Wednesday 9 October 2013

Holiday reds

Given that the bottle was now enjoying its third day, I didn't expect it to be amazing. The over-excited rush of the competing fruits from day one wouldn't be there. Nor would the mellowed out smoothness from day two, washing over you like the gentle strum of a guitar in the early hours of the morning at a party nobody's in a hurry to leave.

The best I could hope for was drinkable really. After my first uncertain sip I acknowledged the merits of a fair trial and started to go back for a second opinion, when all of a sudden: BAM! There it was. The signature farewell of a quality red: the sumptuous, lingering aftertaste.

As I scurried around our little campervan to locate the cheese and thereby placate my tastebuds (is it only mine who oftentimes beg for the combination?), I realised that our latest holiday, like those before it, had much in common with my liquid friend. At first, the new experiences are wonderfully overwhelming. With a gasp of awe, or a yelp of excitement, we welcome the assault on our senses. Then softly, quietly, the breathtaking view begins to fade in power as we become accustomed to its presence. Or the thrilling crocodile swim-past a mere metre away becomes a relaxing boat trip, our thoughts idly drifting to what's next on the agenda, photos (as opposed to limbs - fret not, dear reader) safely snapped.

We may think the experience is diminishing, but the delightful truth is that the real splendour is in the memory. How many times will we recall these moments and smile? Or recount them to friends and family, and watch the smiles multiply? And can we even begin to quantify how much closer it has brought me and my campervan companion, my husband of five years, partner of ten, to behold these beauties side by side, our experiences morphing with each recollection into some sort of joint keepsake?

And so on this note, as my glass drains, it seems fitting that I should propose a toast: to life's glorious aftertastes. Drink up friends; this is the stuff smiles are made of.









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