As my mom bends down to tie my shoelaces I think to myself, “I'm glad it's not winter.” The walk to school is only 20 minutes but often it's raining and cold in winter. However with the harvest season over my parents have no work and so there's not much food. I set off with a skip in my step looking forward to the meal I will get at school. It's an early start as Nicky and I slink out of the house while the children are still asleep. We are headed to help with an outreach effort run by the Kusasa charity at a local school. As usual we get lost as we try and find our way around the township outside Franschhoek. “Hi, sorry we are lost,” I say as I call Carryn who we're meant to meet at the school. We are stopped outside an area that is really poor with broken shacks everywhere. We try and explain where we are. “Sorry,” Carryn replies, “I don't really know the township very well. I just know how to get to the school and out again.” Now that's handy for us, but we are resolved to find our way. After asking various kids strolling the roads obviously headed to school we eventually locate the Dalubuhle school. It's situated at the top of the township and at the base of a beautiful mountain that rises above it. “Wow,” I say as I look at the school, “this is impressive.” It is obvious that someone has put some money into this school, as a lot of attention has been paid to the buildings and common areas. The walls are filled with fun paintings and even the stairs have games the kids can play that teach maths as they climb them. Nicky and I head down to the reading room where Carryn is going to be teaching Grade 2s English. Arriving in the room we find Carryn with a group of 16 children sitting quietly before her as she tells them, with animated enthusiasm, a story using some bright images to further engage them. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Carryn asks a small girl as she teaches them counting. “One - two - three - four,” the girl starts counting with her fingers as she replies, “five - six.” She beams a huge, proud smile at Carryn. The children are all primarily Xhosa speaking, and so teaching them English is not easy. Some of the children seem to have a basic grasp of English, and it soon becomes apparent how important this is. After a few minutes the children all break up into groups and seat themselves at tables where they have to complete a worksheet. This is where we come in...well Nicky, comes in. I'm the blogger, photographer, observer, assessor, person. I'm not that good at wiping snotty noses, patient enunciation, and general kid teaching. Thankfully Nicky has all these skills and is soon engaging the children entusiasitically in the lesson. Similar lessons are unfolding at the other tables. It's now that we realise how important it is that some of the kids speak English. They quickly translate the instructions to their siblings and its heartwarming to see the care and concern they have for each other. This is where ubuntu is born and demonstrated, where the success of all is more important than the achievement of just one.
“I drive in from Paarl” Carryn tells us as we chat to her afterwards about her work with the children. It turns out she volunteers to teach these children three days a week, for no other reason than that she cares. She drives 100km three times a week, and its making a huge difference in these kids lives. It's passion and dedication like this, the unsung, quiet heroes of our country who make both our journey so fulfilling and our country so beautiful. As we leave we see a little girl skipping out of the large school hall. I can see a look of glee on her face. “We provide breakfast for the children everyday,” Sintu the community liaison officer for Kusasa, says as we see other children filing out the hall. “Many of their parents are seasonal workers on the winefarms, and so they often have very little at this time of year. Its the donations of many kind people that help us feed these children. It makes a real difference, one that many never see nor ever know.” As we chew on a crispy chocolate twist and wash it down with Franschhoek's best flat white at The Hoek coffee shop, we marvel about South Africa's paradox. Just minutes from this up-market coffee shop are shacks with hungry kids. Just kilometers from the beauty of Franschhoek is the harshness of shacks. Yet in this paradox is a story of hope. It's a story that shows while our world will always have paradoxes, true beauty exists when the one touches the other, and when both learn and grow from one another. Just outside Franschhoek at the beautiful wine farm La Motte there is a statue of a woman holding an overflowing cup of water. Its the symbol of our experiences, for surely our “cup runneth over”.
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Clip, clip, clip. Once more my tips are trimmed. It's been the same routine for over 40 years. I'm never short of water or food. I'm never too hot or too cold. I'm constantly cared for, constantly groomed, but yet I am still so small. So unbelievably small. How do you script a perfect anniversary day? Well it's hard after the previous day's experiences at Kagga Kamma and God's bedroom - but we are determined nonetheless. The start is obvious. Walk the 100 meters down Frasnschhoek's Huguenot street to the best coffee spot, The Hoek. Begin the day with the best flat white around and their delicious chocolate twists - crispy on the outside with soft chocolate on the inside. Great start! We then head over Hellshoegte Pass to the university town of Stellenbosch. Unlike Franschhoek on the opposite side of the mountain, Stellenbosch is not only bigger and busier, but it has a student vibe not a tourist vibe. The green heart of Stellenbosch is a stunning botanic garden and so we start our visit here. Soon we are immersed it its beauty and tranquility. “This bonsai is 40 years old,” an official and obviously knowledgeable curator says as he gently trims the tree. Everything about it is miniature, even the fruits. It's amazing. “Yes,” he replies, “they are olives. However they are a special olive that is naturally small and so it makes them appear just right for the tree.” It's like we've been transported to a Lilliputian world. In fact we are so enraptured we even consider returning next week for a bonsai course. We wander out the gate and notice a popup art exhibition in a disused building, and discover that Stellenbosch is having a huge art festival. And so begins a visual feast as we stroll through art shows in restaurants and shops, craft markets in hidden corners, and food stalls tantalizingly beckoning the unwary towards them. We soon find ourselves wandering around the vaulted halls of Stellenbosch's museum and art gallery. It's like being in another world - art, music, beauty, history, smells, tastes. It's not long before our meanderings lead us past a restaurant that is advertising a delicious sounding mushroom burger. And so like those helpless to the siren's call we are drawn in for a burger and beer. A student sits with a long empty coffee cup at a nearby table working on his computer, while at another table a group of friends laugh loudly as they clink their glasses in a toast. The food is rich and full of flavor, just like our experience in Stellenbosch. Returning to the botanic gardens towards our car we round off our experience with a dark chocolate cake and a chocolate mousse cake washed down with a double espresso. Our gastronomical glands are enraptured. Did I say “round off our experience”? You can't leave Stellenbosch without wine tasting, it is one of the top wine regions in the world. And so we need to round off, again, our experience, by visiting Blaauwklippen and Lanzerec wine farms for a taste of the grape and a mellowing of the soul. Now we feel fully rounded off! With a glow of contement we drive back to Franschhoek to spend a few hours catching up on life before the coup de grâce of our day - dinner at Rocos.
