy and lemonade, a combination I would regard as an abomination in London, on our one and only holiday in Cyprus.

But as more and more holidaymakers fly, rather than drive to and from their destinations, these liquid souvenirs are becoming a thing of the past. In our new security-conscious era, flying is an operation that is inimical to the old mores of a wine-lover. I remember clearly how outraged I felt the first time I encountered any restrictions on flying with a bottle of wine. It was 8am one morning in 2002, before British airports had started to collect all our water bottles. I was being screened at Shanghai airport before boarding a plane for the currently troublesome far western Chinese region of Xinjiang. Just as I was leaving my hotel that morning, the local distributor had left me a sample of Grace Vineyards' Chairman's Reserve, said to be the most promising wine then made in China. There had been no time, or inclination, to try it then but I thought I'd be able to take it with me on my flight to Urümqi and taste it that evening. But no - China had this quaint prohibition on carrying glass and liquids on flights. But Grace's wines were virtually impossible to find. I was so loth to hand over my one and only bottle to the security guards and miss my chance of tasting it that I dashed over to a café, got a tumbler and proceeded to pull the cork as hordes of bemused Chinese air passengers streamed past me at the security gate. (The wine was worth it).

Nowadays, of course, air travellers everywhere are prohibited from passing through security with anything even remotely resembling a liquid in their hand luggage, and corkscrews are presumed dangerous weapons too. This particular prohibition has also had implications for travelling wine lovers and wine professionals. Corkscrews are the tools of our trade, although admittedly not as deeply personalised as the batterie of knives that professional chefs are now precluded from taking on board with them, even on the briefest of trips.

I treasure a small but tough and effective plastic corkscrew that lives in my sponge bag. It is sheathed innocuously. The material does not set off any alarms. And I have had it so long that it, mysteriously, carries a long-forgotten logo of British Telecom International.

But in my experience, the desire of wine producers the world over to transfer as many bottles as possible from their cellars to visiting wine writers remains largely unaffected by our new era of flying restrictions. This varies by region and by personality but Italians in general, as one might expect, are the most insistent that no visitor departs empty-handed. Our protestations about travelling with hand baggage only and the severe weight restrictions of some airlines fall on deaf ears. The important thing, as with Italians generally, is that generosity is manifested in all respects. Even if it means that the visitor has to leave the bottles behind in an airport lavatory.

The professional quandary of being given too much wine is not, I realise, going to generate much sympathy with people who do not write about wine for a living, but perhaps those in other professions have come across the dilemma of being presented with other heavy and voluminous mementoes on their travels - gifts which it would be discourteous to refuse, yet highly inconvenient to take home on a flight. My heart sinks as rapidly as my arms whenever I am presented with the definitive illustrated monograph on such-and-such a wine region that will surely take me over my luggage limit.

It is not easy to fly with wine, even with it in checked-in baggage. Not only are they heavy, wine bottles are also more fragile than most other things sensibly packed in a suitcase, and even I find it hard to think of a bottle of red wine so precious that it is worth the risk of its leaking all over my clothes. On the rare occasions that I have flown with a bottle in a suitcase, I pack it in a polystyrene tube and swathe the whole thing with Sellotape. So far, so good. But polystyrene, the lightest and safest packaging material for any wine in the hold, is horribly difficult to recycle, and has a tendency to shed clingy white particles. Packing wine in a suitcase is a practice I adopt only in extremis such as travelling as an overseas judge at an Australian wine show where they persist, current flying restrictions notwithstanding, in the custom of expecting us to bring very serious bottles for consumption at judges' dinners (as if we needed them after tasting 200 wines a day).

Enough complaining. In the box (above) are wines I enjoyed on my recent holiday, and did not bring back in my luggage.

每年的这个时候，北欧人都会满怀期待地打开他们从南欧小心翼翼带回来的酒。但他们经常感到失望的是，自己珍藏的葡萄酒纪念品并没有延续刚刚过去的夏日假期的温暖和慵懒。那些在藤蔓成荫的阳台上曾经尝起来那么美味的红酒、白酒或玫瑰红酒，在灰暗的天空下却似乎显得平淡无奇。这提醒了我们一个经久不衰的问题：葡萄酒为何不能旅行呢？

这不是葡萄酒的错。这种令人沮丧的现象生动地证明了葡萄酒的口感是一种主观体验。几乎永远是我们自己、我们的情绪和环境在发生改变，而不是葡萄酒。现代葡萄酒能够经得住长途跋涉。英国超市货架上的许多葡萄酒都是几天前刚从海峡那边用货车装运过来的。

