Campfire stories…the travels continue.

Tags

campfire tales, fisherman's stories, free range lion, wilderness trail

Just like fisherman’s stories, campfire tales are like cordial,
a small amount of concentrate and and a lot of filler.
(Red wine was our filler of choice).

The red, always at the ready!

So … there we were, our first night on the wilderness trail
and Reggie, the Survivor of 7 previous wilderness trails and
with many years of stories under his belt,
is keeping John and me spell-bound with stories of free-range Lion,
Hyena and Jackal invading various camp sites on countless occasions.

Jackal, camp anions.

One incident that made me more wide-eyed that Hotel Paradiso
was one night a few years ago on a previous trip,
when he woke up to feel a lion digging under his tent.
The Lion, according to Reg, was looking for warmth
and had found it, centimeters away from the pop-up tent.
Exciting…
(I don’t think so)
True story.
Reg called to his buddy in the other tent for back-up,
but there was no response,
just a lot of snoring.
In desperation and as per their camp rules, he leapt into his car
(parked with the door at arms reach away from the tent zip,)
and chased the lion and his wives out of the camp.

Always sleep with the car door a meter away.Even in daylight!

So, with that story in mind, on our first “wilderness” night,
we took our head torches (thank you Christine and Gavin),
and bolted for the bushes for a late night P and teeth clean,
then plunged gratefully into our paper thin but pristine
tent, serenaded only by Jackal in the far distance.

There is little that beats the quiet of a bush night,
the dazzle of the millions of stars and the build up of storm cloud.

Sunset.

Thank goodness we kept our fly sheet on, as fortune
smiled on the dry bush and that night we had just enough rain
to wash away the dust and lay a new and fresh ‘canvas’ in the sand.

Rain on our tent.

All the tracks from previous nightly visitors disappeared
and the pre-storm heat was relieved.

At 5 a.m. the next morning it happened.
The most unmistakable and fear inducing sound blasted me
into wakefulness, it shattered the silence and had me quivering
in my sleeping bag.
Oh @#$% @#$%^^& I think, There is a lion in Reggie’s tent,
Maybe it has eaten him already, oh lordy lord…what to do?
Wake John up…
(he had done all the driving for 3 days, no lion
was going to disturb his sleep, also he is deaf in one ear
which is very helpful in big predator country!)
Suddenly I heard another start-up and roar, Reg had done the leap
and was escorting Simba out of the camp area, Jeep style
wearing his protective Simba t-shirt, and armed with his catty.

Our very own David and Goliath situation.
We too quickly got into our vehicle, but sadly missed the action,
the Kalahari lion had been “moved on” and all that was left were
virgin tracks in the sand around the tents, tracks of lion,
hyena, giant millipede and aardvark.

Fresh as they come.

And a slightly depleted supply of adrenalin.

I promise I will always listen to fisherman’s stories
and campfire tales in a different light.

Songolola.

Not torch light though.

From big cats to catties, the travels continue.

Tags

big cats, Botswana, camping, gold sands, Kgalagadi, leopard, Mabuasahube

After our extraordinary experience at ‘Hotel Paradiso’
John and I left the town without a backwards glance,
(I didn’t dare to have a last look, who knows what other
scary sights we might have overlooked!)

Which window would you choose?

We were headed for the cleanest and most simplistic
accommodation I have ever enjoyed before, red sand,
a tree or maybe two, a circle of stones to build our own cooking
and safety facilities, no fences, no defenses.
Our very own Paradiso, Botswana Wild Style.
But let me not get ahead of myself!
We drove to Kuruman, a small town in the Northern Cape
where we were meeting up with Reggie, the most fearless person
I have ever spent any time with.
I discovered at this point that we were traveling in the worlds
largest sand mass, and the vegetation and colours supported
this fully. Reds, Oranges, Golds…such beauty.
Camping for the first night of our trip
was a totally fabulous experience at ‘Red Sands’,
a reserve run by very ordered and solid Germans.
Clean took on a new meaning
and suddenly the adventure became do-able…
until at team talk-time (The team ‘Simba” T shirts
were handed out and do’s and don’ts discussed.)
Reggie was in charge as this was his 7th trip into the wilderness
and therefore knew what to expect…possibly.
But when we were told that the time had come
to collect  small round pebbles and were
handed our ‘security system,’
a catapult and and a cloth bank bag for the pebbles,
The penny dropped.
Wild, very wild camping.

We entered Botswana through a little know and seldom used border post,
McCarthy’s rest a new and lonely sentry post with a great welcoming team,
(I almost mention the Gupta wedding guests but think I’d better not!)
and began the most extraordinary drive, on a road which is referred to as
‘a cutting’, a huge swathe of sand with many vehicle tracks
but not another traveller in sight. 50 kms of thick sand…in 90 minutes,
a baptism by sand!
Fortunately Reggie likes to drive fast, as we were traveling behind him
and we squeaked into the camp gates 5 minutes before the gates closed.