We arrive at Rocos which is located at Dieu Donne wine farm just before sunset. We are seated outside where we have drinks and watch the sun explode the sky into oranges and reds from behind the mountain. We then move indoors to their beautiful glass enclosed restaurant and settle to enjoy what Josh and Hannah say are the best meals they have ever had - I have a Pork Belly that is superlative, Hannah has the Springbok Loin which is equally delectable and Josh and Nicky share a cheese board starter and a Pork Belly. We all feel a little like porkers with full bellies, but as I drive home and slip into bed I can truly say this has been a day gifted by God…a gift that began 23 years ago and just keeps on getting better. Thank you Lord for 23 years and my four beautiful gifts. The hunt has been good which means we can settle down for a while. The smell of cooking meat hangs in the air as we sit in a circle watching the smoke slowly rise from the fire to the gods above. The gods smile down upon us as they light a million sparkling fires into the dark sky stretched above. As the firelight flickers off the towering rock behind where we are camped, I begin to paint a scene from our hunt. The dancing shadows from the fire make my painted animals appear to move, as I tell our story, as I leave a message for our children, and their children, and for those yet far off. Stories and songs fill the air. Connecting with the outside world in this spectacularly remote place of the Cederberg means a several kilometre drive to reception along the thick sandy roads. Nicky and I head there to get connected and buy some supplies. Last night on our game drive we embarrassingly ended up driving into a secluded camp that had been setup in the bush for a couple - they looked stunned but it looked stunning.Thankfully they were fully clothed. An idea is born. Could we maybe stay there as an anniversary celebration? Would it be affordable? Would it be available? Nicky enquires. It's R750 for a couple and it’s available. This is why we tour in South Africa. That’s a crazy price! We return to our chalet to inform the children that they will be abandoned to their own care, while we head off for a night in the wild. Leaving them with fond reassurances of our love, and intention to return, we head off. The separation is made smoother by the good snacks we’ve arranged for their sundowners…in fact we get a sense that we are being shooed out the door. We climb onto quad bikes and follow a game ranger to the special location called “The Outcrop”. The drive there is thrilling as we bounce and slide along the sandy tracks. The scene that awaits us is truly stunning, taken from postcards or fairytales. A king-sized white linen bed is set on a platform. A table and two chairs is on one side next to a fire that is ready set. On the other side of our bush bedroom is an open shower. Behind the bed a huge rock towers, creating the largest headboard in existence, and framing the most spectacular bedroom ever. This is the ultimate open air bedroom with unhindered views of the open bushland before us and the mountains in the distance. As we have the quads to ourselves we decide to go for a short quad drive. We bounce and slide along the dirt tracks thrilling in the speed and marvelling at having this whole world just for ourselves. The sun begins to melt behind the distant mountains casting a rusty hue over the stunning vista. We head back to our piece of paradise and settle into our comfortable chairs, cracking open the wine and snacks, and breathing deeply of this indescribable experience.
