The new word in our vocabulary is Fanta, the fizzy drink in a bottle or a can visible at a hundred yards due to its neon orange color. I'm not sure how they get that color and I'm not sure I want to know, but to a traveling person with traveling problems, if you get my drift, Fanta is a Godsend. Where nothing else appeals to the appetite, the libation holds powerful curative properties. Having an almost mesmerizing attraction for us, we dole out the magical elixir in small doses like medicine and it never ceases to deliver on the promise of a settled tummy, if for only a little while. It has become the cure-all for everything, sort of like Windex, but better tasting. In fact, few things send Craig into transports of joy like Fanta.
On the look-out for Fanta, Craig spotted the first bottle on a foray into Cape Coast. A touristy cafe advertised drinks. As we looked over the menu, we spotted the cases of empty Fanta bottles stacked by the door. On inquiring we discovered that yes, indeed, Fanta was on the menu. We decided we'd split one because of the sugar whallop, but that was a great drink-cold where nothing else was and hydrating for the moment. We drank our Fanta with the obligatory straw and finished it off in nothing flat, returning the empty bottle to join its mates in the case by the door. We never even sat down.
Since then I've discovered a tiny shop outside the gates that sells the drink, but I've cleaned her out for the moment. The guard at the school gate said one of the students sells Fanta as a side-line, but I haven't seen any Fanta selling students yet. Nancy, our wonderful Matron produced 7 bottles miraculously one day. We have been rationing those bottles for our last week here in Cape Coast.
I wonder if Fanta counts as a fruit. Sort of like ketchup counts as a vegetable.