Estimated reading time: 15 minutes
I like to start each year in high gear — big goals, even bigger curiosity. In this year of firsts that meant diving deeper into Indiana wines, a region where quality is improving in ways worth celebrating. But as every good journey reminds us, the path rarely runs straight. Sometimes the detours reveal more flavor, more beauty, and more perspective than the destination itself.
2025 became my year of firsts. I made my pilgrimage to Bourgogne — Burgundy to most — where Pinot Noir and Chardonnay revealed a beauty I didn’t believe could exist. Greece welcomed me with beauty that even outshines its history. I’d walked Irish soil before, but never through the grace of County Kerry.
A spontaneous hike through Sedona’s red-rock cathedral followed. In Florida, I joined my first epic Stan’s Sunday Fun Day (if you know, you know). Then came October 29: my first hole-in-one, a moment of pure magic on the course. By November, Berlin claimed the final spot—a city where history lives in every corner and the energy never sleeps.
Burgundy
Burgundy set the tone. Delays and a missing bag could have derailed everything, but instead became a reminder that travel lives as much in its people as its places — airline staff tracking down luggage, gracious hosts smoothing every wrinkle, a tour team that pivoted so seamlessly my glass never once ran dry. Then there was Thomas, a Burgundy-born guide and sommelier with Safari Tours, who turned every drive through the Côte d’Or into a rolling seminar on history, terroir, and culture. Under his narration, village signs and vineyard rows weren’t just scenery — they became chapters in an unfolding story.
It reframed what wine could be. In cellars around Beaune and the Côte de Beaune, I felt how a few rows of vines and a subtle shift in soil could change everything in the glass. Side-by-side pours became masterclasses in nuance: one climactic, structured, and firm; another delicate and weightless; one village crackling with energy; another whispering with quiet depth. For the first time, “terroir” became tangible—something I could taste, sip after sip.
What lingered went beyond tasting notes. Conversations with producers and négociants wove stories of family, harvests, and legacy into every pour, transforming each visit into education wrapped in hospitality. Evenings in Beaune — wandering cobbled streets, lingering over dinner, replaying the day’s discoveries — offered a rhythm that stood in beautiful contrast to my usual “start-the-year-in-high-gear” mode. That pace became its own kind of first: discovery not just on the map or in the glass, but in the way I moved through both.
Greece
If Burgundy was reverence, Greece was pure revelation. I arrived chasing history—the Acropolis, ruins, myths carved in marble—and stumbled instead into a wine culture shockingly, thrillingly alive. Think of it as New World energy in an Old World soul: indigenous grapes that didn’t just survive millennia but are now rewriting the script entirely, claiming their place on their own terms.
Santorini was the epicenter. The island is almost too perfect—whitewashed buildings clinging to cliffs, the impossibly blue Aegean stretching endlessly below, sunsets that pause time itself. Our SantoriniLocalGuides revealed details no book could capture, leading us to vines woven into basket shapes (kouloura) designed to survive fierce winds—an ancient solution that felt startlingly modern. At Estate Argyros, we tasted Assyrtiko from vines older than many of the world’s countries. At Gaia, we sipped volcanic whites while sea spray seasoned the glass and the caldera turned each sip into a ceremony.
Milos, though, stole something quieter. Less crowded than Santorini, it offered a different kind of beauty—dramatic cliffs in burnt sienna and gold, hidden coves with water so impossibly clear it seemed to defy physics. This rawness felt unfiltered and true. The landscape demanded attention, forced me to slow down, notice, breathe differently. One evening, we stumbled upon a church summer festival—music spilling into the night, locals dancing under strings of lights—and for a moment, I was living inside Mamma Mia, not just watching it.
Greece taught me that “firsts” aren’t always about discovering something new—sometimes they’re about shattering what you thought you knew. I went searching for ancient stones. I came home obsessed with what was in the glass, the raw, unfiltered beauty surrounding every pour, and a question that wouldn’t quiet down: why not Indiana?
Ireland
If Greece was revelation, Ireland was a homecoming with a twist. I’d walked Irish soil before, but never through County Kerry’s grace. We arrived planning a “four-night dash” — an espresso shot of a trip compared to the usual slow pour — and discovered Ireland doesn’t need weeks to work its magic.
Killarney greeted us with cool, crisp air and a sea of green and gold jerseys; we’d stumbled straight into All-Ireland Senior Football Championship weekend, and the energy crackled. We ducked into The Stonechat for what we thought was a quick pint and stayed for the best meal of the trip: scallops and lamb shanks that demolished every tired stereotype about Irish food. When the bartender jokingly asked if we were embarrassed ordering half-pints, I knew we’d found our place.
The plan was the Ring of Kerry, but in true FisherVinoVibes fashion, we called an audible and aimed for the Dingle Peninsula instead. Masterstroke. The roads opened up before us, the views from Slea Head delivered pure Irish red velvet cake for the eyes, and for seven hours, we simply breathed it all in.