Phew!
Rushing to set up camp in Mabuasahube before sunset, we passed a
Leopard, a leopard! It was just sitting chilling, my first ever sighting
but no time to stay..
Setting up camp in the dark is the first don’t on the list.
And so it is in the natural world, you never know what might happen, or who might come to visit?
Our new neighbours,
a ground squirrel, a jackal and a brown hyena, not to mention a cheeky hornbill!

With the anticipation of a 2 night stop after 3 full days on the
road and with our camp fire blazing, we settled down
with a Kgalagadi sunset and a glass of good red.
To life! To a new day and to another adventure filled day.

The wilds of African life, tigers too!

We are home… Safe and sound, and with as is inevitable after a gypsy journey such as we have just experienced, many stories and adrenalin fueled events that will keep our campfires burning for years to come. Let me begin at the start.

After a hiccup with the car we got to our first night stop well after dark but no problem, accommodation and meals were pre-booked, on the recommendation of a reputable birding web site. Brandvlei has but one hotel, to save the identity of the owners though, I shall call it “Hotel Paradiso”. Nothing could ever have spurred me on to begging for my tent and spade more than H.P.

Nothing. Retro took on a whole new meaning, bare wired reading lamps, with no light bulb, carpet on the walls, shell pink faux satin frilly curtains and a crack in the basin from a-z. I shall remain quiet about the bath. We didn’t dare venture near it. And that was just in the first 30 second survey. It got better (or worse, depending if you see things as half full or half empty). We were rushed into the dimly lit dining room…for “the wife’s cooking” and were greeted by our first big cat sighting. 2 vast tigers, reclining on couches, Faux came to town many years before, via China. Being a vegetarian sometimes has it’s benefits, Frozen peas, carrots and fried onions, topped with greek yogurt.
Interesting.
John had to tackle something meaty (though definitely not stuffed tiger) swimming in a pool of grease.

“Would we like Breakfast in the morning?” Uummmm..No, no, no, thank you.

The proprietor assured us that they were mid-renovations,even though there was absolutely no signs of fresh paint or lightbulbs or clean anything. At least the sheets were snowy white. The cigarette ash and discarded earphones next to the bed didn’t bare notice.

I suppose a bit like plans to redevelop Pompeii, some plans are just not realistic, no matter how ‘cool’ retro might seem. Like Pompeii this one needs a bit of natural assistance. We crept out of there early the next morning having paid a Kings rand+sum for faux everything. I have never looked forward to real big cats and a tent before, but seeking a positive spin, nothing could be more scary than “Hotel Paradiso”.

Ooops….

This morning we were meant to be on the road before the birds woke up,
to start our much anticipated trip to the Kgalagadi,
but ooops!
No matter how prepared for life we believe we have tried to be,
there will always be a little ‘God-humour’ to sober us up and remind
us that we really are not in charge here.
Yesterday it was John’s health at stake, that had been temporarily
patched with a band-aid but now we are addressing another band aid moment,
although our vehicle has been totally overhauled and serviced for
this exciting bush-wacking trip, seemingly it also needs a new heart valve,
in the form of a starter motor.
Having packed the tent, water bottles, food and general equipment,
Like an obstinate child refusing to get out of his p.j ‘s
the car, dressed in all his finery refused to start.
Big oops.
Life is a funny thing…we just have to remember to keep smiling;
and maybe send up a few deeply respectful prayers and an SOS for good measure.

Blooming wonderful.

Tags

friendship, garden, plants, trees

Today, I had the most wonderful walking companion
and I realized how many similarities there are between gardens
and friendship.
Both take years to cultivate, from a tiny seed grows a huge friendship
but there will always be a need to look after and cherish both.
Compost and water to a plant is equivalent to thoughtfulness and love
for a friend, not to mention sunshine, I think both need a solid dose of that.
In the garden there are plants that have been there for years and just remain
solid and unmoving, even if you neglect them for a day, a week or a month.
Some plants sadly never flourish, some succumb,
but we tend and love them nonetheless.