This is yet another ultimate sundowner experience - sitting in absolute tranquility watching the sun sink behind the mountains in front of us from our open air bedroom. But God's splendor is just beginning. While the sun paint’s a riot of fiery colours across the skies before us, behind us a full moon is rising. This is iMax for real. We climb our headboard - the giant rock that shelters our bedroom, and sit atop it looking at the orange moon rising in the distance. Stunning. Words fail. I start our log fire and soon the smell of smoke and braaing meat, crackling warmth and dancing orange flames complete the setting. This area is filled with bushmen paintings, and as we listen to the night sounds its as though I can hear their laughter dancing on the evening breeze, as they once sat around their fire in this this their bedroom and shared stories. The sensual feast is overwhelming. Satiated with good wine and food, and refreshed by the most spectacular open-air shower, we fall into our huge bed, pulling the soft white duvet up high as we gaze up at the starry canopy above us. It's perfectly still. Silence. I slip into a peaceful sleep. The ancient laughter dancing in the air. We wake early to drink in the awesome wonder of this divine bedroom and watch the silvery moon melting behind the distant mountains. On the other side of our bedroom the sun is rising and casting is warming orange rays across the plane. I fire up the gas burner and soon we are sipping filter coffees and soaking in the last moments of this incredible place. It certainly is a place of stories. A place of legends. The story continues, and we’re blessed to have added a page to its telling. Warmth. Nothing better. The sun is slowly climbing and washing the red sand and carved rocks in its golden warmth as it chases away the lingering cool remnants of the night . I lie on a rock luxuriating in the warmth as slowly energy seeps into my languid body. I notice a movement and suddenly a shadow drapes across my rock. I remain still. Moving is out of the question. I've only just started to recharge. The shadow passes and I'm pleased I chose not to move. Aah…sun… At about 3pm local time we leave our current base in the picturesque village of Franschhoek and head out to our next destination, Kagga Kamma Park in the Cedarberg mountains. Soon we are winding past beautiful wine farms before dipping into the scenic Ceres valley – the home of the world’s best fruit juices. We then begin to ascend into the Cedarberg mountains and are welcomed by a gravel road. On and on we drive yet we do not see another human for nearly an hour. It's as though we are driving on some deserted Martian landscape with beautiful sculpted rock formations painted rich earthy colors seemingly positioned by a giant alien race. With still not a single living being in sight we begin to question. Are we heading in the right direction? Have we been transmorphlocated to another planet? Has everyone on earth been evaporated by a meteor impact and we are all that is left? At this stage all options seem equally viable. Just as we are leaning towards the meteor impact theory we arrive at the Kagga Kamma gate where a lone sentinel hands us a form to sign thereby granting us access to the desolate realm beyond. “Maybe he’s an alien,” we muse as he hardly speaks to us. Immediately we are welcomed by a sign saying the reception is still another 4km away. We are glad that we have Pajey for this trip as he is enjoying the rugged terrain and corrugated road as the four wheel drive grips firmly to the rugged road. Soon all our fillings have fallen out of our teeth and our milk is now cream, but at least the car’s having fun. We are almost on top of the office before we see it, it is so well blended into the giant rocks strewn artfully across the landscape. We discover that our timeshare, like all things in this vast space, is a good bounce and drive away from the reception – just enough to pry lose those last few resilient fillings. I see some poor guy who has done this trip in his little Toyota Etios. He is staring blankly into space, a pallid facial expression and a single twitching eye, all telltale signs of PDT syndrome – Post Dirt Track Syndrome. I'm glad our Etios is snoozing at home as Pajey loved the roads. “What do you mean there’s no Internet,” the girls shout out in unison. They have a similar look to the poor guy with PDT syndrome, yet theirs is worse. Their wide eyes, sweaty brows and twitching thumbs are all classic signs of SIC syndrome – Sudden Internet Cessation syndrome - a terrible infliction to see a teenager suffer. “Yep, you heard right?” I say. “There is no cell phone signal,” I say enunciating each word for effect while enjoying witnessing the onset of SIC syndrome. “We are off the grid. No cell phone. No Internet. No Facebook. No Instagram. No…thing.” As the shocking news sets in and they turn from pale white to deathly shades of grey I quickly try and give them hope. “However, there is an Internet connection up at the pub. It's just a 2km hike through the desert.” This is going to test their love. Our accommodation is beautiful, a thatched chalet which is cool inside and welcomes us with the wonderful smell of stone floors and thatched roof that shout “holiday!” As the sun dips over the distant mountains the rocks are painted a rust color while the nearly full moon rises in the deep purple sky behind us. The silence is deafening as the evening stretches over this vast place - a place where you can truly disconnect (literally) and refuel. As I doze off in the absolute silence of the night I'm thinking how our unplugging will be an interesting social experiment. Nothing…that is the overwhelming sense out here in the Cederberg mountains. A beautiful sense of nothing. Just quiet, open spaces and beautiful tranquil scenes. We begin the day at sunrise, standing on a rock outside our chalet watching as the sun cracks the horizon with its golden rays, sending streaks of light lancing skyward. The amazing rock formations create incredible shapes as they are slowly brought back to life and colour.
