WINELANDS : PARTY TIME March 6 & 7

I missed Henry the rooster’s early morning reveille call, sleeping right through that, but heard his crowing away after the hadedas woke me soon after six. These birds are more technically known as Egyptian Ibis, but to those of us brought up on the coasts of Southern Africa they’ll always be hadedas because of their distinctive call. 

Hadedas looking for breakfast

As they fly out in the morning to the breaches and mud flats to forage for food and as they return in the evenings, they fly in flocks, calling to each other. It is so evocative of so many happy times and lying here this morning it gave me joy to listen to them and think of some of the other happy occasions when they were there.

We had a fine fruit breakfast. The fruit is excellent here now and I prepared a salad of mango, pineapple, fig, banana and raspberry. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a better pineapple (and my grandfather lived in pineapple country around East London) or a sweeter fig – they were like honey. I had a morning dip and then we were on our way on another glorious day to pick up Sue and Mike for a lunch in the Winelands around Stellenbosch and Franschoek.  Those names would be directly translated as Star In Bush and Frenchman’s Corner – the latter because Huguenots, persecuted in France settled there, bringing their horticulture skills with them. It didn’t take long to establish the vineyards in this area although the Dutch had got in about two centuries earlier with their plantings after their arrival in 1653.

The road we took to this area runs along the white sand of the False Bay Coast for about 20 kilometres. It is so close to the sea that Spring Tides and even High Tides when the wind is roaring – and it does roar at times, straight up from the Antarctic - can bring sea water across the road. It needs constant clearing with the sand forming drifts when the gales blow. In the apartheid era this part of the coast was set aside for black people and people of colour and development was very limited and as a result the situation is one that must be unique in any developed country with miles of sea views and no houses. Since the free elections were held some limited development has started and no doubt will spread as time goes by.

The fountain at Spier

African mask

Our first stop was the Spier Estate, one of the first wine estates to open its gates to the public many years ago. At that time it was a simple place with a visit to the cellar to taste and buy the wine and the opportunity to picnic on the side of the dam. What a change! It offers all manner of attractions for the tourist from a cheetah rehabilitation centre to an art gallery with some excellent local art, much using ‘found’ material. Concerts are held there in a small stadium and to add to the excitement of those evenings an old steam train runs from Cape Town to their private station. Not really our scene but interesting nonetheless, although we couldn’t get a cup of coffee without contemplating a long trek across the acreage.

The slave bells at Spier

On we went to Mooiberge – Beautiful Mountain – an estate which grows strawberries in this wine country. It’s claim to fame is the scarecrows in the strawberry fields and people flock to see them in the growing season. Regrettably they were all off duty when we  visited – piled in holding pens where they will wait out the coming winter. There is an excellent café there offering a variety of cakes and drinks, many of them strawberry themed. I tried the Oh Berry Nice – a banana, strawberry peanut butter double thick milkshake which was delicious. The rest of the party settled for cappuccino and cake – a delightful baked cheese cake and a Nuttella flourless one filled with nuts. Excellent fare which fortified us enough to look around that main attraction – discounted wines.

The restaurant at Mooiberge

Mike really enjoys his wine and is very knowledgeable without being one of those wine bores who rabbits on about the zesty taste of a lead pencil combined with hazel nut and a hint of boot polish when describing the wine on his palate. But it is usually worth following his lead for a good drop. The prices are amazing, even by South African standards, where wine is very cheap for anyone with hard currency. There are baskets and racks of reds and  whites – many of unknown origin (known as cleanskins in Australia) – selling at R20 or even less. That’s A$2.50 at the current rate of exchange! Even the better known wines are very reasonably priced. I picked up a magnum of Beyerskloof Pinotage, one of our favourites, for R110 – A$13.75! I said if we lived here still I’d be out here every weekend for both the cakes and the wine. The store also had an incredible variety of fruit products – dried fruits of all varieties, mebos (minced fruit combined with sugar either chunked or rolled into flat pancakes) in a multitude of flavours, crystallised fruit including some I had never seen before, fruit preserved in syrup, jams and jellies and the nuts – well there was a mouth watering selection of them in all guises too. Given what lies ahead of us by way of entertainment, I settled for a bit of biltong (what would be called jerky in the US and Australlia) to go with the wines I chose (the Beyerskloof was not alone in my basket of goods) when supping them of an evening. You can buy biltong in SAfrican shops in Australia now, but not in the variety you get here from eland to ostrich. I chose Oryx with a bit of chilli and it is delicious as I can tell you as I eat it right now.

Lunch was beginning to call us so we moved on to one of our favourite estates – Delheim. To get there we had to traverse the Muratie Estate, a place of very many happy memories, as is Delheim. The vintner at Muratie back in the early seventies was a bit eccentric even by winemaker’s standards and he was usually found going about his business barefoot in khaki shorts and shirt. He always gave customers a very warm welcome and as much wine to taste as they liked. We loved his port and his sweet desert wine labelled as Amber. A beautiful colour, served cold with a bit of  cheese, it helped enliven many a card evening when we were all so young. Alas! He is long gone and the new owners try to keep up his foibles to the extent that there are cobwebs in every nook and cranny of the wine tasting rooms. Mike and I reckon they’re fakes and we don’t stop there long.