There are the annuals,
they come and go and we love them for what they bring
to life for that period. They grow quickly, bloom and then die back,
leaving us with happy and colour-filled memories but never a sense of loss,
we knew they were only passing through.
The perennials live on a bit, sometimes surprising us with their hardy ways
and eventually we just love that they are still growing, even if they
are becoming woody.
Some plants send out ‘runners’ in all directions,
in the same way as some friends
create links to other like minded people.
Invariably the ‘runners’ grow close to the original plant,
so we always know where to find them.
There are wonderful surprises that grow from difficult times,
like the blooms that swiftly appear after fire or flood.
So too do people miraculously enter your life
at times when all seems to be lost.
Sadly from time to time there are weeds that come through, leaving
only a short lived hole where it had been.
Then there are those that flower and blossom abundantly and often,
they fill everyone with warm and fuzzy feelings always,
never seeming to have been anything other than spectacular.

But the ever memorable inhabitants of the garden for me are the trees.
The old, regal and ever growing trees that each year get more substantial,
offer more shade in summer and protection from the rains in winter.
Those same trees that you have loved since first you came to know them
and become the reason you love that garden.
Likewise, those friendships,
the ones that have endured the hard times and flourished
in the good times are what makes life so beautiful,
to be able leave the garden and return 15 years later,
to find that the same tree is still flourishing
even though it’s boughs have been pruned
and the storms have battered and reshaped it.
It is still standing, as majestic as ever.
I walked with one of those strong and dependably ‘trees’ today.
It was perfect. Thank you.

Rainbow heritage.

Tags

blue blood, Cape Town, centenary, Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, Monarch, Rainbow

Whilst it is said that monarchs and their heirs and spares have blue blood, I can’t help but feel terribly sorry for them.

I always knew that they were on one of the most restricted social diets in the world but really … what happened to all the other colours of the rainbow?

In Cape Town we have one of the most colourful political, economic and creative societies in the world but that is before we have begun to take note of our surroundings. Colour, colour everywhere and as many shades and tones of each as is possible to count.

Is it any wonder then that we Capetonians have rainbow blood coursing through our veins? Just one visit to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens at virtually any time of the year will convince you that there could never be another city in the world to beat this one. From deep Magenta through the spectrum of colours to Indigo and Violet, they are there, and all the shades in between. Yesterday I went for the best kind of walk, the first of the autumn rains had set in for the day and the gardens were virtually deserted, the tourists had headed for the glass house and only the occasional lone walker and resident Guinea fowls, Egyptian geese and gardeners were out in the rather ‘moist’ conditions.

The flowers were glowing, dripping with crystal-like droplets brought by the rain. Nothing was going to rain on their parade, in fact the dulled down colours of the sky were the perfect foil to show off their best faces.

The smells in the forested areas reminded me of my childhood, growing up in England, where my parents would take us walking in the mossy, humus rich woodlands. ‘Delicious’ is the only word I can find to describe the smell that come back to visit me all these years later.

This garden, that celebrates it’s 100 year anniversary today, with a traditional Garden Tea party for all it’s Botsoc members, must be one of our most remarkable treasures, open for all to see and enjoy. For all who live in the shadow of Table Mountain, who have rainbow heritage as our greatest heirloom, my hope is that our rainbow blood will forever be passed down from generation to generation, for 100 more years to come.

And then another 100.

The wind beneath my wings.

Tags

aloneness, badges and bills, Bette Midler, dis-ease, Dr, fibromyalgia, mental disability

Two years ago life took on the biggest and most challenging task to date,
a journey of self discovery and acceptance began with the daily lesson,
“To be with what is.”
I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia,
seemingly a chronic state of physical dis-ease, unrelenting pain
and to a degree mental disability, as huge fatigue settled in.
This has without doubt been the biggest challenge of my life as an active
and very demanding life quickly became a very quiet and self reflective time.
Also as a runner realistically it meant big change.
From plus or minus 50kms of running a week to 0…
BIG Change indeed.
From full time illustrating to not being able to open a clothes peg
with my dominant hand, these have been the daily tasks to overcome.
From Dr. to Dr. test to test, physiotherapist to chiropractor,
specialist to alternative medicine… I have the badges and bills.
But before this begins to sound like a violin concerto,
this is the point of reflection that made me want to share this time
with you, always there has been an angel in the wings,
always there has been a sight to remind me how many people have
so much bigger mountains to climb, so much harder roads to travel,
that there is always the little voice in my mind,
(that of my kids origin I am sure) which just said it so simply,
“deal with it” or in contemporary language “just suck it up.”

And so I hit my solitary “Road less travelled” and walked, explored,
smelt many roses (and photographed many natural gems.)
I have discovered new wonders, learned to love again this magnificent city of ours
and did things on my own with such ease as I got to grips with the challenges.
This week I found the moon floating in a canal,

a forest of trees on a beach
and enrolled my first group of drawing students.
One amazing week,
I have tackled my first delicate drawing,
found such solace in the mighty pencil
and went to a movie for the first time on my own,
(something I never believed I could do!)