It's time to explore the rugged terrain that stretches out before our chalet towards the distant mountains. We choose the 4km walk that winds down into a valley passing between towering rocks carved by a divine artist and overhanging caves with incredible ancient bushmen paintings. I see a cave that looks like it might have paintings and make my way towards it. As I near I notice a lizard lying on a rock watching me approach. It seems unconcerned, simply fixing me with its beedy eyes as I pass by it by. I’m in it’s home now, and a beautiful home it is. The walk is a visual feast but soon the sun makes itself felt even more so as we lose the path - something we are particularly good at. It’s still a wonder we did not get lost on the Shipwreck Trail earlier in the year. Charting our own course over the rocky terrain we eventually find our way back and head straight for the pool. Set between huge rocks and next to more bushman paintings this is a perfect place to relax and cool down while a swarm of dassies look pensively down at us. I'm not sure who breaks first, the kids or me, but this e-disconnect experiment is not working. We all clamber into the car and bounce our way up to the pub. We need to get online just to check if the world is OK. It's been nearly 18 hours! Surely that’s a long enough techno-fast? The connection is akin to sucking double-thick milkshake through a toothpick-size straw, but at least we have touched the outside world, even if only a few bytes of it. After a couple of hours of patience-inducing e-drip feeding we return to relax off the grid once more at our cottage. “I think we are A-D-D I Dicted,” Hannah says sagely…and I think she is right. I feel my forehead for the telltale SIC symptoms. “I have to blog don’t I? I need to be online….I think?” The plan is to have sundowners out in the wild, so we leap into Pajey and head out to explore the wilds. The roads which are a combination of thick sand and rock wind through stunning vistas until finally we find what looks like an undiscovered Stonehenge. Huge rocks balancing on one another, seemingly positioned by some super ancient race, are clustered together. It's breathtaking! In the distance, over the mountains, a storm is brewing as sheets of rain try desperately to reach downwards from the dark clouds above to the bone dry land below, while occasional streaks of lightening sparkle across the sky. We climb on top of the monolithic rock structures and its as if we are standing atop ancient spires witnessing the birth of a new world. As the sun begins to break out in golden light beneath the cloud bank, before it sinks behind the distant mountains, we go and sit on top of Pajey. Hannah has set our sundowner spot atop Pajey’s roofrack with a soft blanket and our trusty Howzat chairs. This has to be the ultimate spot to watch the visual feast of this epic sunset unfold before us. Sipping wine, sitting on top of the car, with not a person in sight, enveloped by the early evening sounds and drinking in the most spectacular sunset is almost too much for the senses to absorb. I just can't get enough of the stark beauty of this area. The rusty colours that rise to meet the deep blue sky are beyond words. And that's before the sunset hurls dripping swathes of red and orange and gold at the dramatic clouds. This has to be one of the best sundowners I've ever experienced. Maybe we have been transported to another planet by a super-alien race. If so, I'm staying! Farewell earthlings! It's a great time of year mainly because there's no shortage of food. Yet I know that it won't always be like this. In a short time the sun will not be as warm and the days will be short. So I don't take the food for granted. Even though we have enough I'm constantly searching for more. Yet today there are so many people around. It's unusual. Every now and then I spot an opportunity to dart down. I've seen an acorn lying just below a nearby tree. I climb rapidly down and dart across the open grass. Grasping the acorn with glee I turn to climb my tree. My heart leaps as a huge person towers over me. I jump backwards clawing at a nearby tree as I scuttle to the safety above, thankfully still holding my find. There are many amazing things you can do on the Western Cape but if you are there at the right time of year, like the end of summer, there is a real treat you can share in. In what has echoes of Biblical times, we head to Eikendal Wine Farm to celebrate their annual harvest. We had been warned to get there early to secure a good spot so using our Berg Time to our advantage – we moved our watches two hours forward in January and we're still enjoying it - we manage to get there by 10am Local Time, 12 noon Berg Time. We are ahead of the imminent masses and find a lovely tree and table near the edge overlooking the vineyards on one side and the lake on the other. Hannah and Josh notice an unused mega bean bag and drag it over to our idyllic spot. They plop down onto their comfy spot and we lean back to watch the arrivals. Slowly like ants attracted to honey the crowds begin to roll in. Lounging in our spot we watch the latecomers’ despair as they search in vain for a nice table but have to settle for a spot under the burning sun. And so a day of relaxation and celebration unfolds. From tractor rides to grape stomping to art exhibitions to just chatting or lying on the huge bean bag, this is a wonderful way to spend a day. The highlights are the grape stomping and the wine christening. Huge barrels of grapes are brought and throwing decorum to the wind the revelers leap in barefooted, dresses lifted high and long trousers pulled up. Children giggle excitedly as locals and foreigners, young and old enjoy the squishy sensation of crushing grapes with their feet. I'm not sure I'd want to drink the resultant wine, it piquant, somewhat acidic flavours with a lingering sweaty nose might not be the best. But it is sure fun stomping those grapes. The harvest celebration pinnacle involves the naming and releasing of the new season’s wine. This year the 2015 Chardonnay is named after Solly Kramers wife, Anita. Of course what's the worth of naming without tasting! A huge barrel is opened and faster than squirrels on heat the crowds converge. I stand patiently in the line and am finally rewarded with a glass of strange milky colored wine – apparently this milky color is part of the final wine process. With glee I navigate the swarming harvest revelers with my glass headed for our table. I'm so intent on my destination I nearly step on a squirrel who also must have been celebrating with too much fruit of the vine judging from his startled expression and hasty exit up a tree. We drink deeply of the new vintage enjoying is tropical and slightly sweet taste. Here’s to Anita! With the lingering taste of joy filling our souls we finally leave to pick up Sarah who has spent the weekend with her friends at UCT before heading back to our base at Franschhoek.
