Why Fruit Mentos Never Taste the Same Again After Playing the Backseat Candy Game
Fueling up always means shopping at the candy rack by the checkout. Should I get a Bounty? Or liquorice instead? But there’s one type of candy that makes me turn green just looking at it: Fruit Mentos. There’s a clear reason for that: the backseat vacation game from years ago, and the carsickness that inevitably followed.
My mother filled the space between the front seats and the backseat with suitcases, bags and other holiday gear. An unzipped sleeping bag went over it, turning the backseat into one big lounge sofa. A linen bag filled with games and comic books for the journey hung from each headrest, and that’s how our family set off for the south of France, Spain or Luxembourg. I honestly have no idea where we were going anymore, but the journey was always long and the car was always hot.
Count all the red cars
Near Rotterdam, my little sister would ask whether we were already abroad. We counted all the red cars, played ‘I spy’, took turns listening to the tapes by Kinderen voor Kinderen and Abba, and played those little plastic maze games where you had to manoeuvre a tiny lead ball through a maze. Quite a challenge in a shaking car, so a few more kilometres would pass just like that. Idyllic, right?
What colour is this Mentos?
The big highlight of every holiday trip was always the backseat candy game. You need: a roll of Fruit Mentos and a sibling of your choice. One player keeps their eyes closed while the other puts a piece of candy in player 1’s mouth. Those rolls of Fruit Mentos contain candies in four different colours mixed together, and the question is whether your brother or sister can taste which colour it is. Guessed correctly? You earn points! That’s how my sister and I raced through entire packs of fruit candy.
Sweat, white, stop!!!
There was one drawback: I got carsick rather quickly. Spending a long time in the back of a hot car is no fun anyway, especially when you’re reading Suske & Wiske and playing patience games. Add a few rolls of sickly sweet chemical candies to the story and you can guess the rest: a white face, sweat on my neck, those waves rising from my stomach and a strained cry: Dad, we have to stop NOW! I always shouted that when my father was overtaking a convoy of lorries or driving through a busy city centre, so he could never slam on the brakes and give me some fresh air.
Unforgettable smell
Window open? Not too far, because then the road map would flap around and Mum and Dad would get a stiff neck. Look out of the window, my mother advised, and think of something nice; it’ll pass. But it never did. The result: a filthy sleeping bag, grumbling parents and many more nauseating kilometres ahead. And that smell of Fruit Mentos mixed with Capri-Sun, a handful of zwart-witjes, a boiled egg and a currant bun, which never left the car for the rest of the holiday.
So no, I’d rather skip Fruit Mentos.
