tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46872915633318492422008-04-04T17:58:09.078-04:00Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-84540520364385614862008-04-04T17:49:00.002-04:002008-04-04T17:58:09.109-04:00

The ultimate purpose of my trip to South Africa is to find words to the final chapter in my novel, but more importantly I want to see what television documentaries don’t show. I want to experience the country by not just driving through it but living in it and meeting the permanently disillusioned and hear endless white noise of promises that can’t be kept and statistics that mean nothing. I'll

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-74967836051112653812008-02-14T06:23:00.002-05:002008-02-25T16:49:09.729-05:00

Today was one of those rare occasions I took myself down to the beach for a brisk early morning walk. Most of England’s seaside towns are sparsely populated in winter and the wooden beach sheds beside the creaky old fishing boats, which are dragged up onto the pebble beach, were locked up till the weather brightens in spring. The wind howled along the deserted coast, causing me to assume a

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-34318578993278916212008-02-05T04:35:00.000-05:002008-02-05T04:38:14.342-05:00

Nowhere else on earth will you find so many beautiful sparsely dressed women, of all ethnicities, shapes and sizes (as well as the odd male and transsexual), who blatantly display themselves behind windows, offering sex for money. The Dutch are known for their practicality, open-mindedness and business sense. When combined with today's lax society, this culminates into a culture that attracts

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-63255231697933503162007-12-01T09:37:00.000-05:002007-12-01T09:44:06.757-05:00

I rang my neighbour’s front-door bell and patiently waited for the old dear to respond. A letter had inadvertently been put into my mail box meant for her. Mrs Rogers is seven hundred years old and permanently attached to an aluminium walker. She is stooped, very small, forgetful, glacially slow, interestingly malodorous and practically deaf. Then I heard her car – an old Morris Minor –

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-48096856970209456682007-11-16T17:09:00.000-05:002007-11-16T17:39:54.844-05:00

Starbucks in London’s West End is always crowded and finding a seat is a challenge. Lady luck was clearly smiling on me that day as a space became available. I nodded in greeting at my table companion and then continued doing what British people do best – ignore one another. I sipped my coffee and relaxed with a London Times. I unwrapped one of the biscuits I had purchased with my coffee and ate

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-53998168953847154702007-10-22T14:32:00.001-04:002007-10-22T14:37:43.867-04:00

You’d think that Brussels, Belgium has a lot going for it. It has after all more Michelin Star restaurants per capita than any other European country, it’s the briefcase capital of Europe, and it’s here where the richest countries in Europe enthusiastically cede their sovereignty to the EU, a body that appears to be out of control and answerable to no one. That aside, once you’ve done a couple of

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-59254069264555037932007-10-21T13:46:00.000-04:002007-10-22T14:39:50.381-04:00

As the road to Mombasa uncurled before me I became aware of passing increasing numbers of pedestrians, striding of to somewhere beyond the horizon. Curiosity got the better of me so I stopped by a roadside salesman selling second-hand toilets and quizzed him. In the next village, which was near 12 miles away, he claimed there to be a tribal witch doctor that had “… powers when throwing of the

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-54034596905057811552007-10-19T14:17:00.003-04:002007-10-19T14:35:14.606-04:00

“Come,” Farid, an elderly Marrakech shop-keeper implored, “I make beautiful Berber.” Never one to stand in the way of progress on went a rich cocoa coloured dress edged with tiny silver bells, and to cover my hair a sapphire blue silk veil trimmed with the finest wisps of silver thread. Farid brought it together below my chin and twirled it up around my head, draping it rather seductively across

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-6644556646183658822007-10-15T13:49:00.000-04:002007-10-15T13:50:49.265-04:00

I’m into power napping. Be it on aircraft, trains or more recently, behind the wheel of my car, whilst waiting for the lights to change. Some people simply should not be allowed out unescorted and I’m seriously beginning to consider myself as being part of this ilk. An incident I recall when travelling to London involved one such power nap. I’ll be honest here, one thing I’m not is an elegant

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-40475809779704316272007-09-26T09:11:00.000-04:002007-09-26T09:12:06.750-04:00

“When travelling alone,” my husband warned me once, “you need to watch your thoughts.” I never quite understood this until this morning. Well, I wasn’t travelling as opposed to waiting in line at the bank. For no reason I can explain, I began to think of a bloke I once worked with. Geoff would probe his ears with straightened out paper clips - and I’m not talking mere caresses here, he

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-55121080624105999822007-09-25T09:40:00.000-04:002007-09-25T11:29:13.439-04:00

Today I reacquainted myself with what could only be Britain’s most ancient elevator. It started with me fiddling uselessly with the elevator buttons which were obviously not connected to anything but my fraying nerves. After a few irritating minutes of me stabbing at numerous buttons then calling out to an unseen elevator person, the doors clanged shut. With a sudden burst of vigour, the

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-34119939728029490362007-09-24T10:15:00.001-04:002007-09-24T11:42:09.343-04:00

My husband was left somewhat ashen this morning. There I was, test driving a new Chrysler 300D through the fetching English countryside - in an abundance of varying shades of green and dotted with small farms, where geese and chickens loitered along roadsides that seldom saw a passing car. I was so taken aback at some of the vistas I would crane my neck and turn around in the driver’s seat to

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-37898905119310490422007-09-16T03:59:00.000-04:002007-09-19T03:22:31.239-04:00

Driving from my home on the coast of SE England to Liverpool in the NW I felt certain there is no landscape anywhere that is more collectively valued, more visited, ambled across and gazed upon, more cleverly worked, more exquisite to behold, more restful… than the countryside of England. Just beyond my front door is a handsome church that was built in the 13th century - older than most of

