Opinion
By Michalis Michaelides
A trio of retirees, probably from Central Europe, sit out on the terrace of Zambartas Wineries, soaking up the spring sunshine with glasses of chilled white wine in hand. “That’s exactly how I picture myself in retirement,” I joke to Stelios as smooth soul and ’60s pop drift from a Marshall speaker nearby.
While we wait for Markos Zambartas, Chelsea gives us a tour. I ask how she ended up in Cyprus all the way from England and in Agios Ambrosios of all places. As we head downstairs, I also ask whether she knows the artists whose works line the winery walls: Hambis, Yiannis Gaitis, Alekos Fassianos and Christos Christou. I admit it’s the first time I’ve seen this much art in a winery, and Hambis, especially, seems to have pride of place. “Some of these prints, I bet even Hambis doesn’t have himself,” I later tease Markos. He laughs and explains the collection was started by his father, who founded the winery in 2006 and was friends with many of the artists.
During our interview for the Wine Routes series, Markos shares story after story. At times, when I try steering questions toward emotion, he jokes that he’s “cynical” and warns his answers might disappoint me. But honestly? Cynicism is the last thing I pick up from him.
That becomes even clearer when we visit the century-old vineyard where his Margelina wine is born, a blend of six ungrafted varieties. Standing there, with sweeping views of the Troodos Mountains at 900 meters altitude, I realize just how much artistry and feeling can fit inside a bottle of wine, alongside the obvious talent and technical skill he brings to the craft.
He proudly points out wild orchids scattered across his vineyard, a rare sight compared with neighboring plots whose soil lies bare. Later, back at the winery tasting the Margelina, he reveals another side of himself: a love of rock music and a soft spot for Diaphana Krina (Διάφανα Κρίνα), Ksilina Spathia (Ξύλινα Σπαθιά) and Tripes (Τρύπες).
Surrounded by beautiful wines, soulful music, striking contemporary art, and lyrics full of feeling, it’s hard to see where cynicism could possibly squeeze in. Especially when that wine is crafted from indigenous grapes—Mavro, Maratheftiko, Ofthalmo, Yiannoudi, Xynisteri and Kanella—grown in a tiny vineyard near the point where Limassol meets Paphos. To me, it feels less like a business venture and more like a quiet act of preservation, a way of safeguarding a precious piece of Cyprus’ winemaking heritage.
Mondays are usually tough. But this one felt different. Mostly because we left loving the Cypriot vineyard a little more and, truth be told, loving this place a little more too. All thanks to a single bottle of Margelina.
