A back roads ride through harvest villages to Domaine David Duband to see old Pegasus Bay colleagues Luca and Eric, foot stomping grapes the traditional way, foulage au pied, before cycling home between Premier Cru and Grand Cru vines with a long held idea about NV Wines tours to Champagne and Burgundy coming back into focus.

Four days in Beaune start with a solo dinner in a window seat at Le Conty, a day eating and drinking like a local at La Belena, then a long bike ride through Pommard, Volnay, Meursault, Puligny-Montrachet and Chassagne-Montrachet to Santenay, chain trouble included, ending with new friends and an opened bottle of Louis Roederer.

Two weeks into Champagne, a second visit to Philippe at Champagne Brugnon for the sabrage technique, a day exploring Reims' wine shops and bars, dinner at Aroma, and a look ahead to Épernay and Beaune.

Riddling down in the cave is slow, meditative work, three-quarter turns every day for three weeks. Then a proper sabrage induction with Philippe, ceremonial French delivered with total sincerity in the middle of the cellar.

The morning after picking wraps at Marc Chauvet, racking and blending in the cellar with Jules, feeding a fermenting wine and finally trusting herself on the pump, plus the story of the one bonus red only possible because this vintage was good enough to spare the fruit, left to ferment on wild yeast at Jules's own risk.

The last day of picking at Marc Chauvet, one of the best seasons on record, small berries in great condition, a final press load charged alongside Jules, and a harvest party where a daft drinking game became the whole team's phrase for the night.

Settled into the rhythm of vintage, then a morning walk into the village turns into a family moment when Dedette Chauvet, the winery's founder and Clotilde's mother, is spotted buying her daily baguette. By afternoon a trolley and a village-wide prank send me hunting for a Champagne tool that doesn't exist, and revenge comes as a bottle of salted fizz.

The routine's set in now at Marc Chauvet, taking apart the two and four tonne cages each morning, charging the press, first run juice, and champagne with leftover cheese pie by half eleven. Then another prank catches me out at the crate washer.

Inside the winery now, moving off the vines and onto the cellar team. Water instead of detergent, the logic behind discarding the first press and anything left overnight, a sabrage knock back from Philippe for being too grubby, and a food fight looming in three days.

Ten minutes from Reims by train, a Premier Cru village most visitors only pass through on the champagne trail. This is the same village from the inside the chai.

A day picking premier cru grapes in Rilly-la-Montagne, working the rows with a crew from all over Europe, and starting to feel like part of the Marc Chauvet family.

Filling buckets with premier cru grapes, working the rows with an international harvest crew, and the secateurs saga that became the joke of the day.

Landing in Paris, a solar eclipse watched in a field with new friends, then straight into the vines within 24 hours of touching down. Low trained vines, chalk soil, forty degree afternoons, fast friendships, a tattoo in the works, and a shift into the winery where quality always beats shortcuts.

Kicking off the trip to Champagne with a Sydney stopover, Laurent Perrier to toast the journey, corn fritters and birthday bubbles for Libby, marshmallows by the fire with old friends, and a proper little tour of Australian wine before flying on to Paris.

A last swim cut short by jellyfish stings, a slow final day at Villa 25 before a Tusker beer while waiting on the airport transfer, a rough airport experience, and the final verdict that Vanuatu is beautiful but properly expensive, best done as a half board package next time.

The best day of the trip, a scuba dive with Deep Blue turning up clownfish, eels and barracuda despite a few nerves going in, followed by a waterfront pub crawl from some genuinely awful Australian bubbles at Sunny View to good food and gins at Stone Grill.

An early swim along the reef turns up blue starfish and darting little fish, though the swell has us a bit on edge, then an afternoon beach bar mission that turns into pouring rain and freezing cold rather than the relaxed wine list browse we had planned.

Landing in Vanuatu on a Sunday, which means a sneaky beer run with our taxi driver Sammy before anything else, settling into Villa 25 with the pool right outside, and opening a Saint-Joseph and a twenty seven year old Gigondas we had carried all the way from home.

The big one, fixed ladders up to the Aiguilles Rouges Nature Reserve, ibex and marmots, a lake too pretty to swim in, and 360 degree views of Mont Blanc before dropping into Chamonix by cable car.

A trip that had nothing to do with wine and everything to do with with wine. The most authentic experiences. Getting outside and walking Mont Blanc what one of the best times I have had. A proper change of pace.

Crossing back into France at Col de Balme with the whole Mont Blanc Massif laid out ahead, glaciers, the Aiguilles and a magical night at a centuries old refuge with a proper wine list.