Stuff

There is a lot of stuff in SA that I love but cannot get in Holland when I go there. Some examples:

- Crushed garlic in a jar. In Holland I have to get smelly fingers.
- Wood to make a braai with at every petrol station. I don't even think I can get wood to burn in the outdoors in Holland.
- Dozens of choices in moisturizers with 15 SPF
- Underskirts for dresses and skirts that are a bit too see through. In Holland they stopped selling them after the eighties I think.
- Cream soda and Sparletta
- Everything from Woolworths (I know, I've written this before, but its soo true)
- Cotton percale linen for the bed

- Parking in city centres
- Dippas crisps in the green bag from Simba
- Threesome chocolate from Beacon
- Fairview cream cheese with black pepper
- Zapiro cartoons (He is just the best)
- Mussels the size of a fist
- Carrot cake and Lemon Meringue pie. No clue why these are not widely available in Holland. I mean, Dutch apple pie does get boring after a while.
Of course there is more, but I know for a fact that most readers of this post don't even get this far.

A quick peak into the old days

(Dubble click on the picture to see a bigger version)

The power of long blond hair

(Blondes in Northern Europe are everywhere)

The impact of long blond hair in South Africa is many times bigger than in my native Holland. Spoiled by endless streams of girls and women with golden locks, the average Dutchie doesn’t even look up when a blondie walks past. In SA I find this to be quite the contrary. Natural (!) blonds are pretty scarce. So when you are one, like me, it actually works out as a benefit.

The other day I rented a trailer. The minute I stepped out of my car, ten guys (customers and personnel) turned around to watch me. The man, who checked the trailer I was to take out, had a smile on his face that could not be wiped of. Kindda got the feeling that he was chuft to get the blond-girl-job. After a more then thorough inspection of the trailer, he hooked on my car. I signed and wanted to drive of. But then the manager of the place stormed out and double checked everything. He even went as far as to jump on the trailer the see if it was secure enough. This was much to the amusement of another client who mockingly inquired if he would get the same treatment.

Besides this I had guards walking me down the street, a female fitting room attendant getting me three different sizes (while the other customers had to get their own), colour copies for the price of black and white, a customized fotoprint for free and innumerable smiles and glances.

To be clear; it’s not that I am vain that I notice stuff like this. It’s just that in Holland this never happens to me. So it must be the hair then, right?