One might be tempted to think that this is the end of the day. One would be wrong – this is the Cape and there is always the prospect of a sunset which one cannot leave unseen. So Nicky and I, armed with sushi and a drop more wine, head to our special sunset dam in Franschhoek where we toast the end of a wonderful day and give thanks to God who has made all things possible. Blue skies and deep cool shade blended with live music and good food results in a full bodied experience with a long finish. This truly has been a time of celebration. The sun’s just rising as it breaks through the dark clouds. I sniff the air sensing danger but I’m not sure what it is. Hearing nothing I turn to to eat the new leaves from a tree next to the gently flowing river. Moments later I look up again. Something is wrong. I sniff the air again. I can hear something. It’s seems far off. What is it? The others in the herd are also looking up now, all staring in the same direction searching for the source of the strange sound. My muscles are tense, ready to propel me away from danger. All of a sudden one of the herd breaks into a gallop and I instinctively respond by leaping off in the same direction. Moments later a thunderous sound rises behind me. My heart is pounding as I strain to outrun the sound. My nostrils flare as I snuffle the air still trying desperately to identify the danger. And then I see it. My eyes roll in horror. I renew my effort to avoid it, but… We drive along a gravel road that looks like we are lost and simply heading off into the Lost World, but all of a sudden a group of buildings appears and with the crunch of our tires on the gravel we park our Pajero. We’ve arrived at the West Coast Fossil Park. Inside the building offers welcome respite from the heat outside. We’ve come here to do a tour of the fossil finds that have been made in this area. As we wait for a guide to do a presentation we look around at the displays describing what they think happened in this area. The eerie frozen posture of a stuffed lassie alongside other stuffed animals gives the place a “Night in the Museum” feel. I wonder if these creatures run riot here when all the tourists have left? Our guide introduces herself and then shows us a brief video of what archaeologists think happened in this area gazillions of years ago. However, while this is interesting, the reason we are here is the promised tour of the fossil dig site. Soon we have left the slightly ageing museum and are following our guide’s bakkie back along a dirt track to the dig site. The trail of four cars comes to a halt in a cloud of dust as we all emerge to cluster around an information sign. Beyond the sign is a valley with several dome covered structures. Our guide explains the history and geology of the land as we look on with expectation of what lies within the covered dig sites. Soon we shuffle down uneven, rudimentary stairs and arrive at a sorting deck. It contains thousands of small stones that are shaken to let the dirt drop through in order to allow archaeologists to search for potential fossils. It looks exhausting, and we are just looking at the pile of it-all-looks-the-same stones not trying to sort it. Entering the covered dig site we find we are walking on a suspended platform and below us a crisscross arrangement of strings has been strung to organise the various sections of the dig. A mass of bones can be seen protruding all over the place. It looks like Night at the Museum gone wrong, with so many bones sticking out of rocks.
“This is a Sivathere,” our guide says pointing at a bone half protruding from what looks like hard mud. “It’s a short necked, long horned giraffe.” I’m not seeing much giraffe, just a few bones that look like they fell off some dude’s braai. “This is a section of the Sivathere’s jaw,” he says pointing with a long stick at one of the bones. Sure enough it does look like a jaw bone, a pretty large one at that. This giraffe-like animal which looks more like an impala on steroids, stands 3 meters in height. It’s a monster giraffe. “Check out how big it is,” Josh says, standing next to a drawing of it. This gives me an appreciation of its size. It’s massive. “There are over 500 Sivatheres entombed in the mud in this area,” our guide continues. “It seems that they were grazing in this area and a flash flood came roaring down the valley drowning them all.” This is amazing as there is no river in sight anymore. Our guide explains that this area was once a forest with a river and the sea was a lot closer than it is today. Looking outside at the dry, dusty area its hard to believe. But there's no doubt there are lots of these Siva things all over the place here. Either something disastrous happened to them or it was a mass suicide or some bushmen had a big Siva Steak party one night! It is truly amazing standing there looking at the scene of obvious destruction with hundreds of animal bones all scattered around. “Each square,” our guide says pointing at one of the hundreds of squares in the excavation, “takes a week to excavate.” I’m not sure I would have the patience for this. This is confirmed a few minutes later. After ending our tour of the dig site we drive back to the admin building where we are led through a sorting center. Our guide holds up a jar with thousands of tiny white sticks in it. “Any idea what these are?” he asks. It seems like a silly question to me. “Tiny white sticks,” I answer knowing I’m going to get the teachers-bright-spark-award. Alas, I’m to be disappointed. “No," he says casting me a disdainful look, "these are the frog tibias,” he replies. "Hang! How did I not guess that," I wonder. “All femurs, tibias, etc. are sorted and kept together, like in this jar here,” he says pointing to another jar with millions more tiny white sticks in it. It’s now that I realise I’ve made the correct career choice. Hey this is fascinating. I loved learning about the Siva-thing and how it may have met it’s untimely end, but wow, I can’t see me dusting off bones for weeks on end to then be rewarded with sorting frog sticks into bottles. I can hardly keep my socks sorted. “I’m just grateful there are people that enjoy this,” I say, as we enjoy a snack in the tea garden at the end of our tour. One of my in-laws friends who accompanied us says, “I’m just grateful they allow fossils to visit fossils”, laughing as he digs into his huge lemon meringue slice. There’s no doubt, this has been a fascinating experience, stepping back in time. What is most amazing is that we walk not just in a place but in a time. Where I now stand others have once stood and others will one day stand. We live for just a moment, we should make the most of our time and not let our legacy be just a frog bone in a jar of history, but a meaningful difference in the lives of those we pass by in our brief journey. I'm attracted by the cries of excitement of the