Rome's wine river in the north: Trier was an imperial capital, and Ausonius' poem Mosella, written around 371, already praised the vine-clad slopes above the water. The vineyards are the steepest on earth — the Calmont approaches a sixty-five-degree incline — planted on blue Devonian slate that hoards the day's warmth against the northern cold.
The river's meanders turn hillsides toward the sun; the best carry sundials, and names like Wehlener Sonnenuhr sold, around 1900, for more than first-growth Bordeaux. Riesling's ladder of ripeness — Kabinett to Trockenbeerenauslese — was codified here, and the wines remain what they were: light, piercing, mineral, almost immortal.