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-29955030007987265252007-09-13T04:22:00.000-04:002007-09-13T04:36:55.655-04:00

I went to McDonalds yesterday to pick up a burger and fries for my son. Having recently moved across to the UK from mainland Europe I am accustomed to dealing with bilingual people. I now stood before a McDonalds employee - a young man who had evidently invested a recent pay cheque in a very large tub of hair gel, whom I doubt was even lingual. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-73786376540578478032007-09-08T14:59:00.000-04:002007-09-08T15:19:24.570-04:00

London is an exciting, fast paced city, cultured and storied, and speaks volumes in the fog threaded low-lit streets of Chelsea or Knightsbridge, where you’re certain to find a street you’ll want to live on, a pub you’d like to get to know, and a view you’d like to call your own. Old diners where you can just have a nice cup of tea and a simple bun; medieval apartment buildings where pools of

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-38757201539776908042007-09-05T04:20:00.000-04:002007-09-05T04:21:18.392-04:00

Two established homes, all polished and squeaky clean, everything unpacked, ironing done, husband despatched to Brussels and I’m back on the job tomorrow. I’m researching an article for an international carrier’s in-flight magazine about visiting London (England) at Christmas. I’ll be staying at a gorgeous boutique hotel in Knightsbridge and will be visiting Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park,

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-45007331923564076412007-08-26T18:13:00.000-04:002007-08-28T12:52:47.352-04:00

It wasn’t meant to happen like this but now I have two homes – one in mainland Europe and one in the UK. Picture the scene: France’s Pet Reception Area at the Euro tunnel crossing to the UK. My car is idling outside containing two kids and four cats – a predelivery to the removal truck arriving. Frenchy looks at my cats papers and asks “… verr ur de udder pypers?” “I beg your pardon?” I

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-23322844047799845952007-08-16T13:21:00.000-04:002007-08-16T13:22:21.811-04:00

In one week I’ve been to Germany, twice in fact, on both occasions on assignment, then I returned home to Belgium for one night and have since been to the UK, also twice - to buy a car and jump through the various legal hoops assigned to those seeking to buy property abroad. Tomorrow I am again re-returning to England to collect my new car. In between all of this I’m trying to write a

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-9121317578847152732007-08-10T02:37:00.000-04:002007-08-10T02:48:16.089-04:00

A waif-like figure swooned by me in the hotel’s reception area, briefly compelling me to consider what I was about to consume for breakfast. I decided to forego a plate of cooked food, settling instead for coffee and a side plate of small cakes of rocklike consistency – you know, the kind you’d give to a budgie to sharpen its beak. One of these cakes contained sultanas, reminiscent of large fat

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-44833294927305732092007-08-08T19:13:00.001-04:002007-08-09T23:08:51.586-04:00

Driving to Germany this morning was tough going. It was only a two and a half hours point to point trip but when you're falling asleep at the wheel and your passenger is fast asleep it can become hazardous. After a day of driving to other destinations within Germany and photographing stuff along the way I collapsed onto my hotel bed tonight weary to the bone. In fact I fell asleep whilst

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-41177703104567120932007-08-06T20:05:00.001-04:002007-08-09T23:11:41.521-04:00

There's something quite liberating in nudity. I couldn't sleep so I crept downstairs, butt-naked to come check my emails and work a little more on the article I'm writing about NYC, then watched a bit of telly with a fresh coffee. A bright light sparked to life in a dark corner of my mind and instantly I recalled with startling clarity that tomorrow is trash day and the truck rolls up at 06h00.

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-78129647593750039542007-08-03T17:02:00.000-04:002007-08-09T23:12:44.745-04:00

Just got back from NYC where I did a helicopter flip over Manhattan and Lady Liberty, did the limo thing to a couple of hot spots, went to several jazz bars and a hip-hop church in Harlem, did time in the Bronx, tour of the designer stores in the garment district and returned with flu. For the past couple of days I've stayed in my crumb littered bed, surrounded by cats, paperwork, tissues and

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-42382221314695353562007-08-03T15:47:00.000-04:002007-08-09T23:13:38.004-04:00

This coming Tuesday I'll be familiarising myself with Dusseldorf's architecture - driving a VW Beetle cabriolet - the harbour district has some awesome buildings which appear as if they've been snatched from a Salvador Dali's masterpieces. And of course, being Germany, I suppose I'll need to critique several beer halls. From Wednesday till Sunday I'll be in New York City; and in three and a half

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-2558141817179645312007-08-03T15:42:00.000-04:002007-08-09T23:16:31.199-04:00

One or two of my editors have picked up on the fact that I'm pretty dangerous. Others cringe when they hear of the latest disasters I've unleashed on the world. My son reckons I'm not a freelance writer, more of a mercenary. It's somewhat troubling when I consider my previous life, when I was an elegant designer doll -- a picture of executive perfection in Gucci, Prada, Tiffany, Balmain; colour

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687291563331849242.post-36593557455913684092007-08-03T15:37:00.001-04:002007-08-03T17:35:46.937-04:00

It’s one of those rare sunny days in Belgium. The air is fresh and heavily scented with Jasmine. Early this morning Rosie (one of my cat’s) and I took a stroll down to bakers for fresh croissants’ - my daughter loves them. On route I passed one of my elderly neighbours who stood on his sidewalk staring fixedly at something in the distance. I enquired if anything was amiss. He told that one of

Cindy-Lou Dalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08966939557899264803noreply@blogger.com