others. It means they have found food. Swooping down from high I see that they are fighting over some food on the beach. As I near the edge of the building a piece of food flies past me towards the ground. I dive down determined to catch it before it reaches the ground. Just before the food hits the ground, and the others with beaks open expectantly can anticipation grab it, I snatch it from the air, rising with a squawk of triumph. “Wow, this feels like like Greece,” Nicky gushes as we walk the narrow cobbled alleyways between the whitewashed buildings towards our accommodation. We are staying at a timeshare at Club Mykonos in Langebaan, and the haphazard tiny streets and white buildings next to a tranquil sea remind us of our time in Greece. Langebaan, situated on the north cost of the Western Cape provides not only an idyllic place to chill, but a perfect spot to explore this fascinating area. “It’s like being in a boat,” Joshua says as he stands on the balcony looking down at the beach. Our unit is built suspended just above the beach with the waves crashing below us. All of a sudden there is a flurry of activity amongst the seagulls on the beach below. Joshua has tossed a scrap of bread down to them. “Watch this,” he says, as he throws a piece of bread down towards the beach. “It won't touch the ground.” He’s right. A seagull comes sweeping from above and snatches the bread in midair, before banking sharply to rise again while the disconsolate seagulls below hurl abuse at it. “Crayfish meneer? Crayfish?” a weathered looking fisherman says holding a live crayfish out towards us. Paternoster, just 45km north of Langebaan is a tiny fishing village that has become a popular tourist destination. Paternoster means "Our Father” and its old whitewashed stone houses that cluster together around the tranquil blue bay make it appear to be a “father” of towns. The beach is a riot of colours and activity caused by the brightly coloured fishing boats that have been pulled up on the sand and the customers huddled around the fresh catches that the fishermen have brought in. A lone yacht is moored in the bay that stretches out from the long white beach to the azure blue sky in the distance. Nestled right next to the beach is a fish market where, in the busy season, the fishermen display their catches. It’s here that the best fish and chips can be bought. Leaning over those waiting to pick up their orders I shout, “Three hake and chips, please.” Through the hatch in the wall I can see a frenzy of activity as an endless procession of freshly fried fish and chips is being produced. There’s nothing that makes fish taste better than sitting on a hard wooden bench, hunched over paper-wrapped fish, surrounded by the sound of seagulls, and the smell of the sea hanging in the air. Leaving Paternoster we drive further north to Velddrift. We arrive early for our sunset cruise, so we sit next to the Berg River and soak up the atmosphere as the boat makes final preparations to leave while the sun starts melting into the horizon bringing with it a welcome coolness to the hot day. “Hello everyone,” the captain says as we all seat ourselves on the boat. “Wil jy he dat ek in Afrikaans praat or would you prefer me to speak in English.” Thankfully there are some visitors from the UK on the boat so I won’t have my limited Afrikaans put to the test. “My name is Tollie,” he continues with a chuckle as those in the know laugh at the meaning of his name. I lean over and ask my father-in-law, who is Afrikaans, why people are laughing, and he says it has something to do with bulls losing their manhood. I ask no more. “I’ve been doing this for years,” Tollie says consoling the foreign visitors aboard, “but I am not old,” he quickly adds with a grin. “In fact I never want to be so old that I have to watch Sevende Laan,” he says referring to a South African sitcom. I nod in agreement - that would be old!
Soon we are cruising along the glassy smooth Berg river which has its source in the Franschhoek mountains, where we departed from a week ago. “This is the area to see birds,” Tollie says, as he points to a group of pelicans sitting on the edge of the water. With that there is a rush to the one side of the boat with cameras whirring. Thankfully the passengers are not super-sized so there is no serious listing of the boat. “Look there,” Tollie says moments later. And there we see a flock of beautiful flamingos. It’s like we have be transferred to South America. They stand gracefully on the edge of the river, in their iconic one-legged pose, surveying us with seeming indifference as we cruise quietly by. Their vibrant pink colours burst into life as the sun casts its final orange and red hues on them. We’ve traveled from the beach paradise of Greece to the tropical waterways of South America, and we have not left South Africa. This country truly is a world all in one! “Ein wonder if dey wud like some music? I think dey wud appreciate it. So I walk up the stairs and enter da restaurant. It’s not too busy although der is a family at one table and a couple at anudder table. As I walk in I see da ladies serving behind da counter and I pick up da guitar and begin to play.” The obvious way to go from Plettenberg Bay to our next destination, Franschhoek, is to continue with the N2. It’s a scenic route, but it’s not the road less travelled - and that is our goal. So we turn off the N2 at Heidelberg and head north towards Barrydale and Route 62. This long and winding route is probably one of the most scenic and fascinating routes to drive in South Africa. While we will not be driving the whole thing, we certainly are enjoying the part we are experiencing. The route winds through farmlands and small one horse towns where there is not even a sign of the one horse. Soon the road begins to climb as we make our way up the scenic Tradouw pass. A towering cliff rises on our right and a tree-clogged canyon falls away to our left. With our stomachs staging protests due to lack of attention, we decide that this is the place to enjoy an ultimate picnic. We find a picnic spot nestled on the side of the road where a small table has been set near a waterfall that trickles down the cliff before struggling its way down a small stream through the forest. The area is beautiful and green, but it is clear that the long summer and lack of rain has taken its toll on the water supplies. After our lunch, with the gastro-protestors having been stilled, at least for now, we continue on soaking in the beauty and enjoying the empty roads. Route 62 goes past many interesting road-side stores like the now famous Ronnies Sex Shop. The story goes that Ronnie, a local farmer, opened a shop to sell vegetables and called it Ronnie’s Shop. However, one night his friends, obviously having enjoyed more than just Ronnie’s vegetables, painted an extra word on his sign. The shop became an immediate