The restaurant at the end of the road

In a minibus of expectant absinthe professionals, I watch inside and out as we climb into the mountain mists.  Towns give way to farms. Farms give way to forest. Forest to the restaurant at the end of the road*.

Literally at the end of the road.  We cannot see far for the deep fog all around, but we are very near the edge of the Creux du Van, a 160 meter high, vertical rock face.

In to the restaurant and we are ushered up a creaky wooden stair beneath a dangling forest of suspicious-looking sausages, and into a claustrophobic, wood-panelled room already filled by the rattle of expectant early arrivals.

The room bears the scars of countless visitors. Carving ones initials, the date of one’s visit, or some other dubious monogram into the wooden walls is anything but discouraged.  (Though a prominent sign dictates such activity on the tables to be less acceptable.)

I feel very much in Switzerland: the promise of alcohol and melted cheese and a complex tangle of multilingual conversation.

This is no ordinary gathering. It is the annual coming together of the absinthe business elite. The players who make and distribute absinthe products right across the world.

Tomorrow is the annual absinthe festival in the tiny town of Bovaresse in the Val de Travers. The town is far too small to be marked on my sat-nav. Tonight, absinthe manufacturer Claude-Alain hosts his famed party for those in the business. (if you are wondering why we are there, this Absinthe Shop is the reason).

There are some heavyweights of the absinthe world here. The author of the most respected absinthe histories, who happens to be offering tastings of a currently unreleased absinthe he produces from herbs gathered in the wild.   There’s the Brazilian who runs an absinthe bar and shop in Tokyo, and who wins the award for the longest journey to attend this weekend’s festivities. There’s one of the top absinthe distillers who only removes his blue work overall after the drink starts to flow and the air temperature in the cramped room peaks. And there’s the guitar-playing woman who at last year’s event, was a man (and who turns out to be a capable musician).

The cacophony of conversation, exaggerated by the many languages, is close to deafening in such an enclosed environment. But those snippets of English I can make out are fascinating. Small talk abounds, but future deals are being instigated, meetings scheduled, relationships forged and strengthened: business is being done over the absinthe, wine, and alcoholic melted cheese. It is thoroughly fascinating to note who is happy to imbibe plenty of alcohol, against who is maintaining a clear head.

This is unlike any trade event I’ve ever experienced (until next year, perhaps), and the absinthe festival itself is not until tomorrow.

* This post was written during the latter stages of the gathering on the evening of 18 June 2010, with limited editing before posting.

Post photograph by Jonas Merian
My photos from the trip (videos soon)

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