Is the the glass half empty or half full?
They say you can tell a lot about someone by how they answer this question.
Those who say the glass is never full enough but in the meantime let's empty it and have another ... well, you can tell a lot about us as well.
I'd recently bought shares in a duck-feather factory and made a little money; it was some kind of world, I thought, where even down was up and old jokes like this could be recycled with impunity.
In between discovering what kind of person I am when my glass was not as full as it should be, I'd noticed my wine rack was less interesting than usual and so were my friends.
Perhaps these two things were inextricably linked, I cannot say. More red wine was in order, of this I was sure. But the good stuff this time. To Bordeaux, then.
Arcachon. What a petite gem of a French commune. The cobbled roads, the trams, the rugged seafront, the gentle pier, the largest sand dune in Europe, the mellow climate, the pine forests of Landes and all those pine forest-related endeavours.
This enchanting town is known for its multiple landscapes and I can personally attest to this as I saw so many of them, usually just after closing time.
It was originally home to peasants and fishermen before becoming a money-making magnet attracting the unwell and the well-to-do. Kick-ass action novelist Alexandre Dumas once lived there and, with a face like his, why not?A few centuries ago, the terrain was marshland and the townsfolk went about their business on rickety, makeshift stilts. Indeed, during my week-long stay there I occasionally gave a similar impression.
I know what you're thinking. Arcachon, wasn't this the inspiration for the famous Star Trek episode, Return Of The Archons, about a planet where everyone is well behaved and civil all year long, apart from one day on which they go gloriously berserk on booze and debauchery?
Sadly no, this is just another internet myth. (In fact the episode was based on my hometown of Muizenberg and it's not just once a year either). Wine, cheese, salami and more wine. We lived in Arcachon like kings - my friend Ken and I, not me and Dumas.We ate duck for breakfast, duck for lunch, duck for dinner, duck for dessert, we had a great ducking time, no joke.
We even had foie gras, though I believe the process of its manufacture to be perfectly reprehensible. In my defence, I was somewhat in my cups and, with the general bonhomie of the evening, had mistakenly thought I was partaking of feng shui instead, convinced that every mouthful was making our host's apartment more spiritually harmonious for Chinese people everywhere.
One night, we were on the balcony, well into the Margot, Pauillac and many other wines we couldn't pronounce even when sober.Ken was telling me about digital publishing, blogging and other things I nodded my head to vigorously without fully understanding them. Easy money apparently, I understood that much.
On the way back from the toilet I saw my glass in the kitchen. It was larger than I recalled and filled right to the brim.
So much the better, I mumbled and necked the whole thing, nearly half a pint. Imagine my surprise when I saw my glass of red wine still on the balcony.
"What was that I just drank then?" said I to Ken. He looked in the kitchen and turned back. "That," he said, "was the duck fat from the oven."
Motivated by my humiliation in not doing a full pint like a real man would've, I wrote my first digital story about it, which originally went thus, "0100 11010 0110 01."Not bad for a first attempt I guess but I think the ending needs work.
• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photograph of yourself for publication with the column...