(Min Vej til Rom) (In Danish, the city of Rome is Rom)

By Mogens “Mose” Hauschildt, 10 February 2022

When W.C. Fields said that “All roads lead to rum.” He possibly did not know Danish,

My Journey to Rum and My Life with Alcohol

Part I – My Early Youth

It all began more than seventy years ago, when, at the age of twelve or thirteen, I worked after school delivering groceries and helping in shops in Copenhagen. Denmark. In fact, I had already started at the age of ten, delivering milk in the mornings before school, and afterwards working for a range of retailers – from bookshops to wholesalers, greengrocers to hotels.

One of the grocers was no ordinary shop: it was Lothard Dahl on Vesterbrogade, close to the Central Station, and among the finest in Copenhagen. Later, he would become the merchant from whom I purchased drinks and cigarettes to resell to guests at the Grand Hotel and the Terminus, where I worked as an elevator boy. At that time, alcohol and tobacco carried heavy duties – up to 500–600% – for visitors, so there was real profit to be made.

Of course, a boy of twelve or thirteen could not ordinarily buy alcohol or cigarettes, but I had the privilege of doing so – and it gave me a substantial income at an early age. The guests wanted only whisky and cigarettes, and because I had to smuggle bottles in, I always chose Johnnie Walker. Its square bottle fitted perfectly under my arm, hidden beneath my too-small uniform. The same was true of cartons of cigarettes. Beyond spirits and tobacco, I also arranged theatre tickets and exchanged money for guests, which further increased my earnings. My loyalty to the hotels was questionable, but the money I earned was considerable, even better, all the experience I got in life, at an early age.

At the grocery shop, I stacked shelves and weighed out sugar, salt, and flour – everything came in fifty-kilogram sacks, portioned into brown paper bags. Because I had a neat hand (I even made extra money from calligraphy), I was entrusted with writing price tags and labels for the window displays, even creating arrangements for six large shop windows in a prime location. Occasionally, I served customers, though the owner, his son, and several assistants managed most of the trade. That was my first real contact with wines and spirits. I would read the labels while preparing the displays – I still recall arranging one for Bacardi and Soave wine.

At the same time, I attended a private school, København Undervisnings Anstalt, from the age of fourteen, which I paid for myself. Most of the students were adults in their twenties preparing for university entrance exams; only one other was near my age. During the day, I held two or three jobs, and in the evenings, at half past five, I went to school.

When I was fifteen, I worked at a wine shop on Falkoner Allé in Frederiksberg. My duties were much the same – stocking shelves, preparing window displays, writing labels and price cards – but I also delivered orders and occasionally served customers. The owner taught me a great deal about wines, less about spirits, but I was a quick learner and still recall those lessons vividly.

Some incidents remain sharp in my memory. An elderly lady once returned a fine Port or Madeira, bought at great expense, complaining it was “undrinkable” because it was full of residue. She had no idea it required decanting – the bottle was some twenty-five or thirty years old. Another customer bought a case of Grand Cru Claret as a gift for an American friend. On visiting the United States, he discovered, to his horror, bottles of the 1947 vintage kept in the fridge.

By then, I knew the names of Vermouths, Sherries and liqueurs, how and when they were served, and even the cocktails they were mixed into. My knowledge was not for drinking – I still did not drink myself – but to impress women. I already understood that rum blended well with many drinks. By the time I went to Italy in 1958, I was already familiar with Barolo and the wines of Valpolicella, particularly Soave, which was popular in Denmark.

At sixteen, together with a Norwegian, Edgaard Midling-Jensen, I established I.C.M.M. A/S – International Consultants to the Merchant Marine (a very grand name). As I was underage, my mother had to sign all the legal documents. Midling and I travelled through Norway and Sweden, visiting shipowners. Later, I went alone, delivering our milk machines (an invention) to ships in Barcelona, Genoa, Marseille, Antwerp, Rotterdam, and Newcastle. From ship officers, I quickly learned how much seafarers drank. When we began auditing ship provisions and had contact with ship chandlers across much of Europe and America, I learned even more, poring over invoices from vessels around the world.

