\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n The war was a couple of miles away. As drones buzzed and missiles screamed over the vineyard in the 1,200-year-old village of Togh, winemaker Andranik Manvelyan had only one thought: He needed to make sure his grapes were ready for harvest.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n It was October 2020, and the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War had just erupted. \u201cWe were working under shells and bombs. When I think about it now, it\u2019s absurd. How could I stay there?\u201d Manvelyan recalls, shaking his head. \u201cAll you could see were explosions. It was like the movie <\/span>The Terminator<\/span><\/i>.\u201d Then, as if to lighten the weight of his words, he laughs.<\/span><\/p>\n
I glance at his boss, Grigori Avetissyan, who\u2019s holding a tulip glass between calloused hands, a knowing grin breaking on his face. Avetissyan is the founder of <\/span>Kataro<\/span><\/a>, the winery that put Nagorno-Karabakh\u2014the 1,700-square-mile region Armenians call Artsakh\u2014on the map. Since 2019, Manvelyan has been his right-hand man.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
Barely a year ago, Avetissyan had everything to lose: his grapes, his livelihood, his homeland. Giving up was never an option. After Azerbaijan seized control of Nagorno-Karabakh in 2023, Avetissyan bribed Russian peacekeepers to access his nursery in the occupied village of Hadrut. There, he gathered 1,000 khndoghni grapevines\u2014the indigenous grape that grows almost exclusively in the region and earned Kataro its reputation for excellence\u2014and smuggled them to Yerevan, Armenia\u2019s capital, using the peacekeepers\u2019 trucks.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cDid I give them money? The Russians took one look at my beautiful eyes and let me right in,\u201d says Avetissyan, and Manvelyan laughs so hard I fear he might choke on his ros\u00e9.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to think, <\/span>These people are crazy. We\u2019re talking about a very sad topic, and they\u2019re laughing<\/span><\/i>,\u201d Avetissyan says.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n When you can\u2019t imagine anything but pressing forward, what else can you do?<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cLaughter helps you to survive,\u201d Manvelyan says.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/section>\n In the modern wine renaissance, reviving forgotten grapes has become an act of reclamation. From Croatia\u2019s tribidrag to Catalonia\u2019s querol, winemakers worldwide have increasingly replanted ancient varieties in a conscious effort to restore histories, traditions and terroirs. Few, however, have faced stakes as high as Avetissyan and Manvelyan.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Avetissyan founded Kataro in 2010. The label catapulted khndoghni grapes\u2014which are deep blue and yield a velvety red wine with dark berry notes\u2014into the winemaking lexicon. But khndoghni isn\u2019t just any wine. It is Artsakh\u2019s wine. And no one makes it better than Kataro.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cWhen we\u2019re talking about Armenian wine, if you say Artsakh, we understand you mean Kataro. If you say Kataro, we understand you mean Artsakh,\u201d says Arpi Yeganyan, a tour operator in Yerevan who specializes in wine excursions. Kataro was the first to label and distribute bottles internationally using the Armenian name \u201cArtsakh\u201d instead of the Azerbaijani \u201cNagorno-Karabakh\u201d\u2014a profoundly political branding choice.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n After the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War, this heritage was nearly lost. By 2023, more than 100,000 Armenians had been displaced from Artsakh. Less than 150 miles away, in Yerevan, Kataro became a symbol of what was lost. Bottles flew off the shelves at <\/span>In Vino<\/span><\/a>, the city\u2019s first wine bar.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cCustomers bought all the wines from Artsakh because they wanted to have a memory to keep. Most didn\u2019t even drink them. They stored them like collectibles,\u201d says In Vino co-founder Mariam Saghatelyan, an Armenian American sommelier.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Today, Kataro is the only one of Artsakh\u2019s 15 established wineries that has restarted production\u2014now at a new facility in Dzoraghbyur, just outside Yerevan. While it might not be wine from Avetissyan\u2019s Artsakh terroir, it is still Artsakh wine through and through. Kataro bears the name of a treasured fourth-century monastery in Hadrut. On the walls of the new winery, an Artsakhian artist is painting the same patterned mural that once decorated the old one in Togh. And the smuggled khndoghni vines are growing again.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/section>\n This isn\u2019t the first time that Armenia\u2019s winemaking has been shaped by struggle and perseverance. Humans have lived in its highlands, hills and valleys for thousands of years. Then came the Soviet era. Placed under Azerbaijani control despite being predominantly Armenian, Nagorno-Karabakh became the Soviet Union\u2019s largest producer of grapes\u2014but most were exported to other regions or used to make brandy.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Over the past decade, Armenian wine has roared back to life. When In Vino opened in 2012, Saghatelyan says there were \u201cmaybe 10 drinkable Armenian wines.\u201d Now, she stocks hundreds, including Artsakh khndoghni wines. Even if he won\u2019t say it, credit for the region\u2019s resurgence belongs to Avetissyan, who established the Artsakh Wine Association, founded the <\/span>Artsakh Wine Festival<\/span><\/a> and proudly championed his homeland and its native grape.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Until 2020, the Artsakh Wine Festival brought tourism to a place where none existed. Thousands of people made the rugged five-hour drive from Stepanakert, the region\u2019s de facto capital, to Togh. \u201cIt\u2019s because of Grigori,\u201d says Zaruhi Muradyan, executive director of the Vine & Wine Foundation of Armenia.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n When Armenia lost Artsakh in 2023, Avetissyan suggested using Kataro\u2019s new facilities in Dzoraghbyur to set up a cooperative, where displaced winemakers could restart production and rebuild their lives. \u201cMany [couldn\u2019t] even think about it yet, because [the war and loss] were so stressful,\u201d says Muradyan, her voice cracking as she considers Avetissyan\u2019s readiness to help. \u201cHe told me, <\/span>This is life. Anything can happen. We must be ready for whatever challenges come our way.<\/span><\/i>\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Today, Manvelyan\u2019s khndoghni grapes\u2014among the few that still belong to Armenia\u2014are about a year old. He says he\u2019s still two years away from being able to make wine from them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n When the next Kataro khndoghni is released, it won\u2019t be the same wine. The grapes have also been displaced. The terroir is different. But even if the soil, elevation and climate aren\u2019t quite right, Avetissyan and Manvelyan will likely do what they always do: laugh it off and get back to work.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about the wine,\u201d says Manvelyan. \u201cIt\u2019s about the emotions that will be in the bottle.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/section>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n
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