success and Ronnie soon turned it into a pub for people to stop at on their drive along Route 62 and laugh with friends about the shop's name, while enjoying a cold beer (that’s all). Later in our travels we will meet the son of one of these so-called “friends” who confirms the story. We arrive at the small town of Barrydale, that literally is just a 100m long stretch of shops before giving way to farmlands again. Yet this stretch of town is filled with interesting restaurants promising the best coffee on the planet or the best milkshake, and interesting shops selling everything from koeksisters to artfully created necklaces and sculptures. I follow Nicky into a shop with a warning sign posted above it… “ATTENTION MARRIED WOMEN! No admission without husband. Too many complaints about excessive shopping” I see why this is the case, as it does not take long and Nicky, who is not much of a shopper, has found a special cream, probably made from the juice of the hoof of a dassie, or something like that. “I’m sorry sir,” says the the owner of the shop as we are leaving, “I’m sorry I was not here when your wife arrived. I would never have let her in unattended.” He beams a broad, and obviously financially contented smile at me. Yet despite the small dent in our budget, its this fun, friendly spirit that you just don't find in superstores and busy towns. With many restaurants attempting to woo us in with their offers of good coffee and cakes, the choice is not an easy one to make. However we are drawn to a restaurant called “Diesel and Cream”, both because of the oxymoronic name and the amazing decor inside. A retro pub with a flashing “Tattoo” light and corrugated sheet metal bar area dominates the one wall, while old style tins like Cobra polish and a row of yellow plastic ducks decorate the shelves behind the main counter. “This looks good,” I say pointing to the Waffle on the menu. “A Berry Waffle and a Flat White is just what we need to complete our experience here.”
The sound of a guitar playing suddenly breaks the tranquility of the restaurant, as we wait for our order to arrive. I look up and see a bespectacled man wearing a cap and toting a guitar standing in front of the counter. He begins singing a lively song about “Diesel and Cream” to the servers behind the counter. As the song continues the servers beam huge smiles in response to the man as he slowly makes his way around the restaurant while continuing his performance. He stops at our table and we have a personal performance for a few moments before he returns to perform for the ladies serving behind the counter. “Is he from the restaurant?” I ask the waiter as she brings our delicious looking Belgian waffles, drizzled with a generous portion of berries. “Na,” she replies, “heez just a tourist.” As we dive into the flavour extravaganza on our plates, the minstrel packs his guitar, and in a thick German accent says farewell to everyone. This is the spirit of Route 62. Friends you haven’t yet met and tastes you wouldn't expect all blended in a slow motion. The sun lances through the water scattering into bands of light as it sparkles off the bubbles rising from the sea bed below. With ease I slip through the rays of light, gliding above the sandy ocean floor below. The clear water and calm sea above makes swimming easy, although a slight surge causes the seaweed to dance back and forth as though in response to an unseen hand. Suddenly a dark shadow breaks the sun, and seconds later with a quick flick of my tail I dart to the side to avoid inevitable death from above. The water erupts in an explosion of bubbles as a huge beast lances through the water where, just moments before, I was swimming. “I can’t believe this is low season,” I say as we pull up at the back of a line of 10 cars waiting to get into the Tsitsikamma National Park. “I’d hate to see what it’s like here in peak season,” I grumble as we wait for about 15 minutes in the rising heat for our turn. Once more I’m thankful for our Wild Card, it's saved us a fortune in entrance fees to national parks. Once we’re inside it does not seem too busy as we quite easily find a parking. We unpack our picnic lunch and sit down to eat it in God's diner - endless deep blue sea stretching out to meet endless deep blue sky, wrapped together by the free audio ambiance provided by seagulls floating effortlessly on the light wind. “Hey, look at the cool raft floating out in the sea,” Hannah says pointing to a small wooden pontoon secured about 30 meters out from shore. We’re sitting on the small Tsitsikamma beach, nested between the wooden structure that houses a shop and restaurant and the cliff that rises up next to the Storms river. “Let’s swim out to it,” Hannah suggests. With the early afternoon sun causing the temperatures to reach the low 30s, we don’t need a second invitation. The cool sea instantly washes away the heat as we swim out towards the pontoon. Pulling myself out I flop down onto its gently bobbing, warm surface. It’s like having your own private island as we watch the people back on the shore. It’s the sound of a motorboat that catches our attention, as it deep throaty roar rises in intensity as it bounds playfully out to sea. “Now that is what we need to do,” Joshua says looking on with excitement. I’m warm now and it’s time to swim back to shore…there’s no other way off our little piece of tranquility. I stand soaking up a few more sun rays as I steel myself for the waters cool embrace. Diving in I frighten a silvery fish, that with a flick of its tail darts away looking noticeably relieved that we did not collide. It’s not long and we have purchased tickets for the boat ride which promises to be a combination experience - some fun wave bouncing action, and a photographers dream ride, slowly up the Storms River.“You should hold on tight,” the friendly boat captain explains, as he we all put on our lifejackets and cling tightly to the seats. “We will head out to sea then turn around and return to the river. Once we are in the river you can walk around and take photos.” With that the powerful twin-engined boat roars into life and within seconds we are racing away out to sea. The sea spray whips into my face as the boat goes faster and faster, flying over waves and crashing down the other side in a spray of water and shouts of euphoria. The adrenalin induced smiles are still carved on our faces as we finally slow down to enter the mouth of the Storms river. A hidden world of stunning beauty opens up before us, as the rusty dark water slowly makes its way between the huge cliffs that tower on either side of us. Our camera is smoking as we turn it from one stunning spectacle to another, from the grandeur of the cliffs, to the colors of the water, to the overhanging caves. It’s like a lost, quiet world in here, a stark contrast to the heart pounding, thumping noise of a few minutes ago.
