
Yana Kuzmanova Yanakieva, 2016
TRAJECTORY: POINT OF DEPARTURE & PATH
The paths of life are inscrutable. The paths of wine are no less so, as the following lines will reveal. Mysterious and unique—from the point of departure, across the landscape or the décor, acting as guiding lines, parallel or intersecting.
I have always maintained that wine cannot be the main character in anyone’s story. It may be a catalyst, but never the centre. It can also be a path, as it became for me.
Faced with the terroir, the vine as a living being, the labour of human hands, and the wine as the result of their devotion, I have always felt like a traveller—endowed with a hypersensitive nose and palate, infinite curiosity, and a wide-open mind.
Nature, who gifted me these senses, is responsible for their delicacy. As for the path taken, that was shaped jointly—by fate and by us.
In the distant year of 2004, in the Municipal Gallery of Bourgas—my hometown—I met the man who later became my husband and the father of our child. We spent some time in Bulgaria working on a project restoring Renaissance houses in the Balkan mountains. But eventually—due to a chain of circumstances—in 2005 we decided to settle permanently in Bordeaux, his city of origin.
During our “Bulgarian period” and our occasional escapes to Sofia, we often stopped at Hilda Kazasyan’s Armenian restaurant. I love Armenian cuisine, and what was offered then by the famous Bulgarian jazz singer was truly remarkable. It was there, on our first visit with friends, that my then–French business partner was invited to choose the wine to accompany our meal. We found ourselves in front of a huge wall of bottles and laughed—the choice was vast. Which one would become “ours”? And if a “wine destiny” truly exists, it had placed us exactly where we needed to be: right in front of us, at eye level, lay a bottle. We chose it, and it turned out to be a magical Haut-Médoc from Bordeaux.
Back in Bordeaux, at the end of 2008, the global crisis forced me to abandon my work as a gallery owner and the exhibitions I curated in the Gothic Hall of mystical medieval Saint-Émilion. An employment counsellor advised me to invest in professional training: I spoke five languages fluently, and the wine sector, he insisted, needed people like me. After a week of research, at the beginning of 2009, I was already a student at the Bordeaux Chamber of Commerce’s Institute of Wine & Spirits Trade. By the end of that year, I graduated successfully—with the best thesis written in the institute’s 39-year history at the time, both in its written and oral defence. I did not yet know I was a “nose,” but it was clear I had the talent to speak and to write.
And so began my wine odyssey.
Wine guide at Château Pichon-Baron in 2011, and the ecstasy of our vertical tastings with the estate’s oenologist, Jean-René Matignon—a generous soul from the Loire who sensed our hunger for knowledge.
At that same moment, in that same place, came my encounter with the man who, for a time, became my “wine guide”: Shalom Chin of Singapore, Master Sommelier. At his invitation, at the end of the season, we embarked on a ten-day wine journey through the Loire, visiting exclusively biodynamic and natural domaines. This voyage deserves its own space and time, and one day—God willing—I will recount it in my memoirs. I will only share this here: I returned to Bordeaux with a trunk full of bottles, with a nose and palate enriched by the purest “fermented earth juices of the Loire,” and with only one desire—to return there as quickly as possible. Biodynamic agriculture, and especially viticulture, had awakened in me what I value most in all areas of life: purity and authenticity.
Around that time, at Pascal Druard’s BU wine bar, our small group of wine friends gathered. One evening, I tasted for the first time the wines of Philippe Betschart of Château Les Graves de Viaud. It was a tasting of wines from domains certified or in the process of certification by Demeter. That encounter enriched more than the tasting: it led me into their philosophy and their understanding of Living Nature—of wine, of its influence on body and spirit, and of their commitment to the Earth—our only home.
In 2015, after spending (almost) a year in China, where I had tasted several vintages of Château Palmer at a wine-club anniversary, I reached out to them upon returning to Bordeaux and lived one of the most memorable harvests of my life. A two-hour visit, with in-depth explanations of the estate’s biodynamic practices, ended with a tasting of wines from before and after certification. And that is what filled me with wonder: the difference in purity and authenticity in the expression of the very same terroir.
In 2016, guided by my passion for culinary art, I participated in—and won—the Grand Concours Cuisine at Château Guiraud, another biodynamic domaine. Beyond the high-quality farm products awarded by the organisers, I left with wonderful bottles, and another visit that enriched my knowledge further.
In 2018, invited by the Association of Oenologists of Bordeaux, I attended an exceptional conference: the team from Château Ferrière, Margaux, plunged us into what I call “viticultural ecstasy”—a detailed explanation of biodynamics, accompanied by a tasting of six vintages, some before and some after certification. It strengthened my growing conviction: This is the way.
