This is putting ancient winemaking culture in the limelight. This is long overdue. This is mouthfeel just as much as it’s heartfelt.

It was our very first harvest. "Merweh always has separated berries. The light and the wind enter the cluster." Robert walks us through his everyday, still in awe of the intricacies of the indigenous variety he's picked many a time, still marveling, beaming at the vineyard he proudly calls his. It's land he merely supervises. He rarely alters, seldom intervenes. He encourages it to continue as it would naturally, as if he wasn't there to care for it. It runs freely. The land guides. Robert follows.

On your right: the largest lasting freshwater wetland in Lebanon, deemed one of the most important bird migration routes in the world. Among remnants of marshes and lakes, water buffalo graze and plunge. To your left, mere steps away from what 23 species of mammals call home, 50 year old grapevines have crawled 900 meters above sea level. Up ahead: winemaker Peter and his sister Aida, who've taken it upon themselves to fund and protect the vitality of the reserve. And to make wine that's solely from the land, without any additives. To them, one doesn't go without the other.

Think thousand-year-old cedars and the smell of juniper in the air. Think four-year-old vines that are wise beyond their years. Resilient, defiant. Rocked by stiff winds, blinding heat and frigid nights. Think low yields in rocky, unforgiving soil. Stubborn, kissable. Dr. El Khoury, cardiologist and winemaker, gives each limestone a peck. He also manages to extract two cuvées, against all of nature's odds, from land that shows no signs or forms of life—other than foxes, cedars and junipers. He kisses the junipers, too.

Our bus couldn't stomach it. There's steep—and then there's the road that leads to Qanafar. The reward? 360-degree views of the western side of the Beqaa Valley. Unobstructed sights onto panoramas of 17 hectares of family-owned and managed vineyards. Valley air that's not boastful, but celebratory. Open arms from not one, but two generations of gravity winemakers, prudent not to agitate the grapes, confident not to bruise their flavours. To be among George, Edy and Eva is to become fast friends—not to be cheesy, but to be truthful.

" 'Let’s go pick figs. The moon is good today,’ my grandmother used to say. That’s how my grandfather used to work, too. I entered “agriculture moon” on Google—that’s when I discovered that there was something called biodynamic. The grandmother, the grandfather method, without knowing there was a name for it. Fancy names are good, sure, but where those names come from is more important," says Maher. At Sept, the terroir takes the reins. Maher doesn’t tame it. He immerses himself in it completely, unapologetically, fearlessly, championing its nuanced character, grit, flaws and all. Un Vin de Lieu isn’t just a biodynamic approach. It’s wine made with intuition.

Four generations have led to Joseph Bou Sleiman's winemaking. He follows in the footsteps of his father, Victor, closely. New blends arise, and new techniques are developed over time, but the same deep-seated traditions remain. They're etched in stone. As is Château Oumsiyat’s calling: to make Lebanese wine accessible, approachable and affordable, the world over. Theirs is a wine that was designed with no particular clientele in mind—no carving out a particular niche, no narrowing in on a specific kind or level of oenophile. Theirs is a wine that speaks to all.

"We're walking on wine," says Joanna. We were also wearing wine. Our fingers were dyed from the distinctive crimson-coloured flesh and juice of Sobbaghieh, a native Lebanese grape historically used to dye vinegar—until came Joanna's father Fadi, humanitarian and winemaker. Fadi aided in repopulating villages devastated by the Lebanese civil war through grape-growing. Forgotten, abandoned, desolate land became vineyards cared for by families he encouraged to return to their homes in Ras el Harf, where Chateau Cana lies today. Joanna has spent recent years stewarding the brand's long-standing practices and French style of winemaking while gradually moving toward a new direction—one that's as collaborative as it is experimental.