If you want tangible proof of climate change, talk to almost any winemaker. Several years ago I wrote about Graševina from Slavonija in eastern Croatia. One vineyard told me how in roughly fifteen years, the grape’s alcohol content had risen by a staggering 1.5%. Others in North Macedonia have publicly spoken about the challenges of taming Vranac, a native red variety, to keep alcohol levels below 16%.

Though some will raise their glasses at the prospect of more alcohol, the quality of a wine depends in large part on balance and harmony, most notably between acidity and alcohol. Too much of the latter and too little of the former and you’ll experience little more than heat and headaches. 

Radovan Đorđević, owner of Vinarija Čokot and a trusted oenologist for several others, is one of the burgeoning stars of the country’s fledgling wine industry. With five hectares in the Župa region – in the foothills of the Kopaonik mountain range, often described as ‘Serbia’s Tuscany’ – he has experienced firsthand the challenges of more unpredictable weather patterns. 

‘As in the rest of the world’, Radovan asserts, ‘we have the same problem – higher sugar content and lower acid levels’. These are essential elements of quality wine; the foundations on which winemakers such as Radovan can work their magic. Radovan’s own excellence is beyond dispute. His 100% range of Prokupac and Tamjanika are regarded as the finest examples of these indigenous varieties that are the heart of Župa’s wine identity. With a new winery in place, Radovan has become one of the keystones on which the region’s continued emergence rests. 

‘Today the harvest is ten to twenty days earlier’, he muses, ‘which often causes unripe tannins’. Tannins are those parts of a wine that – like a teabag stewed for too long – grip the gums. When ripe and soft (often with the benefit of time in the bottle), they give body, structure, and silky elegance. When underdeveloped, they are bitter, astringent, and unpleasant. 

Vineyards today have insufficient time to recover. Winter dormancy allows vines to conserve energy and prepare for new growth. ‘Another problem is what I call “medium winters”, with higher temperatures’, Radovan begins, ‘which means a very early start of budding and vegetation’. Without sufficient time to recover, vines are more vulnerable to disease. They become as jaded as the rest of us without adequate sleep. 

And though the winters are shorter, their traits often strike back with a vengeance. ‘You know that early frost in Spring has been a problem in France for several years’, Radovan begins, ‘and this year it is a problem in Serbia’. ‘We had frost around 1st May in Župa’, explains Radovan, ‘which damaged a lot of vineyards here and in neighbouring Topola’. If the frosts don’t materialise, the threat of hail is more regular. 

While some may be familiar with scenes of vineyards in Burgundy or Bordeaux illuminated by row upon row of flames, their fires fuelled by large oil drums, Župa is left exposed to the elements. ‘This needs a lot of people and equipment’, Radovan explains, ‘which means we are simply not prepared’. With Radovan expecting ‘more and more problems with frost’, the time to act is now; even if the sight of fossil fuel consuming oil drums is an anathema to some.

Then there is the problem of disease. ‘There was a lot of rain humidity in the air’, Radovan describes, ‘lots of illness like downy and powdery mildew’. Entire harvests can be devastated if they go untreated; last year, more than 50% of vineyards were affected according to Radovan. ‘There is private insurance, but it depends if you can afford the premiums’, he adds, whilst confirming that government assistance is limited.

Župa is not alone. ‘It is the same in Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina’, Radovan contends, ‘they all have the same problem – also in northern Italy it was a very bad year.’ Winemakers here face the mounting costs of safeguarding not only their investments, but their livelihoods, family traditions, and community identities, though few of us take an interest in these battles when savouring a glass of wine. Progress is expected year on year, even as the vintages become more variated. It is more work, at greater expense, as we expect consistent prices and the same or even better quality.   

There are, however, remedial steps that winemakers can take. As with those fearing rising sea levels, one answer is to build – or plant – at higher levels. ‘I planted at 620 metres above sea level’, Radovan almost boasts, ‘it’s a good position’; confessing his relative fortune vis-a-vis those down in the valleys. ‘There have never been vineyards there before’, he hastens to add, revealing the inherent risk of his forced gamble and his faith in his own capabilities. There are additional challenges of growing at such altitudes. For one, such sites are typically harder to reach with machinery, making the task more labour intensive; even if Radovan himself prefers to handpick the bunches of grapes.  

A related solution is to change the orientation of the vineyard, which is more difficult than it may sound. Whereas once ‘southward facing’ was prized for both vineyards and real estate, now grape growers are being encouraged to turn their backs, so to speak, on the sun. ‘Expositions which were never used for vineyards – oriented to the north or northeast – are now becoming more common’, Radovan expounds.  

Wine regions are also being forced to consider planting new varieties once deemed ‘foreign’. ‘I read some articles about this in France a few years ago’, Radovan begins, ‘they imported and started planting Touriga Nacional from Portugal, whilst in Australia and New Zealand they now grow Nero d’Avola’. Some varieties are simply better adapted to a warmer climate, primarily because they already show a higher concentration of acidity; ‘it is in the genes of the varieties’, Radovan notes. 

Prokupac and Tamjanika are well-placed in this survival of the fittest; though only if winemakers know how to adjust to changing circumstances. ‘Vineyard management can also be very good’, Radovan insists, adding that ‘defoliation and irrigation are key’. With respect to the former, leaves on the vine can protect the grapes from sunlight, helping to preserve acidity. Irrigation, however, doesn’t exist in Župa, as in many winegrowing areas in Serbia. ‘We haven’t had many problems until now’, Radovan muses, ‘but from now on we need to improve our knowledge in wine growing – we need more education and practical knowledge’. Experience of the past helps, but it won’t necessarily prepare one for the future. 

During the Župa wine run last September, a twenty-three kilometre slog punctuated by welcome pit stops for wine, one couldn’t help but notice the abandoned villages in the vicinity of the town of Aleksandrovac. Several buildings were starting to subside, with very little prospect of salvation. Fields in the valleys stood either idle or fallow.   

Having endured the rigours of transition from socialist modes of production, Župa is now confronted with a new challenge. Climatic factors meant that the 2023 harvest was catastrophic for the region. Many producers will take years to recover, drawing upon their own reserves in the absence of adequate government support. It is the nature of farming after all, as one of them reminds me. Yet the changes are so quick and profound that what they did on the land for decades potentially no longer applies. There is a need for rapid adaptation to contend with large changes in a relatively short space of time. In the interim, there will be more sleepless nights and new manifestations of shifting climatic patterns. As for Župa, so for elsewhere in the region and beyond. The winemakers of the world need to unite in the face of climate change.