At the end of 2019, another conference—this one dedicated to the future of Bordeaux wines and organised by KEDGE Business School—ended with a tasting of Vineam wines, presented by Jean-Baptiste Soula, Director and visionary oenologist, who had initiated the biodynamic transformation of the estates under his responsibility. For me, it was already clear: if Bordeaux wines have a future, it will be shaped by the increasingly demanding palate of the conscious consumer—for purity and authenticity.
Then came COVID, turning the world upside down—and my life in particular. I remember social networks overflowing with hastily pulled corks, walls of empty bottles, warnings about alcohol, “tips” for managing stress—as if stress were treated with alcohol, or as if being locked inside indefinitely were less harmful than a glass of wine in the evening.
I had built my own balance: yoga-based exercise in the morning, Chinese and Japanese teas during the day, a glass of something in the evening.
I tried to imagine my future. I had just reached a new stage in my guiding activity, and then—snap—a virus wiped everything away. What else could I do? I was dependent on one place—Bordeaux—and one activity—wine tourism. Far too many dependencies for my free spirit and multifaceted nature.
The decision came instantly: I would choose work that allowed me to be anywhere, and to express myself as a creator.
I wrote a play and its scenography, which became Bordeaux’s cultural project of 2021. I accompanied ministers during the French Presidency of the EU Council. I studied digital project management. I worked as an interior designer and creator of useful, original objects, wrote website and blog content, designed logos… I was consciously seeking to escape every form of dependency—not only because of the insecurity it provoked in me. I went through a period of extreme inner transformation: I became anti-consumerist, at one point even “hygienist”—vegan and teetotal. I wanted to know how resistant and independent I could be. I don’t think I felt good in those extremes, but I did discover that I could go all the way—an experience that tormented and enlightened me.
I explained all my theories to my father, who gently teased me in return, telling me how he had cooked grilled pig ears with sauce, stews and other delights—something that now moves me deeply. He would say: “Too much sainthood doesn’t please even God,” as we all know. Excessive saints are not saints at all.
BORDEAUX – RENAISSANCE
After some time away, I returned to Bordeaux and realised the city was undergoing a kind of Renaissance: greener, livelier, freer, more cultural, infused with youthful energy. The mineral neoclassical architecture now harmonises perfectly with the living nature found everywhere—stimulating, refreshing, energising.
Tourists from around the world fill the squares, winding little streets, churches and terraces… There is more imagination on menus everywhere, and far greater diversity in wine lists.
On 13 May this year, in the full effervescence of Bordeaux spring, La Cité du Vin hosted a remarkable talk with Claire Villars-Lurton—a woman of vision and commitment (I mentioned Château Ferrière earlier). She shared the path taken by her and her family, their decisions, their outcomes. In a warm conversation, she opened her perspective on wine, and after the conference we tasted the results of those choices.
WINE & CONSUMPTION
I now devote even more time to tasting when drinking.
I always have, but now I simply relax and let my nose guide me—slowly, slowly—towards places where I once galloped (not because I risked missing anything, but because I have the talent and speed to perceive everything quickly and in detail). While the others around me were already on their second glass, my nose and palate explored the natural manifestations in “fermented grape-earth juices.” I began drinking mainly biodynamic and natural wines—quality always over quantity.
And I noticed with joy that the grandiose displays on social networks—those lines of twenty empty bottles—began to disappear. That “big showing-off” after the “big drinking” always made me laugh; now I find it downright burlesque.
Thus appears a new truth: wine has resumed its place as a cultural product, one that invites attention and curiosity. This shift is not new—but after many waves and trends, the truth crystallises.
This momentum filled me with enthusiasm, and my decision to return to guiding came with a clear condition: no compromise—neither with my conscience as someone deeply connected to nature, nor with the wine-loving travellers who trust me. I decided to design a circuit consisting exclusively of biodynamic estates.
Such a return had to be accompanied by a descent into the depths of the soul, so that my decision could be the fruit of a relatively clear conscience.
THE VINE, THE WINE AND LIFE
Long ago, I swore never to write texts beginning with:
“The day was full of promise—the sun was lighting up the azure sky. Our kind host greeted us and invited us straight in…”
Who hasn’t read such introductions in mediocre wine blog articles?
Here is another approach:
7 November 2025.
It is so very early. Through the dining-room window, the frost-kissed garden looks crunchy and candied, but we await the sun. A bowl of pomegranate seeds, a short coffee, a piece of bread—I begin my work. I feel fully energised—seated, I enter my centre and sharpen my senses—by relaxing. It is not difficult and takes little time. Soon I will slip into a familiar frame: the terroir of Château Graves des Viaud. All my senses will be needed.