With our souls satiated with beauty we turn around and a few minutes later we are once more white knuckled as we laugh with childlike glee as we bounce like riders on an untamed horse over the glassy waves, leaving a swathe of foam and memories behind us. As I step off the boat, the mixture of tranquilly and adrenalin, of beauty and adventure swirling in my mind, it seems like I’ve just enjoyed two espressos with a cream scone between them. Perfect! Hurry, hurry, hurry. That's what today is about. There is so much to do. Food to collect, paths to be cleared, new ones to be cared for. So much to do. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Yesterday's rain kept us all below ground but now as the sun quickly dries the ground I move out following closely the scent of those ahead oft me. The trail leads to a new food source. Hurry, hurry, hurry. All of a sudden the path ahead is broken as a new smell rises powerfully towards me. In seconds there is a frenzy of activity as we divert towards the scent. In moments I've attached to the food with my powerful jaws. However it lifts me high into the air as I cling on. "Let's go for a run," Nicky suggests as I stare languidly at the calm sea in front of me at Plettenberg Bay's main beach. "OK," I reply, "I suppose we should." We've registered to run the crazy Comrades Marathon again this year but our training has been on holiday. As the sun starts to paint the thickly overcast sky with light in the early morning we set off from our timeshare at River Club chalets towards Robberg. "Eish, this is a long hill," I point out the obvious, just in case Nicky hadn't noticed. After about 9km we reach Robberg where the Cape weather treats us to a summer gift of rain and driving wind. This is why I love running...it makes you feel alive, well at least until you die of the cold. The reward for the run is our discovery of Clare's Coffee shop where we grab the most delicious roll and coffee to enjoy as our run winds down. The next day the sun has chased away any memory of cold as it rises triumphantly into the cloudless sky. On a day like this the beautiful peninsula of Robberg provides not only stunning walks but spectacular views too - well that’s what we have been led to believe. Dressed in shorts, slops and T-shirts, our standard hiking gear, especially in hot weather, and with a picnic packed we are ready for our hike. We look disdainfully at the English and other obviously European tourists also heading out. They are easy to spot by their white legs, socks and shoes or socks and sandals. They don’t know how to hike in slops like us and really enjoy the hike. Minutes later we are questioning our laid-back hiking attire. It seems that some ants have decided to use the path as their walkways necessitating us to do some quick shuffling to avoid them crawling all over us. “Don’t worry kids,” I shout encouragingly as we walk quickly, “the ants won't carry on for…EISH!” I reach down to try and dislodge a particularly tenacious ant that is clinging to my toe with its razor pincers. I begin to jog as I notice that my feet are quickly being swarmed by a crazed mob of razor-pincer ants. Soon we are all running. “Not far now,” I pant as sweat streams into my eyes and I race up a steep path heading to the top of the hill. “This is crazy!” The onslaught of the ants is unabated. Every now and then we find a rock that is free of ants, and like rats clinging to a piece of flotsam in the ocean, we huddle together catching our breath, while the swarming ant-agonists search frenziedly for the human feast they are determined to drag piece by piece into their nest. Finally, short of a few bits of my toes and other body pieces that I had grown attached to, we reach the long sandy dune that stretches down towards the sea. The thick beach sand, thankfully, proves too much for the ants, but I’m sure I hear them call out as we leave them and their salivating jaws behind us, “We will finish you off on the way back!” “Bliss!” That’s the only word to describe the feeling of running into the cool sea. The cool water instantly washes away the sweat and heat and helps begin the curing of our bites. The wounds to our soul and pride will take longer to heal, and possibly may require a counselling consult-ant.
An island, joined by a beach when the water is low, separates a raging sea on one side from a tranquil sea on the other. A walk around the island on the beautiful boardwalk, which is an ant free zone, gives us a glimpse, for the first time, of the beauty of this area. After enjoying a lunch on the beach and slowly letting the memory of our experience recede, we have to consider the return trip. It’s a circular trip, and so I’m hoping the ants have received the memo that they are not allowed on this side of the pennisula. Setting off it seems we are in luck as we walk past a cave that once housed people in this area thousands of years ago. I wonder if the ants were cat-sized then? We are laughing at our luck as we can see the car park just ahead, once more enjoying our open shoes when out of nowhere they attack. In seconds the path is a swarming black mass of enraged beasties, all with just a single intention - to take us apart skin cell by skin cell. We run, dancing, skipping, slapping, screeching….and yes, laughing. It’s just crazy, but that’s what makes these moments memorable and why I would do it all again…but next time, at least for Robberg, with the shoes those foreigners were wearing. |
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