Between Glamour, Procedures, Stoppers and Corks
When people hear you're a wine importer, their minds automatically fill with images of clinking glasses in sun-drenched vineyards, elegant dinners in French chateaux, and sophisticated conversations about cassis notes and a mineral finish. "What a wonderful life!" they say, dreamily.
And well... they're not entirely wrong. But like everything good in life, reality comes with a touch of bureaucracy, jet lag, and the occasional customs crisis.
Studying Wine: It's not all about drinking and smiling
Before raising a glass, you have to pick up books. Lots of them. Because importing wine isn't just a matter of saying, "I like wine that tastes good." It's about understanding why it tastes good. It's about knowing the differences between a Garnacha from Gredos and one from Calatayud, knowing if that Riesling has residual sugar or just a hint of sweetness, and detecting whether a wine is reduced or simply needs therapy.
Travel, vineyards, and… vertigo over the bank account
One of the best (and most dangerous) aspects of the job is visiting suppliers. Because yes, there are magical moments: tasting barrels in a Priorat cellar while the winemaker tells you the story of his guerrilla great-grandfather. Or walking among volcanic soils in the Canary Islands while feeling like you could live there forever (spoiler: you can't, your flight leaves tomorrow).
But there are also missed trains, misplaced suitcases, broken bottles in customs, and dinners with distributors who insist on karaoke. You're on a rockstar-like tour —living out of a suitcase, changing hotels daily, and barely sleeping. Before GPS, you didn't even know where you were, always arriving late, asking for directions in any language or combination of languages you could find in common. And if you're in Greece, Italy, or Spain, I swear if you ask a group thinking one person will answer, you're wrong. Everyone answers at once! It was a miracle we ever got to our destination, and that we're not still lost there.
Relationships worth gold (and some patience)
Being an importer is, above all, knowing how to build relationships. With wineries, with distributors, with sommeliers, with the logistics guy who always says, "The container's almost here." It's a game of trust, of knowing how to listen, and also of knowing when to say, "This wine is fine, but it's not what I'm looking for in my market."
And of course, there's the art of wine diplomacy: saying "this wine has character" instead of "this tastes like a wet rag with a rusty nail."
When wine travels... and so does the person who makes it
Canarian Winemakers and I, New York, 2016
And then there are those magical moments when producers come to visit the market. There's nothing like seeing the winemaker—the one who tends the vines with his hands, who knows each plot like a child—sitting at a table opposite a customer who's just tasted his wine for the first time.
It's a moment where the beginning and end of the process meet: the person who made it and the person who enjoys it, sharing the same glass. It's seeing how a bottle that has crossed oceans becomes a bridge, a conversation, a laugh, a "wow, I've never tasted anything like that!"
Watching a producer taste their wine paired with regional food, or hearing them say, "This pairs better than I ever imagined," is one of the greatest rewards of this craft. Because wine doesn't end when it's bottled. It ends (or rather, culminates) when someone opens it, shares it, and understands it.
And in those encounters—sometimes at dinners, sometimes at tastings with distributors, or in an informal setting with drinks on the beach and open hearts—it's confirmed that this goes beyond business: it's culture, it's connection, it's bottled joy.
The less pretty side: paperwork, taxes and headaches
For every glass of wine, there are at least three legal forms. Legally importing wine means dealing with labels, regulations, health registrations, tariff codes, and thousands of questions and customs procedures.
Not to mention the existential dread of seeing a broken bottle in a box that's traveled halfway around the world. RIP! We'll miss you.
But yes, there is also pleasure and good life
After all the work, comes the reward: sharing a special wine with someone who understands it. Watching a customer discover a grape they've never tasted before. Or toasting with friends simply because everything went well today.
There's something profoundly human about wine. It unites stories, lands, and cultures. And when you manage to connect an artisanal winery with a restaurant in your city, it's like being a drunken Cupid, but with good taste.
My personal history with the wines I'm now importing to Mexico has spanned almost twenty years between two countries. Being an importer isn't just about making these rockstar trips, filling out paperwork, and dealing with customs issues. It's about seeking out these wonders, reading, traveling to meet the winemakers and seeing what they're doing, listening to their stories, eating together, connecting both with them and with the wine they make. After working together for so long, seeing them is like seeing my brothers. It excites me. For me, it's not just about selling wine; it's about telling their stories, about sharing the spirit of what they do with the people here, thousands of miles away from their origin, as if we were all together. If I achieve this, I'm doing my job well.
Yes, there's paperwork, delays, taxes, and 3 a.m. calls from customs. But there are also moments when wine, with all its history and journey, manages to connect two worlds in a single glass.
And that, my friends, is priceless.
Cheers! And thank you for following us on this crazy but delicious adventure!
