I don't know why one would attempt to keep an ordinary Côte du Rhône for 36 years, but my uncle Theo did. Bless his recently departed dear soul.
Uncle Theo—a true uncle, actually (if you were brought up a good South African kid everyone is called "Uncle"; except the "Aunts", generally)—is the one responsible for introducing me to wine, and he kindly left me what remained of his collection.
So I am currently, and with increasing amazement, wending my way through the geriatric ward.
My first encounter was with a 1969 Zonnenbloem Cabernet. An almost certainly doomed little affair starting off on a very bad footing: My mother owns the crappiest corkscrew imaginable—don't, ever, buy a solid spiral corkscrew!—and 40 year old corks demand tender loving nursing care at the best of times.
Having, in due course, crumbled the cork from the bottle, I poured myself a glass—and immediately cheered up. The wine, though quite terra cotta at the rim, had nonetheless managed to retain a bright garnet core and looked very much alive—much to my surprise. South African wine before the mid 80's paraded far more misses than hits, and certainly very, very few wines for the long haul. And this wine was almost as old as I am. Not, normally, much cause for celebration.