Later, when I lived in Portofino, having left Denmark for fiscal reasons, I found myself restless as a young man. I worked for six months for a shipping chandler in Genoa, accompanying pilots to merchant ships, meeting captains and stewards, and taking their orders.

A curious, and rather hypocritical, tale relates to my own family. My mother drank little, owing to medication, yet she made spirits at home. She had learned from one of the most respected members of our family – a man who later became head of Denmark’s tax administration. In his youth, as inspector at Aalborg’s state-run distilleries, he had mastered distilling and secretly produced akvavit and liqueurs even while holding his senior office. At that time, home distilling was a serious criminal offence, with alcohol carrying heavy duties. My mother followed his example, producing spirits for family and friends at parties, mostly different liquors.

At home, when my own sons were growing up, we served wine at the table. Yet they confessed later that they had already drunk beer at their boarding school at the age of twelve or thirteen. I rarely drank until my twenties in Italy – neither beer nor spirits, nor even wine. I did not smoke and never did; I was, in truth, a sober youth.

After My Marriage

With my early marriage (at 20 years old) came a change in habits. At home, we always had several decanters in the lounge, though I still drank very little myself. My wife, however, liked an evening drink, especially when entertaining friends. At first it was whisky, later always a Gin & Tonic. It was part of her upbringing – in England, one went to the pub or had a drink before dinner. Even professionals and businessmen often kept decanters in their offices, something I also did later.

My wife studied at Le Cordon Bleu, and good food was at the centre of our lives. We dined frequently in good restaurants in London, Paris, and Geneva, pairing fine dishes with equally fine wines.

Between 1961 and 1975, in London, Geneva, Zurich and elsewhere, I was “educated” both in life, business and indeed in wines by sharing tables, for lunch and dinners, with aristocrats, captains of industry, bankers, and professionals. I built a cellar in Denmark, in my country place (also designed as a nuclear shelter), where I collected thousands of Clarets from the best vintages. For years, I drank only Bordeaux Grands Crus: Château Le Blanc, Pétrus, Lafite, Talbot, and Margaux, many in magnum bottles.

When my sons were at school near Montreux (several periods a year, as they also went to Hill House in London), my wife and I often stayed at the Montreux Palace Hotel, which had an extraordinarily large cellar stocked with pre-war wines. I bought many bottles there, later discovering they sold for six to nine times the price in London. These also made splendid Christmas gifts for clients. Customs officers at Dover never stopped my Daimler Mark X, even when I returned with a dozen cases.

Though not a whisky drinker, I built a large collection between 1968 and 1980, mostly from airport duty-free shops – fine malts and special editions, displayed in a special whisky bar at home. My main bar and true preference lie in Cognac, Calvados, and Armagnac, which I have had many of. Later, in Italy, we always ended a meal with Grappa. Living in Switzerland also introduced me to their wines. Over time, I began collecting books on spirits, especially rum.

My whisky collection (and bar) became a family joke later. My sons, at boarding school in Denmark (Herlufsholm), knew I never touched whisky, specifically opening these collectors bottles, so during their parties they replaced bottles with water, convinced they would not be caught – and they were right. When the fiscal authorities later seized our country estate, they took everything, including the whisky bar. One consolation: the lawyers’ faces when opening those “rare” bottles must have been priceless. My wine cellar, however, brought them real value and even drew the attention of the gutter press, as thousands of good wines just disappeared, somehow.

One of my son’s school friends often stayed with us in the country – Peter Sisseck, who later became Spain’s most celebrated winemaker. He would often say he learned much from my cellar. Today, he is the producer of Pingus, the most expensive Spanish wine of all, and is recognised internationally as a master.

