Dear Fanta (specifically the folks responsible for Orange Fanta),
I love you.
I hate you.
You are the devil’s own creation brought to Earth to rot our teeth and make us fat. When I’m at home I will shout down anyone who says you have any saving grace and are worth a sip. But when I’m on the road, I can’t stop lusting after you. I crave you in your supple glass bottle, scratched to perfection after being refilled a thousand times. I crave your 1 litre plastic jug that I can squeeze, when it’s nearly empty, to savor the last drops.
I’m your biggest fan and your worst enemy. It just matters where I am.
At the moment I’m in Nepal (away from home, in case you’re keeping track, you tricky little kitten) and I’ve already met you a couple of times. You’re just perfect for me in these hot climates when I’m away from home. I sing your crisp, refreshing virtues to all who listen on the internet and if anyone is lucky enough to be traveling with me, they quickly become a Fanta convert as well.
I thought it was just a fluke when we first met in Peru a year and a half ago. You were sitting in the fridge and the exhaust and heat of Lima had left an impenetrable shield all down my throat. The way you looked at me, and the way I looked at you. Cash paid. Cap popped. And there was no going back for either of us. You cut through that smog in my throat and brought salvation, all for less than 25 cents back home.
Since then we have had trysts all over the globe when the heat outside rises and I reach for you to bring me relief; Australia, Morocco, Kenya and Tanzania. Oh yes, you remember Tanzania, don’t you? Bottle after bottle, setting the worst example for my daughter. “Do as I say, not as I do!” is all I could muster in my failing defenses against your wily ways. I hope she heard me. I hope she never gets involved with a devil like you.
And that’s why, as one of your biggest fans, you would do well with sponsoring me as your first official International Fanta Traveler. You’re every where I go and I want to be everywhere you are. I might even get a tattoo if we meet up in the Philippines. You pick the spot, sexy. 🙂
Peter West Carey