There are few things on earth as breathtakingly beautiful and enchanting as a silky-soft flower bud held aloft by a hand of tulip leaves. Maybe it’s the simplicity of it: minimal lines, gentle, flowing. Modest pastel colours. A shy, profound beauty full of promise and with no airs and graces. No sweet perfume. No grand, dramatic gestures. Just purely a visual feast.
In 2003, we were captivated by an enchanting display when we entered the famous flower market in Amsterdam. There was an ocean of flowers as well as bulbs from which to pick and choose – specifically tulip bulbs that almost made our mouths water. Seventeen shades of white, it seemed. And who knows how many variations of red and yellow and purple… and then, of course, the darker beauties: cobalt, navy, black. Delightful.
We loudly bemoaned our fate, knowing that we could take none of them home with us. The owner of the stall understood the opportunity: “I can hear that you come from South Africa – I have a cousin who lives there,” he shouted loudly in our direction. “And these bulbs,” he said, rubbing his hands, “have been approved to be transported to South Africa legally. My cousin often takes some back home!”
We were transformed into two children in a sweet factory. “What about the red?” “Wow, look at this blue, and the black…” In our mind’s eye, we could visualise our
