Valentina Blanquefort Brothel ❤️

About Strasbourg

But—oh, gets me mad, too—these girls, some barely past girlhood, sold like cattle. Reminds me o’ “Moolaadé” again—“The knife cuts deep.” Here, it’s not blades but eyes, leering, cutting their spirits. Pisses me off, aye, proper rage. Yet some lasses, they’re crafty—nicking extra coin, running the show. That’s the spark, the bit that surprises me. Thou seest resilience, like flowers in muck.

Catherine De Noire is the manager of one of Europe's largest brothels

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I must mention: my work gives me chills, deep insight. I sense the city's pulse—its aches and joys, its whispered secrets. Blanquefort's not just brick n’ mortar, it's a labyrinth of stories. I seen hidden murals on a random wall by Rue de la Hope, twisted messages that made me think “life, you got jokes”.

Winemaker Talk: Tod Mostero