But this is the acid test, today I dug into the darkest part of my cupboard
and hauled out the ‘on sabbatical’ running kit,
and with footwear intact, felt the joy of “The wind beneath my wings.”

But here is the thing, I have found home, it is inside of me,
so simple and yet so hidden from view by the business of life.
It is inside of all of us.
Running with the wind, I sang as I ran.
(Though also as my kids would remind me, nothing like Bette Midler!)

“Thank you, thank you, thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings”
Now it is time to soar, like an Eagle, so high I can almost touch the sky.
Thank you, the person who found my missing link, thank you.
You are the wind beneath my wings.
Never say never.

Bad hair day in Africa.

Tags

Aloe, bad hair day, Quiver tree

I needed a smile and I found it in the most unexpected place!
As always happens with me I get to a point of no return with my hair
and have been known to take a pair of scissors to my head, or worse,
to my hair stylist’s horror, a large bulldog clip to my mop,
so when I came across this Aloe that is a North facing beauty
I had to smile…. a LOT!

Thank you Aloe, you made the day.

As did your bigger sister,
I quiver at your beauty.

Following in the shoes of the fisherman?

Tags

abuse, emotional, matriarchy, patriarchy, physical, Pope Benedict, rape

We are facing a world filled with much pain and suffering,
In this country alone, one in three women
will be raped in her lifetime.
Every 4 minutes a woman is raped in South Africa.
Sexual, physical and emotional abuse is rife.
Children are not safe,
women are restricted in their movement both day and night
and there is no sign of any change at all,
in fact the statistics are getting worse.
We are no better as a human race than mediaeval man was,
we seem to have learned nothing at all
when it comes down to respect for other,
least of all respect for the female person
who’s uterus is the vessel for the next generation.
Women are still victimized
by a vehemently patriarchal society,
a society that says one thing but does another.
Realistically, there is little respect for the matriarchy,
women seldom have their voices heard and reacted upon.
It is time for a big change, a very big change,
another moment as big if not bigger than
the suffragette movement, this time though,
maybe women should be allowed to elect a representative,
someone who could fill the shoes of the fisherwoman,
someone who can be a respected spokesperson
for the global rights of women.
These thoughts clearly arise from
the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI,
the ultimate Patriarch.
Father to the Catholic community worldwide.
Why does that world not have a mother?
Is her truth not allowed to be heard?

Apologies to all Catholics.
I was brought up in that church, I have just lost faith.

Apologies also for my no photo day.
I feel a quiet rage and encourage conversation
around true emancipation of women throughout this globe.
I would like to leave our boy and girl
children and grandchildren safe children, wouldn’t you?

High Tea, under the table.

Tags

Cape Town, gardens, high tea, macaroons, Mount Nelson, Nellie, pink, sweet treats

What a week it has been, exhausting but so much fun
to be able to share my home city with an all girl carload
of first time visitors to Cape Town from Washington D.C.

I started off by giving them a drawing that I did a few years ago
to help people to understand this quirky peninsular,
with its’ cold and warm oceans, a flat topped
mountain with many angles and sides, kloofs and river beds.
A city where people live on one or other side
but seldom change ‘sides’ in their lifetime,
a multi-facetted, multicultural and general
all together breathtaking place to be.
We have a ‘tablecloth’ that lives on this, our Table mountain
and we have separate climates from one suburb to another.

Strange but true.
There are areas where the wind will launch you like a kite
into the sky or produce a ‘marilyn moment’
quite without warning,
where 1 kilometre away there is no hint of a breeze
and where if there is a wisp of cloud on Lion’s head
we know to expect rain…

but I digress!

I was musing about Tea, High Tea…
(and not on top of Table mountain as could be interpreted!)
Just under the table cloth coated mountain instead!

I believe that we can pour you arguably the best cuppa,
at the optimum temperature,in perfect porcelain,
in the most magnificent candy floss pink building
with terraces and gardens better than anywhere in the world.
(Biased? never!)

High Tea at The Mount Nelson,
(The Nellie as it is fondly referred to by locals) starts at 2.30 pm
and runs until 5.30 pm. and dressed in your finest apparel you are met
by a waiter or waitress who shows you to your cushion covered couches
and perfectly set out table.
A menu of leaf tea varieties is popped into your hands, for leisurely perusal.
After ordering your choice you and your guests are guided to a vast table,
spectacularly dressed in every kind of dainty finger foods,
cakes, sandwiches, petit fours, purple macaroons, and Savory tartlets.
In fact something akin to perfection if sweet treats are your pleasure.
The sun filled patios and gently tinkering ivories, the beautifully clothed guests
and the constant but unobtrusive attendants make for one of life’s most
deliciously indulgent entries on your to do list,
before you leave this beautiful city.