Monday, 14 January 2013

season premiere...

one of my favourite things about my favourite shows is when a long awaited season premiere occurs. characters, stories, and immunity challenges that have been missing in my life are welcomed back with much anticipation, and usually a drink on-hand to savour the moment of the first scene and build-up to the first cliff-hanger/tribal council of the season. apart from a few blogs about meals had, wines paired, and travel memories inspired, little has been said about what is really going on in my life. basically, if you are a follower of the wtf-winetravelfood show, the first season finale ended with a big write up on how i am off to doha to teach wine studies to qatari airway flight crew; an infidel with zinfandel, if it were. as this is my first official blog of 2013, why don't i set up the scene for the season 2 premiere of "wtf-winetravelfood."

the sun is low in the sky, a pale amber hue stretching from the horizon across an unknown body of water. the sound of cackling seagulls can be heard in the background. panning back, we see a sloping bronze-coloured sandy beach. the absence of cawing crows, tall pines, and tidal pools tells us the scene is most likely not shot in the pacific northwest. an air of the exotic is created.

fade to an image of me hunched over my laptop. dressed in a slightly too-large-sized but very cumfy speight's t-shirt (it's an nz beer) and grey, aeropostal "have-never-seen-the-inside-of-a-gym" gym shorts, those in the know realise i am in the unofficial summer lazy-at-home wear. a faint bruno mars' "lazy song" in the background emphasises this point. most important, the shot-from-behind shows me reach to my left, returning to the screen with a glass of red wine in hand. we therefore know that, worse comes to worse, our subject has wine so he's doing alright. but what wine is it?

the sound of a tap at the door. "cabellero! sus toallas...". i get up, open the door, and retrieve towels from a dark-haired, young-20s man in black polo shirt and khaki pants. "muchas gracias," you hear me say, "no se porque no hubo toallas en el bano..." the conversation drifts off in spanish.

pan back to the lonely laptop. it sits atop lime-green bedsheet. to the right, an oxford mini spanish dictionary, and to the right of that, chilean pesos are organised in neat piles according to denomination.

chilean pesos? what of qatari rials? why the spanish dictionary and room service?

i guess this season is going to have its share of surprises and flashbacks.

stay tuned...

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