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French vino features on every wine list in any fine restaurant in Europe. Italian clothes fill shop windows from Moscow to Madrid. German diesel engines rattle along every continental highway. Russian oil has heated all of our homes, albeit eratically at times. American cola is consumed in every nation. 


A Rover has frequented a roadside in every country where tarmac exists, its hazard lights flashing ever more faintly as the darkness draws in. Globalisation has allowed our strongest products to excel on an international scale.

At this point I have a personal yearning to compare and contrast the German Pumpe Düse system with the French HDi revolution, but I suspect some wine tips would have a broader appeal. We can have a mutual appreciation of other nations’ wine, although this may be easier for the English than for the French. Australians may gesticulate violently when describing the All Blacks, but only a foolish Aussie rejects a Kiwi sauvignon blanc. 


While Spanish trawlers on our waters may inflame some English sentiments, Rioja could well be the most suitable liquid to extinguish the fire.

This is great news for business travellers, as wine forms a reassuring beacon of continuity wherever we are. There will normally be an expensive Bordeaux or light Pinot Grigio available, be it in Bergen or Biarritz. Wine is a common link between people, too, an icebreaker for business dinners where IT consultants are desperately searching for a topic of conversation that doesn’t involve binary codes.

There are difficulties to overcome, however, especially when drinking alone. Ordering a whole bottle can be tempting when a single glass of the same wine bears a heavy surcharge, but it’s too much alcohol for any responsible businessman. Ferreting it back up to the hotel room in an inside jacket pocket isn’t good form, while leaving it on the table doesn’t constitute a generous tip, apparently. The only option is to share, but even this requires tact. Wobbling up to a stranger’s table with a half empty bottle of wine could give the wrong impression, while seating oneself next to a random soul at the beginning of the meal is also risky. Of course that random soul could be a diesel engine enthusiast, making a second bottle a necessity for sanity and thereby negating the whole point.

The only answer is probably to smuggle the remains of the bottle out of the hotel and seek out an appreciative gentleman of the road, a version of whom should be readily available in most cities. You might even be able to claim back some tax for the charitable donation, enlarging your budget enough to avoid the local plonk, which has probably remained ‘local’ for good reason.

Our entrepreneurial correspondent travels the world in search of business, soft beds and good breakfasts.