当然这种现象也决非仅仅局限于葡萄酒。鸡尾酒柜角落里随处可见的积满灰尘的茴香烈酒、迈塔克瑟白兰地酒以及Fundador也是对此的证明--满怀希望的旅游者迫切买下了这些液体纪念品，却将其束之高阁。但在原产地，即便是专业人士也无法抵挡那种未经验证的诱惑。记得曾经有一次，也是唯一一次在塞浦路斯度假时，我非常高兴地喝了当地的白兰地加柠檬水，一种我在伦敦非常讨厌的混合饮料。

但随着越来越多的度假者开始乘飞机，而不是驾车旅行，这些液体纪念品正在逐渐成为过去。在如今这个安全至上的新时代，乘飞机旅行限制了爱酒人士的旧习惯。我清楚地记得第一次遇到限制带酒上飞机时我是多么愤怒。那是2002年某天早上的8点，当时英国机场还没有开始限制携带装有液体的瓶子。我在上海机场登机飞往中国遥远的西部地区新疆时，受到了检查。当天早晨在我准备动身离开时，当地经销商给了我一瓶怡园酒庄(Grace Vineyard)庄主珍藏(Chairman's Reserve)的样品，据说它是当时中国红酒品牌中最有前景的品牌。我当时既没有时间也没有欲望品尝它，但我想可以在飞往乌鲁木齐时带上它，然后当天晚上品尝。不过这种想法没能实现，因为中国在携带玻璃和液体上飞机方面有着奇怪的限制规定。但怡园红酒确实很难得到。我绝不愿把这唯一的一瓶怡园红酒交给保安人员，从而失去品尝它的机会，所以我冲进了一家咖啡馆，要了一个大玻璃杯，接着拔开了软塞，一饮而尽。当时一大群中国乘客在安检入口处从我身旁穿过，一脸困惑地看着我。（那瓶酒值得我这么做）。

当然，如今各处的飞机旅行者在过安检时都会被禁止在手提行李中放置与液体哪怕有一点相似的物品，就连拔塞钻也被认定为危险武器。这一特别规定同样也会影响旅行的爱酒人士和酒饮专家。拔塞钻是喝酒的工具，但显然它与金属刀不是很相似（一种职业小偷现在在飞机上，即使是最短的旅程都不再使用的刀具）。

我珍爱躺在我盥洗用具袋内的那把坚硬、好用的小塑料开塞钻。它被遮盖了起来，一点也不引人注意。那种材料不会引发任何警报。它已陪伴我很久，甚至它身上的英国国际电信 (British Telecom International)标识早已被人遗忘。

但根据我的经验，大部分全球造酒商想尽可能多地向来访的酒评作家兜售酒的欲望尚未受到飞行限制的影响。具体情况会随地区和个性的不同而不同，但总体来说，正如我们可以预计到的，论不让参观者空手而归的决心，意大利人是最坚决的。那些关于旅行时只允许携带手提行李的主张和航空公司严厉的重量限制全被置若罔闻。意大利人的典型特征就是处处都体现出慷慨。即使这意味着参观者不得不把酒倒进机场的厕所。

我意识到，这个被赠与太多酒的职业困境不会引起那些不靠写酒为生的家伙的太多同情，但其它职业的人可能也曾遭遇过在旅行时被赠予沉重且体积大的礼品的两难境地--拒绝这些赠品会显得不礼貌，但空运回家非常不方便。每当我被介绍去写关于种种产酒地区的权威性插图文章，而这些地区无疑会规定我的行李上限时，我的心下沉得与手臂一样快。

带酒乘飞机不容易，即使是把酒放在检查过关的行李里。这些酒瓶不光重，而且比手提箱中的其它多数物品更易碎，我甚至还发现很难因为一瓶红酒如此珍贵，就值得冒将酒全部洒在衣服上的风险。在为数不多的几次带酒飞行过程中，我把酒装在聚苯乙烯管内，并且用透明胶带整个粘起来。迄今为止，这个方法很不错。但聚苯乙烯，作为可装任何酒的最轻、最安全的包装材料，却很难回收，并且往往会分解出一些粘状的白色小颗粒。我在一些极个别的情况下才会把红酒包装好放在手提箱内，例如作为澳大利亚红酒展示会的外国裁判。尽管目前的飞行限制仍然存在，但他们还是会坚持让我们带一些非常好的酒回去，以供裁判官晚宴饮用。
关键字:旅游英语
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