In the distance and on a clear day, the pot-bellied silhouette of Mont Ventoux blocks the horizon. Right next to it, the slender Dentelles de Montmirail are like little ochre battlements against a faded blue sky. At the bottom of the Vaucluse valley, the motionless ruins of the square tower of the Château de Châteauneuf-du-Pape watch over the vineyards as far as the eye can see. Here, the sensual hills are deceptive. The land is harsh, a curious geological melting pot, this terroir. Arid plots like lunar soil, piles of rolled pebbles from which emerge the gnarled bodies of the vines. Then, a few meters further, the land becomes sandy, sometimes brown or red, dotted with flint or sandstone shards.
At the beginning of summer, the heat is still lacking and the cicadas are sulking. In the heart of the vineyard, the Château de Nalys, one of the largest properties in the area, already resembles a buzzing hive. The cellars must be prepared, the grapes must be monitored, the next green harvests must be planned, which will allow the remaining bunches to gain in ripeness and concentration, the few leaves already yellowed by mildew must be treated… It has rained so much in recent weeks.
500,000 euros per hectare at least
Nalys is one of the latest conquests of the Guigal family, which is one of the most powerful wine houses in France. It bought the 53 hectares of the estate in September 2017 from the insurer Groupama, at the end of a negotiation conducted in the greatest secrecy. The amount of the transaction has not been leaked, but in the village some tongues are still loosened: here, the hectare is worth at least half a million euros… The family has solid financial backing, conciliatory bankers. After all, they only lend to the rich. Since then, the property has grown, a plot here, another there: now nearly 73 hectares in all, on the most beautiful sites around Châteauneuf-du-Pape.
Guigal nibbles, Guigal pays well. The local winegrowers applaud. After all, the Guigals are from the Rhone… Nothing to do with these foreign investment funds who dream of making a nice somersault or these luxury giants who only seek to collect the most beautiful nuggets, spend billions and drive up the price of vineyards. The family, however, plays the long game. Slender silhouette, raw jeans, white sneakers, Hugo Boss cap screwed on his head, the heir assumes: “Nalys is love at first sight. An incredible land”, confides Philippe Guigal, looking around for his wife, Eve. In the Guigal family, in each generation, it is the couple who speaks.
Jacques Chirac as a shock salesman
The story could have been different. The shadow of Jacques Chirac still hovers over the vineyards of the estate, the first traces of which historians found in 1633. In 1975, the owner of the Château de Nalys was dying, his only son had died, so he had to sell. The Shah of Iran would have liked to add Nalys to his collection of jewels. But Chirac, then Prime Minister of Giscard d’Estaing, vetoed it. Not a single vine in foreign hands, even if they were richly endowed. And there he was, transformed into a high-flying business tycoon. He had his idea: to convince the group of mutual insurers, the ancestor of Groupama, to buy the estate. The insurers balked, balked, but there was little hesitation when Matignon gave an order.
For forty-two years, Groupama managed the Château de Nalys. In fits and starts, without really investing. The wine was mediocre, the missing vines – those dead vines in a row – were numerous. The Guigals’ takeover was providential. They had a project. An international architectural competition to completely renovate the château and create a luxury wine tourism project there. Cost of the work: 20 million euros. And then, convert the entire estate to organic. “We know how to work the vines,” whispers Philipe Guigal, gently rolling a pebble in the palm of his hand.
The myth of “La-La-La”
In fact, in just three generations, the Guigals have built a small empire. A little over 70 million euros in turnover last year, 50% of which is generated by exports to nearly 140 countries. Nearly 10 million bottles sold each year. An offer across almost the entire price range: from wines at just under 10 euros in Côtes-du-Rhône to bottles that soar to over 500 euros for the finest vintages. In the United States, Guigal is the best-selling wine brand, all appellations combined. The success is not just commercial. “The intangible value of what they have created is exceptional,” enthuses Samuel Montgermont, president of the Rhône Valley merchants.
The names of the appellations where the family “works the vines” on its own land or as a merchant-producer are the stuff of dreams: Hermitage, Crozes-Hermitage, Saint-Joseph, Condrieu, Tavel, Gigondas… And of course Côte-Rôtie, with the “La-La-La”, the three legendary plots that are La Mouline, La Landonne and La Turque. Vines planted on steep slopes and left almost abandoned for decades and that grandfather Etienne Guigal and his son Marcel resurrected in the early 1960s. “The success of the Côte-Rôtie vineyard owes everything to the Guigals, and vice versa. They are the driving force of the entire region”, adds Samuel Montgermont. While most of the big houses have succumbed to the sirens of the new world – California, Australia, South Africa… – they have not been unfaithful to the Rhône Valley. “We still have so much to do here, no need to spread ourselves too thin,” promises Philippe Guigal, not prudish.
Parallel networks
Their method? “Each vintage has an identity within a shared vision,” dissects Yohan Castaing, wine critic for Robert Parker. Methodical work in the vineyard, long aging, between twelve and eighteen months. No en primeur sales. A drastic selection of grapes or wine that they buy as a merchant and which will then allow them to make their blends, particularly in Côtes-du-Rhône. “They pay a fortune, between 30 and 40% more than the cooperative. In exchange, the quality of what we provide them must be irreproachable,” says Damien Gilles, president of the Côtes-du-Rhône winegrowers’ union.
In order not to damage the brand, they have never agreed to supply large retailers, with the exception of Monoprix. And yet, every year, Guigal bottles are prominently displayed on the shelves of Carrefour, Auchan or Leclerc hypermarkets, particularly at wine fairs. “The brand has become so strong that it has to be at the head of the gondola,” confides the boss of a major retailer. And too bad if they have to cut corners. To dismantle these parallel resale networks, all bottles are now traceable. And unscrupulous wholesalers are immediately wiped off the map.
The unknown Trump
While the family is overflowing with projects – in 2022 they bought Château d’Aqueria, dedicated to the Tavel and Lirac appellations – the wine crisis is looming. As everywhere in France, winegrowers, large and small, are taking the fall in consumption head on. A lack of love for red wine, in particular, which has intensified further since Covid. In Côtes-du-Rhône, overproduction is estimated to reach 10 to 15%. With a drop in prices as a result. “While the vintages have not yet been affected, the bulk price of appellation of origin wines, which have large volumes, has plummeted by an average of 15 to 20% in the space of a year,” warns Philippe Pellaton, president of Inter Rhône, the union that brings together professionals in the Rhône Valley’s viticulture and trade.
Faced with this unprecedented depression, the Guigal heir has only one word on his lips: quality, a guarantee of value creation. A strategy that has a price, or rather a cost. “To do this, you have to invest. However, many winegrowers in the region have a knife to their throat and are even thinking about uprooting part of their vines or, more radically, going bankrupt,” worries Damien Gilles, from the Côtes-du-Rhône winegrowers’ union. Especially since new shadows are looming: the potential election of Donald Trump in the United States this fall and the introduction, as in 2019, of prohibitive customs duties on French wines. “We will do as last time, we will adapt by cutting back on margins,” replies Philippe Guigal, fatalistically. The luxury of a family that owes nothing to anyone.
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