WRIT LARGE: Ch 17, Part 1

Portable Magic

It feels a little like being back at high school when four tribe members we haven’t yet been introduced to return to the campsite and completely alter the dynamics of the group. The late arrivals are laughing at a private joke and talking amongst themselves, confident that everyone will want to be their friend.

For several moments, the spotlight is on them.

“Hey, they’re back,” says Jeff. “I was starting to think you guys had sold us out for a few bucks.”

“Nah, we’ll do that when we get back home,” says one of the tribe members, who has white stripes painted across his cheekbones looking every inch a portrait of Adam Ant in the 80s, minus the frothy white ruffles. “We’ll get way more for the full story.”

Jeff crosses the sand and claps him on the back in a genuine bear-hug. He turns to me and Olivia. “Guys this is Todd Herzog. You can trust him with your life, but not with your secrets.”

Everyone laughs and Todd shakes our hands with a wide grin.

“And these guys are Natalie Anderson, Kim Spradlin, and Jeremy Collins,” continues Jeff. “All Survivor winners. All great people. They’ve been hiking around the island, mapping out a couple of trails for tomorrow’s team-bonding activities. What have you got for me, guys?”

Kim and Natalie each hand over a sheet of paper and Jeff gives them a brief glance. “Great,” he says. “These are being locked away in the tent. Sorry, you might just have to sleep outside.”

I tell him that I am half expecting a ritual to be performed around the campfire later where we all join hands and swear to keep the island’s secrets or suffer the consequences.

“That’s a great idea,” says Todd. “We can all connect our pinkie blood to make it official. Even our blue-blooded royalty companions.” He winks at Sandra and Tony.

“In your dreams,” says Tony.

“I mostly dream about Pierce Brosnan,” says Todd. “Best Bond ever.”

“No!” Rob shakes his head. “Roger Moore was the best Bond ever. There’s no comparison, man.”

The discussion drifts along through Bond movies, the Kardashians, Met Gala costumes, and Dan Levy’s quote from the Netflix series Schitt’s Creek about being interested in the wine inside the bottle and not the label. I tell the group that if ever there was a scene I wish I’d written, it was that one, and everyone agrees.

The tribe members enjoy an easy camaraderie despite that their backgrounds are from all different walks of life and from different areas of the country. They’re connected by the TV show and here, they are all equals. They are all winners.

Tony sets up the fire with dry sticks and grasses gathered from around the island. He makes it appear the most natural thing in the world, building a contraption over the fire onto which he skewers the mackerel caught earlier in the day. He squats beside the flames, stoking them occasionally, and turning the fish, his cheeks flushed, his mouth set in concentration.

“He’s happy playing Dad,” says Sandra, with a nod in Tony’s direction.

Tony spreads his hands wide. “Just performing my royal duties.”

The others fetch large cushions out from the tents and place them around the campfire in a scene that is the perfect setup for an evening of ghost stories when the sun swaps places with the moon. I wonder who would be the first to start. Olivia is paddling in the shallows with Parvati, deep in conversation, their eyes on their feet. Rob and Jeremy carry out an icebox filled with beers and set it outside of the circle.

“Help yourselves,” says Jeremy. “I’m not waiting on anyone.”

To one side of the campfire, a low table has been set with finger foods: salads, cold meats, stuffed vine leaves, sushi, tzatziki, and other dips. There are tiny bowls filled with sweet chillies and pickles. Others with shrimps and crab claws. Glamping with style and a private caterer. Tony swigs beer from a bottle, while he barbecues the mackerel; he seems content with his role and unfazed at being outside of the group, a man who is satisfied with his own company.

I ask if this is what it is like when they are on the show, a group of friends connecting by the campfire at night.

“Yeah, some,” says Kim. “Obviously a little less luxurious.” She raises a glass to toast the caterers. “It’s a great feeling sitting around a fire and cooking food that you worked hard for. Plus, you need the fire for warmth – you’ve no idea how cold it gets at night, and it’s magnified a hundred times when you’re tired and starving.”

“The hunger is probably the worst part,” says Natalie. “You know, we took food and water with us today, but the muscle memory kicks in, and as soon as we left the camp, I felt the hunger gnawing away at my insides.”

Jeremy nods. “Makes you realise that no one should go hungry. No one. You hear that, Jeff?” he calls out.

“I hear you.”

I ask if running on empty drives them to act irrationally on the show, or whether they felt as though they were always in control.

“I think we’re always in control,” says Todd, “even if we’re not thinking straight. It’s a game. Even as a kid, someone tripped you up in a game and shredded your knees, you’d keep going through the pain, right? You want to win. No one plays the game wanting to lose.”

Which means, I suggest, that campfire friendships or alliances, only stretch so far, because there must come a point when they know they have to clamber over a friend’s back to reach the crown.

“True,” says Sandra, “but at least we’re all in the same boat. We all understand that the guy sitting next to us wants that title as much as we do, so I guess that’s why we hold something back. No breaking our hearts and revealing our weaknesses.”

“And no hard feelings when it’s over,” adds Jeremy.

Tony brings the mackerel to the table on a large platter and shreds the steaming fish with two long-handled forks. He passes the platter around and we all add some to our plate. It tastes like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.

Olivia and Parvati have joined us, and Olivia closes her eyes as she tastes her first mouthful. “Oh my God,” she says. “Paris, eat your heart out.”

I ask if the rivalry they experienced on the show reignites whenever they meet up, whether it’s instinct to feel as though they are still in competition.

“Sure,” says Tony, taking a cushion beside Sandra. I get the impression that the two of them share an unbreakable connection that even they haven’t acknowledged, because they gravitate towards each other like guiding lights in a heavy fog. “We can’t all be the alpha of the pack.”

“Which is why the title belongs to me,” says Jeff.

I tell them that at my Memoir Writing Retreats, there are always individuals who naturally adopt a leadership persona without even realising that’s what they’re doing, and others who are content to cling to the shadows where they feel more comfortable remaining inconspicuous.