Mays wine journey

“How many packages fit exactly in that suitcase?” The sentence: I’m going on a wine trip and I’m bringing, has been filled in clearly by all the guests in different ways. For the men, it mainly means practical items and a swimsuit, while we women aim for at least three outfit changes a day and yes, wearing the same bikini twice, that’s just so boring.

Stop gossiping

I believe they find it entertaining. And strange. And then we don’t even get to the phenomenon of photography. That it has to be done so often. That we want to be in the spotlight. That the gentleman in the green short-sleeved shirt doesn’t necessarily have to be in the background and whether everyone could please stop gossiping, because there’s going to be vlogging.

About love with an end

I see our slightly older male travel companions looking at us with a mix of amusement and fatigue. But when we sail on a Wajer boat towards Saint-Tropez and lie down on the deck with wet, sticky hair and a clingy swimsuit, those outfit changes don’t matter as much anymore. We talk about babies, about people we had to miss too soon, and about that love that turned out not to be infinite. A small boat picks us up from our ship and we walk barefoot (look, this is where the boys are separated from the men: if you reach Club 55 from the water, you’re doing well) with a few hefty bottles of AIX under our arms towards our table.

If they can have a sip too

I hear the voice of my friend’s father in my head saying: “Aren’t these people supposed to be working?” Apparently not. It’s Monday and life is good. Since we are invited by AIX, it’s of course unthinkable to consume any other beverage. AIX is not on the menu at 55, so we brought it ourselves. A little corkage fee and no one has a problem with it. But then it happens. Somewhere between the langoustine and the steak tartare we get tapped on the back. Dutch people. A friendly chat follows. But then the little monkey crawls out of the sleeve. What we are drinking that is so nice and whether they can have a sip of it too. Since it seems a bit rude to pour this wine that isn’t on the menu in front of the waiter for others, a discreet action follows. Literally under the table and behind the elbows, the soft pink juice finds new enthusiasts. We toast and cheer and beg that this day knows no end.