It's fascinating to me to watch the flora change with the altitude and the geologies evident in fields and road cuttings. If you have time to stop at all the cellars, you'll notice the flavours changing accordingly. And it's astonishing to discover how much the weather on one side is determined by conditions on the other. I'll never forget listening to salty old coves in the Victory pub on Sellick's Hill, overlooking the sparkling Gulf on the Fleurieu's west, talking about how they could tell by the winds there how much water there was in the Lake Alexandrina, forty minutes drive across the South Mount Lofty Range to the east.
The Lake's a lot more moody and soulful than the fizzy Gulf. Even the freshwater raptors - like the Whistling Kites - fly in a lazier, more laid-back way than the panicky Peregrines chasing pigeons and seagulls along the marine cliffs on the Gulf.
I resisted buying a bottle of that bottom-feeder Bordeaux. Forgive me. My heart, and meagre wallet, is pointed much closer to home. Perhaps I could be convinced if they'd had $14.25 on the bottle in Strath; I dunno. There comes a time, particularly when within a stubby-and-a-smoke of those stacks of uprooted vineyards, that the stomach simply won't permit the hand to stray to the money pocket.