Then came Dublin, packed to the rafters for the match. We squeezed into the Palace Bar, where the crowd spilled onto the street, and every elbow-bump earned us a new friend. Miles along the Liffey later, after a nostalgic stop at the “Jedi library” at Trinity College (our son’s reaction years ago still makes me laugh), we capped it all with a whiskey-and-chocolate tasting at Jameson—as unexpected as it was perfect.
We left feeling less like tourists rushing through a checklist and more like locals who’d just lived one hell of a weekend. Four nights turned out to be more than enough to fill the cup—and then some.
Sedona, Stan’s, the Swing
Sedona
A quick trip to Sedona brought another first. We tackled Devil’s Bridge Trail at dawn, watching red rocks shift from shadow to fire as the sun climbed. The trail is a masterclass in desert beauty — every switchback revealing something new — and standing beneath that natural arch with the whole landscape sprawling below felt like stepping inside a cathedral carved by time.
We fueled up afterward at Mariposa Latin Inspired Grill, where the food matched the energy we’d carried from the trail. But the real revelation came at Arizona’s own 1912 Winery. Sampling wines born from local terroir — Arizona wine country hadn’t even been on my radar — reminded me again that discovery happens when you stop looking only at the obvious places.
Our final evening took us to Cress on Oak Creek at L’Auberge de Sedona, perched right above the creek with red rocks glowing in golden hour light. It felt less like dinner and more like meditation. The food was exceptional, but it was the setting that lingered — the way water caught the light, the way canyon walls seemed to hold the entire day inside them.
Stan’s
Sedona wasn’t the only quiet revelation. In Goodland, Florida, I experienced my first Stan’s Sunday Fun Day — great friends, dancing, laughter, and that rare ease that only comes when you’re surrounded by people who genuinely know you. It reminded me that some firsts are about grand landscapes and new wines; others are simply about being fully present with the people who matter most.
The Swing
Then came October 29th at River Glen. A seven iron from 153 yards out on the third hole. One perfect swing, one moment of pure contact. My first hole‑in‑one. In golf, as in life, the firsts that stick with you aren’t always the ones you plan for — they’re the ones that arrive on an ordinary Tuesday and change how you see the game forever.
Sedona taught me that the most profound firsts aren’t always far from home. Sometimes they’re just a few hours away, waiting for you to stop and look up. And sometimes they’re in your own backyard, waiting for you to finally pay attention.
Berlin
If the year began with a pilgrimage to the past in Burgundy, it crescendoed in Berlin — a city that feels like it’s sprinting toward the future while still holding history in its hands. I’ve visited Germany many times, but Berlin was a first. And true to form, we didn’t just visit; we immersed.
We anchored the trip with two incredible walking tours that peeled back the layers of the city. With Tina, we traced the scars and stories of Berlin’s heart — from the bullet holes still visible on Museum Island to the solemn quiet of the Neue Wache memorial. We stood where books were burned at Bebelplatz and walked the line where the Wall once divided the world. A day trip to Potsdam with Matti added imperial grandeur to the mix, proving that even in a city of concrete and steel, palaces and gardens still have the final say.
Colts in Berlin
But the pulse of this trip wasn’t just history; it was pure adrenaline. We were there for a different kind of history‑making event: the first‑ever NFL game in Berlin. The city was awash in Colts blue, and the energy inside the stadium was electric. When the Colts scored their first touchdown and techno legends Scooter performed live, the entire place erupted — a surreal collision of American football and German party culture that I’ll never forget.
Berlin was the perfect capstone to a year of firsts. It reminded me that whether you’re walking ancient streets, sipping wine from a volcano, or watching your home team win on a different continent, the best stories happen when you show up, look around, and say “yes” to the adventure.
Finally
Bringing It All Back Home
If Burgundy, Greece, and Arizona taught me anything, it’s this: they don’t just make wine — they embrace it. In Beaune, history lives in the soil. In Santorini, vines are woven into the culture. Even in Arizona, the pride in local terroir is palpable.
It made me realize that while Indiana has a growing wine scene, we need to own our story more boldly — celebrate what we have, support local producers, and build that same sense of pride. That was my goal at the start of 2025. After seeing how the rest of the wine world does it, it’s a mission I’m doubling down on in 2026.
A Final Toast to Tasteful Times
Speaking of local roots, I can’t close out this year without raising a glass to the Sadler family. For over 15 years, Tasteful Times wasn’t just a shop — it was the classroom where I went from “mystery jugs” to understanding terroir. They were the friends who poured wine in my backyard before they even opened their doors, the mentors who guided me from $10 bottles to Châteauneuf‑du‑Pape, the community anchor that made Fishers feel even more like home.
To the Sadlers: thank you for every recommendation, every laugh, every bottle that turned a Tuesday night into an education. You built something special. Chapters change, but the impact you made on my palate — family, and on this community — will last long after the last cork is pulled. Cheers to you, always! https://fishersvinovibes.com/2025/08/26/where-every-pour-has-a-story-cheers-to-15-years-with-tasteful-times/
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