Philippe and I are bound by years of friendship; we have tasted so much together—naturally the entire range of the domaine, as well as Colombine. The white Colombine even travelled with me to the Boisbuchet creative residency in 2020, and it was with the orange and with Vinum Clarum that we celebrated my name day.
This visit was the second: in May, I had joined the volunteer team planting a whole new parcel of young vines. I had brought two plants of a resistant Bulgarian white variety as a gift. Planting them was emotional—I thought of them as of myself: “Will they take root?”
The harvest was over, the wines were already resting in their new homes; vineyard work was beginning. “On Monday,” Philippe explained. But on that Friday, the last day of the work week (for some), we were all irradiated by this fresh—and perhaps last—burst of sunlight: immense light and warmth poured intensely into everything. A burning, life-giving pulse: Everything IS. The Earth IS. The Moment IS. Life IS.
We filmed the reportage—the domain, the biodynamic practices, the cellar, the tastings, everything. It is the first of a larger project I will keep secret for now.
And I wished to return among the vines—my attachment to them is profound: thin and slender when very young, beautifully elegant in maturity, with bodies sculpted by time into sensual forms. Beyond a certain age, one cannot guess the “middle age” of a vine. Its life may far surpass that of a human—or be cut short.

“These are some of the oldest vines on the domaine—over 50 years old,” Philippe told me.
“How interesting—we are almost the same age; I’m just a bit younger,” I replied.
“Yes, exactly. Same generation.”
I step between the rows and observe them closely: their bodies are a kind of three-dimensional calligraphy. The feeling when touching their bark is like touching someone dear—such is the vitality they radiate. And it is not surprising: they live in a clean space; no one sprays them or poisons them with “medicines.” They are nourished with energising elixirs—how could they not be alive?

WINE & THE SOUL
I return home with a whole harvest of impressions, thoughts and sensations. To channel them, I walk through the garden. The sun continues to shine; at the far end, a few violets warm themselves in its gentle generosity.
To smell them, I lie literally on the ground and sink my nose into their tufted greenery.

“It’s incredible they’ve grown again. They’re confused, the darlings. With these abnormal temperatures… all of nature is unsettled.”
Violets are among my favourite flowers. Notes of violet appear clearly in certain grape varieties—Cabernet Franc, Syrah, Gewürztraminer (and others)—which explains my deep love for those wines.

In some wines, Cabernet Franc shows notes of violet leaves (stronger in nature during autumn). In a Château La Gaffelière 2017, for example, I found the whole bouquet—flower and leaf; in the 2018, many more flowers (tasting notes made 4–5 years ago).
I feel a special closeness between myself and the violet—perhaps because I associate its nature with mine.
The violet is very small, yet has enormous aromatic power. And an extremely fine authenticity—nature is literally brilliant.
Not mad nor megalomaniac enough to give such a tiny creation an exuberant, baroque body. A heart-shaped leaf, a thin stem, a delicate violet head… simple and free of excess.
Their appearance in November astonished me; I could not ignore them.
Later, at dusk, I wrote to a long-time friend to wish her a happy birthday.
The sky had wrapped itself in an orange-violet veil; the light had descended into the root-nest of the garden’s vegetation. Darkness was transparent, yet sticky.
I added a musical message: a piece by Fun Lovin’ Criminals. I had seen them recently in concert in Bordeaux, and their music still animates my days—just as in the ’90s, when I first discovered them.
Thanks for the birthday wishes, she wrote, and then:
“Right now I’m going to listen to them, Yanuchka… They remind me of V… You know he passed away, right?… Fun Lovin’ was one of his favourite bands when we were together… It makes me so sad, I feel like I’m going to cry…”
Nothing came to me. I hadn’t known—it hit me like a blow. I was cut off from social media, from Bulgaria, at that moment. Truly, I did not know.
The news fell like a leaden sphere. It shot from the brain to the heart and shattered it—like a cannonball. My heart, bruised by this cold explosion, contracted, numb. Two heavy warm tears detached and travelled downward, carving channels of sorrow.
I was alone, with no one to tell how sad I felt, even though we had drifted apart in time and space.
It isn’t necessary for someone to be close or constantly present in our lives for us to feel something for them. What we carry in our hearts is the impression that person left within us.
V. was only 53—like Philippe’s vines, a beautiful mature age. Born at the very centre of the year, in its heart. He possessed that exact solar core, along with immense emotional and intellectual intelligence. He truly was a centre—you can imagine the rest.
As students, we were active figures in that Bulgarian-style Tarantino reality—we were very good actors, that’s all.
I light a candle, open a bottle of wine and pour a little into a small bowl. I pour myself a glass and drink a sip. This is how it’s done, and this is what I do.
Outside, it is already dark. Wrapped in my shawl, I do not feel the cold. I feel the wine slide down my throat, cross my chest, and warm it deeply.
The three sips reached their destination. Was it not my imagination planting hints of violets in the aftertaste? My soul relaxes, releases the sadness, and it drifts away into nothingness. I look at the candle, its luminous halo. Perhaps this is what souls look like as they rise, I think.
That is why I will never stop drinking wine.
With it, we celebrate our feasts, our special occasions, the end of battles and the victories, our meetings with people, our joys and sorrows. All of this is part of life.
I will continue to drink wine—but not just any wine: purity and authenticity are my choice.
As for quantity—oh, that is a long story. I could tell you what I learned from the winemakers at that biodynamic gathering at Pascal Druard’s BU bar. And about my deep research into the energies and principles that govern the human being according to Chinese medicine—when you come visit me in Bordeaux.
Until then: take care.
If you wish, drink delicious, pure wines—with moderation.
Warm greetings from Bordeaux,
Yana

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