In the 1980s, when living in Florence for years, I became close to several Tuscan winemakers. At Brolio Castle, I befriended the father of Francesco Ricasoli. Their family lineage stretched back to 1141 – nine centuries before my time. It was Barone Bettino Ricasoli who defined “Chianti Classico”. The estate had been sold to Seagram, a decision bitterly regretted. My wife and I attended many events at Brolio, and I developed a deep knowledge of Tuscan wines. I even foresaw the success of Sassicaia long before it became renowned.

Unrelated to wine, Bettino told me an interesting story about the Second World War. Like most aristocrats, he had supported Mussolini. Bettino was captured after the Battle of Monte Cassino but later joined the British as an advisor. During the war, the German High Command had taken Brolio Castle as their headquarters. Despite Bettino’s knowledge of the estate, it took the Scots Guards more than ten days to capture Brolio, with heavy casualties. Bettino’s mother and sister were still living at the castle.

When the Scots Colonel entered the Great Hall, Bettino’s mother was seated there. She rose and greeted him with the words, “I am a fascist.” Hearing this, Bettino feared the worst. However, the Colonel shook her hand and replied, “Madam, you are the first fascist I have met.”

Later, as Chairman of The Mayfair Society and the Residents’ Association, in London’s Mayfair, I got to know the CEO and some board members from Guinness & Co., which is now Diageo, the world’s largest spirit’s company. The old Distillers Company was somewhat connected with Mayfair for years. From these people, I learned about the profitability of operating spirit distilleries.

My partner and I attended so many product launches for drinks throughout the years, in addition to various distillery companies’ promotions, as Mayfair was the place to be seen. Considering we had 31 embassies in Mayfair, my partner and I attended many weekly cocktail parties at the embassies, where sometimes wines and spirits were discussed. Also, as chairman of the Residents Association, I saw the wine cellars of some of the most prestigious hotels, restaurants and private clubs in Mayfair and St. James’s.

Because we held many events as The Mayfair Society, all for charity, including nearly 200 art exhibitions in prestigious locations in Mayfair, my partner was asked by Downing Street to set up an event management company to in carriage inward investment in the UK. This resulted in many big events with up to 2000 people attending, ranging from dinners, balls, garden parties and large charity events. Considering the relative position (in society, from royalty to ambassadors, senior politicians, captains of industry, etc.) of guests, we had to serve good wine and food; the event was always held in five-star deluxe hotels.

Later, while living in Monaco and the South of France, I rarely drank French wines – overpriced for their quality, in my view – save for Rosé, Chablis, and Champagne, my partner’s favourites. Instead, we crossed into Italy to buy wines, discovering lesser-known regional varieties, including Nero d’Avola from Sicily, nearly unknown twenty-five years ago.

Part II – My Interest in Rum

As mentioned above, since my youth, I have held a deep fascination for rum; to me, it was an exotic drink. Possibly seen, the colourful labels on rum bottles with interesting names, when I was 12-13, working in a large grocery store in Copenhagen, after school. In the early 1950s, Danes did drink rum, even taken for medical purposes.

In 1959, when visiting Cuba, I had the privilege, as it was a difficult time in Cuba, of visiting the original Bacardi rum distillery in Santiago de Cuba (sadly, it was closed due to the revolution).

Later in the late 1960s, I still recall that one of my partners, Colonel Euan Inchball, was looking to buy a whiskey distillery back in 1970. on the west coast of Scotland. The owner, after showing us around the distillery, the stills, boilers, accessories and containers, said, “Let us now visit the real assets.” Thereafter, he took us to their storage of whiskey in casks. We saw a huge number of old casks, and he said, “This is my secret working asset, giving me year after year growth in value”. I asked him how old some of these casks of whiskey were, and he looked at me and said, smiling, “How old do you want to make them?” To me, this is also the case with rum distilleries. Rum has been the “Wild West spirit” for centuries.

