Memories of distant shores

This morning I thought about travelling. I often do, especially when having my breakfast. A juicy grapefruit, that has stored rays of sun, brings forth memories of carefree days in a rental car, in an exchanged home, by the Pacific Ocean. I remembered the fresh date shake I had in the almost unbearable heat of Indio, in the Californian desert. It was made with dates from local palms. And the flies that were all around us, tormenting us, in the almost unbearable heat of the same little town, only years before. And I thought about the flat we borrowed in Cannes, right by the beach promenade, and the rosé wine I went out to get from the nearest wine merchant, wearing my new polkadot skirt, while my husband was making dinner. When showering, I could feel my skin being sore from the sun, the sand on the floor and the smell of my "soap and glory" shower gel.

The unexpected snow that hit us on the mountain before we started our descent into the hottest place on earth (yes, the Libyan record has been falsified since). The almost deserted resort by the almost deserted perfect sandy beach on the small Greek island in the Aegean Sea. I don't think the travel bug will ever leave me. Ever since I grew up in that small town where I let my mind carry me as far as it could at the sight of the tracks leading south from the railway station, I have nurtured the longing for the freedom that a packed bag and a travel ticket always brings. 

A blocked nose and some very expensive wine

My husband and I hosted a wine tasting evening last Friday. We had managed to come by two of the best Chardonnay wines in the world. And this in a country where sales of alcohol is controlled by the government. I have a rather stubborn cold going, and had to use some decongestant spray before our evening started. As I smelled the first wine, a Batard-Montrachet Grand Cru 2008, the first thing I noticed was an almost chemical smell, and thought it could be affected by the nasal spray. Others were however commenting on notes such as butter, fruit, etc etc. The taste was quite complex, and the aftertaste lingered on and on, but I was not blown away by this wine the same way the others were.

After tasting the other 5 wines, having a break, and then going back to them, a question was brought forth by another member of the group, and I will recount the gist of it in a very simplified (and probably incorrect) form here: if you were to drink one wine for an eternity, which of these wines would it be? I surprised the others by choosing the simplest wine of them all, an Argentinian wine. It almost fell flat in comparison to the others when I first tasted it, but later I realized that it was actually very pleasant and easy to drink, and I think I'd rather have that for an eternity than something which in comparison feels like a blow to your face. Others made the comment that if you are stuck with one thing for an eternity, it needs to be something which retains your interest, and gives you something a little new every time.

I don't know whether to be alarmed by my view on this or not, have I really become someone who just wants to ease my way through life without any challenges? Or have I always been this way? Maybe my life is presenting me with enough challenges at the moment, and I am therefore longing for some peace and quiet? I think I will try to store these questions and ask them again, as they point to something quite crucial in my view on matters.