Seyit Karagözoğlu wasn’t present when inspectors arrived at his winery, Paşaeli, in 2021.
In addition to running his business, Karagözoğlu devotes much of his time driving across Anatolia, seeking to protect Turkey’s endangered winemaking heritage by rediscovering forgotten grape varieties. While on one of these journeys, he received a call from his brother warning him that the inspection at their winery was anything but routine.
Inspectors scrutinized Paşaeli’s operations for 13 hours, eventually finding a minor violation to justify their thorough probe. What followed was a grueling, two-year legal battle. Though Karagözoğlu and his brother were not convicted, they were hit with a $50,000 fine.
Their transgression? Producing wine in Turkey during a time when it has never been more challenging — or more vital.
Turkey’s wine industry is fraught with contradictions. While southeastern Anatolia is believed to be the birthplace of the domesticated grapevine, and the country ranks as the world’s sixth-largest grape producer with around 1,400 indigenous grape varieties, only 3 percent of the harvest is used for winemaking. Most grapes are repurposed for raisins or grape molasses.
Compounding this untapped potential are restrictive laws imposed by Turkey’s increasingly conservative government, which make it harder for independent wineries to survive. To exacerbate matters, climate change ushered in the country’s hottest summer in memory this year, hastening harvests significantly.
Yet, despite these obstacles, winemakers like Karagözoğlu are spearheading a growing movement to revive Turkey’s forgotten grape varieties and preserve its winemaking legacy.
Much of Turkey’s viticultural heritage was devastated in the early 20th century during the forced migrations and population exchanges involving Anatolia’s Christian minorities. Following the removal of the Ottoman Empire’s Armenian and Greek populations — who played a crucial role in traditional winemaking — the industry suffered, and the crucial generational knowledge tied to it was lost. Today, as farmers increasingly replace grapevines with more lucrative crops, native grape varieties are disappearing at an alarming rate.
This is a loss that Umay Çeviker is committed to reversing. An architect turned viticulture advocate, Çeviker co-founded Yaban Kolektif, an organization focused on revitalizing Turkey’s wine industry in partnership with small, local vineyards.
“We owe it to the Greeks, to the Armenians,” Çeviker said, emphasizing the importance of rediscovering and preserving historic winemaking practices. “We’re not only losing grape varieties and old vines but also valuable knowledge about their adaptability to shifting climate patterns.”
Another passionate winemaker dedicated to reviving these endangered grape varieties is Udo Hirsch, an 81-year-old German living in Cappadocia. With a quiet but resolute determination, Hirsch grows native vines in the region’s volcanic earth and ferments wine in ancient amphorae.
Under the shadow of a dormant volcano, Hirsch roams his vineyard, tending to local grapes like Keten Gömlek, a sweet yet slightly bitter variety; Bulut, named after the word “cloud” in Turkish; and Taş Üzüm, whose tightly clustered grapes resemble a clenched fist. These grapes are the essence of his wines, which reflect the region’s rich terroir.
“This land,” Hirsch said, “is a paradise of grapes.” However, this paradise faces threats from climate change, evolving agricultural practices, and government policies.
This year’s intense heat brought record-high temperatures that disrupted traditional growing seasons and impacted grape quality. In one of Paşaeli’s vineyards in Gedik Köyü, grapes ripened by late August instead of their usual late-September timing. Similarly, Hirsch and his small-team boutique winery, Gelveri, felt the consequences of the early harvest. Producing only about 5,000 bottles a year, Hirsch found himself picking grapes alongside his wife after their workers fell ill. “If we wait too long, the grapes will become too sweet,” he explained.
Beyond climate challenges, standard agricultural practices and bureaucracy also pose hurdles.
Early in his winemaking career, Karagözoğlu realized that Turkey’s heritage grape varieties were being overlooked. Determined to change this, he set out with his Italian consultant, Andrea Paoletti, to visit rural villages, asking farmers to let them examine their grapes. This grassroots effort allowed him to source and cultivate thousands of kilos of indigenous grapes, including rare varieties like Karasakız and Çakal. However, the journey wasn’t always straightforward.
In one instance, Karagözoğlu identified a rare grape variety, Koloroko, in a farmer’s field and began vinifying it. But when he returned, the farmer had cleared the vines to plant a more profitable crop. Undeterred, Karagözoğlu
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