In Cuba, Rum was not just a drink; it was a way of life. Daiquirís at El Floridita, Mojitos at La Bodeguita del Medio – both immortalised by Hemingway – were part of the daily rhythm. In those years, Cuban rum was already world famous, refined and distinct.

Everywhere, at the time 1950-60, also in Europe, when you asked for a Coke and rum, they served a little glass of rum and a bottle of Coke. In Cuba, they served a bottle of rum and a small bottle of Coke.

Later, in Barbados and other parts of the Caribbean, I learned how rum was tied not only to local culture but also to history, trade, and survival. The island distilleries were proud of their traditions, each with a story stretching back centuries. The more I travelled, the more I realised that rum was not simply a spirit: it was civilisation in a glass – carrying the history of sugar, colonial empires, the slave trade, and the sea routes of the New World.

Over the years, I began visiting distilleries whenever possible – in the Caribbean and Europe. Each distillery revealed something new: a different still, a distinctive style of fermentation, or a unique barrel-ageing process. These visits taught me how much artistry, patience, and science lie behind what many consider just a casual drink. When I was co-founder and director of Associated Financial Planning in London, the first HNWI advisor, I became financial advisor to several families of whiskey distilleries in Scotland, some very wealthy.

My personal library of books on spirits expanded, with rum becoming a central theme. I was fascinated by the way it connected continents: sugar cane grown in the tropics, distilled by Europeans, traded across the Atlantic, and enjoyed everywhere from royal courts to sailors’ taverns. Few other drinks so perfectly embodied global history.

In 2003, I heard from my British lawyer, Mark Stephens and my barrister, Geoffrey Robertson, about Martin Crowley, a Californian with one great idea in his life, who realised late in life that many of the American baby boomers would have had their first youthful bout of drunken sex after drinking cheap Mexican tequila. Now that they were getting old and wealthy, nostalgia might drive them back to that drink – provided it could be beautifully refined and presented. So, in the early 1990s, he co-founded with John Paul DeJoria a company to produce an exquisite tequila decanted in hand-made, numbered bottles and called it Patrón. Then in 2003, Crowley died – a heart attack at his villa in Anguilla, where his drinks company was based for tax reasons. He had left his estate to a trust to educate the poor children of the world. A legal fight developed and went on for years; however, in 2008, the company was worth $1 billion and was ultimately purchased by Bacardi. (My lawyers, Mark Stephens and Geoffrey Robertson, were involved with this estate and told me directly about this successful enterprise)

By the time I settled in Madeira, I was convinced that rum held both cultural and economic potential for the islands. Madeira had its own heritage of sugar and rum production, yet somehow it lacked the marketing flair of the Caribbean. Porto Santo, however, gave me a vision: a blank canvas where Columbus himself once walked. Here was the chance to unite history, culture, and craftsmanship – to create not merely a distillery, but a destination, a story, and a monument.

Rum had become more than a passion. It was the thread that connected my lifelong interests – fine wines, history, craftsmanship, and place. And Porto Santo, with its link to Columbus, seemed destined to be part of that journey.

Part III – A Few Observations

Looking back, I see a thread running through my life that links experiences across countries, careers, and passions. At first glance, my early involvement with wines, brandies, and even whiskies may seem disconnected from the idea of creating a distillery in Porto Santo. Yet, in truth, they formed the foundation, together with my good living through the years.

From Bordeaux, I learned how terroir, tradition, and prestige elevate a product into a symbol of culture. From Tuscany, I understood how innovation, even against entrenched tradition, can transform a wine into a global success – as happened with Sassicaia and the so-called Super Tuscans. From my time living in many places, including Geneva, Zurich, Paris, Monaco, and Florence, and indeed travelling to many places in the world, I saw how fine wines and spirits are also instruments of diplomacy, friendship, and business.

Most of all, I learned that behind every bottle is not just liquid, but a narrative. People buy the story as much as the drink: the château, the family, the soil, the heritage. Without this story, even the finest wine or spirit is just another bottle on a shelf.

Madeira has always had good rum – sometimes excellent rum – yet it has lacked the story and the presentation. I have learned through the years, from the arts, that it is all about marketing and brands. The Caribbean succeeded not only because of the quality of its rums, but because it tied them to romance, adventure, and identity. What Porto Santo offers is a story stronger than any: Christopher Columbus, who once lived on the island and whose voyages changed the world.

The lesson is clear: to succeed, one must not merely distil rum, but distil history, culture, and imagination into every drop, have a brand and effective marketing. This is what I have carried with me from a lifetime among wines and spirits. It is why Christopher Columbus World, and the distillery, can be more than a business – it can be a monument, an attraction, and a legacy.

Part IV – My Vision for Christopher Columbus World

Porto Santo is a small island, yet its history is immense. It was here that Christopher Columbus lived, married, and prepared for the voyages that would alter the course of civilisation. And yet, outside a modest house museum, this extraordinary connection remains largely unrecognised.

My vision is to create an elite monument: Christopher Columbus World, “ColumbusWorld”. It will be far more than a building – it should stand as an architectural masterpiece, a landmark for Porto Santo, and a symbol for Madeira as a whole.

Next to this monument will be a working artisanal rum distillery, uniting craftsmanship with narrative. Visitors will not only see rum being made but will also experience its history, its role in exploration, and its bond with Columbus himself. Rum will no longer be a product hidden away in export markets but a cultural attraction, drawing travellers year-round.

The site will combine three elements:

1. The Monument – An outstanding piece of architecture, designed to inspire pride and recognition. A destination in its own right, visible both from sea and land.
2. The Distillery – Producing rum of the highest quality, rooted in Madeira’s sugar heritage yet refined to world-class standards. This will not be mass production but craftsmanship, where each bottle carries prestige. The distillery should also be an outstanding piece of architecture,
3. The Visitor Experience – A place where history, art, and gastronomy converge. Exhibitions, tastings, and cultural events will ensure that Christopher Columbus World becomes an essential stop for tourists, cruise passengers, and residents alike.

The aim is twofold: to honour history and to drive the future. The Caribbean proved long ago that rum can sustain economies. Porto Santo can follow this path, but with a story no other island can claim – Columbus.

In this way, the project becomes more than commercial. It is cultural, educational, and symbolic. A monument to discovery, a celebration of craftsmanship, and a gift to the island’s future.

Part V – Final Reflections

When I look back across my life – from the cellars of Bordeaux to the vineyards of Tuscany, from the distilleries of the Caribbean to the tables of Geneva, London, Paris, Zurich, Monaco and Florence – I see a journey shaped by curiosity, craftsmanship, and culture. Wines and spirits were never merely drinks to me; they were lessons in history, geography, and human ingenuity. Each bottle carried a story, and it is those stories that endure.

Rum, above all, has held my imagination. It is the spirit of exploration, of the sea, of the New World. It connects continents and centuries, uniting agriculture, trade, and tradition. In Porto Santo, with its connection to Columbus, rum finds its most natural home – a place where past and future meet.

Christopher Columbus World is therefore not simply a commercial venture. It is the culmination of a lifetime of experience, learning, and vision. I believe that Porto Santo deserves a monument equal to its history – a creation that honours Columbus, elevates Madeira’s rum, and offers the island a new cultural and economic heartbeat.

If we succeed, we will not only build a distillery and visitor attraction. We will build a legacy: a place where history is celebrated, craftsmanship is displayed, and visitors from around the world can feel they are part of a story that began more than five centuries ago.

For me, this is more than a project. It is the natural continuation of my lifelong journey with wines and spirits – distilled into one clear purpose: to give Porto Santo and Madeira a monument worthy of its place in world history.

Christopher Columbus 1477 Distillery LDA – Home – ChristopherColumbusDistillery.com

Christopher Columbus World – Home – ChristopherColumbus.World

ColumbusWorld – ColumbusWorld – ChristopherColumbus.World