Delheim is as we remember it, beautiful views over miles of rolling hills right down to Table Mountain in the far distance. Friendly staff, good tucker and of course excellent wines. Rab and I had the Ostrich Bobotie for old times sake and it was as good as we recalled, a couple of bottles of Rose Pinotage completed another memorable meal. The Cape cuisine is an unusual – perhaps unique one. It would probably be described these days as ‘fusion’  since it grew out of the mixing of the dishes brought to the Cape by the slaves and servants acquired by the Dutch in the Far East – Indonesia and Malaysia – with traditional Dutch recipes. I have described a bobotie dish as a savoury custard, which Rab reckons gives people the wrong impression, but I still think that’s a valid description. Meat of your choice (ostrich in our case) or fish is cooked with onions and spices and then layered in a dish with a curry flavoured milk based sauce and then baked. It is served with a salad or rice and condiments such as chutney and is delicious as guests to our home can attest to.

Looking over the vineyards to Table Mountain in the distance

We sat on the veranda, with the magnificent mountains and greenery around us, yarning away about the years gone by and the fun and adventures we had shared. When I came to pay our share, Mike said that they didn’t know what to give me for a birthday present, so thought the lunch and the happy memories that will be attached to it would be the best they could do. What a lovely present it was. As a souvenir of the day we bought ourselves a pepper grinder in the shape of a bottle of Delheim wine.

On our way back to the cottage we dropped Sue and Mike off at home, dropped a case of  sparkling wine off at Carla’s to be chilled for tomorrow and I dropped into the pool as it was still warm in the late afternoon. A couple of pies and a glass or two of wine for supper and that was the end of a splendid day.

PARTY TIME Wednesday March 7

Having caught up with our sleep deprivation, we’re back to normal sleep patterns now – I usually stir at about 05h00 and lie dozing and thinking until Rab stirs – at home that’s when the radio comes on at 05h45; here it is when a mosquito or Crowing Henry or the lightening of the day wakes her.

I was up at about 06h15 because I was determined to have at least one go at walking along the old track on the Steenberg (Stone Mountain) above Kalk Bay where my boys and I spent so many happy hours tramping through the fynbos. I also wanted a swim in the tidal pool at the bottom of the road where we used to live. I had a daily dip when we lived there – well, daily until the winter water came in which gives an ice headache when you dive in. Some hardy souls swim all the year around but masochism was never an attraction for me.

Driving down the Blue Route to Steenberg

I left Rab with her coffee and rusks and headed down the Blue Route in the early morning sun. The mountains looked splendid, capped with the clouds that showed that a south-easter was blowing. Kalk Bay is sheltered from this prevailing wind, so that even when there is a howling gale, it is comparatively calm as the wind lifts over the mountains and hurtles down the other side. There was one car ahead of me at the parking place – the cars park half on, half off the sidewalk as the road is so narrow. I paused to take in the view and some pictures and then headed off into the grove where the walks start. There is an excellent map now of the walks in this area, which is part of the extensive network of National Parks dedicated to maintaining as much of the Peninsula in its original state as is possible.

I head up to the left from 'You Are Here'. The yellow path on the left is where I'd like to go - to the overhang on the corner of the cliff where I'd like my ashes scattered.

I see the area is now officially Ou Kraal (Old Corral) named for a time when the cattle sheep and goats from the village below were allowed to graze on the slopes above.  The path I will take is the easiest and is termed the Old Mule Track. It has been known in its time as the Donkey Track and the Contour Path. The latter name was that given to me by brother Pad when we first came to live in Kalk Bay and when I first decided to walk the mountain paths. I said to him I thought it was a misnomer and that he could be sued under the Trade Misdescriptions legislation. For my money a “contour path” would follow the contour line and would therefore be fairly flat – the path he sent me on was steep in parts rising quite sharply and never levelling off.

View from where I parked my car - nostalgia rules

That's my car on the right

It was great to be on the path again and it was a glorious morning. The Views over the False Bay were as splendid as ever although the wind was creating a bit of mist, which created a lack of clarity for photography. Close in and below the morning trains were running alongside the sea taking those poor commuters to their jobs in the city while I rejoiced in the freedom of my hike. The sea was sparkling and the tidal pools along the rock shores looked inviting. The low tide showed up the white sand at Danger Beach, a favourite spot for swimming and snorkelling for lunch with our Hawaiian slings when we were youngsters. The beach got its name from the signs at each end and at the subway where you go under the rail track they said simply “Danger: No Swimming” – a sure fire invitation to do just that.

The danger comes about from a large reef off to the southern side of the beach. When the tide is right, the break on the reef – very good for surfing in the right conditions -  causes a very strong rip to sweep northwards. The unwary try to fight the rip, unaware of the fact that if they go with the flow, they land up on the other side of the bay and can scramble ashore quite easily and safely. Most, especially the visitors from up country who rarely swim in the sea can get into serious trouble fairly rapidly and it used to be a bit fo a game for us to bet on who would need rescuing first. There were no lifeguards on duty back then, so it was up to the locals to haul the visitors out.

Danger Beach with the reef on the right

But I digress, onward and upward, I plodded, not overly exerting myself. Rab was very concerned about my doing too much and although my cardiologist had said it would be perfectly safe, she was worried so I promised her I’d make it a short walk initially to see how I handled it.  I walked for 15 minutes up that path and turned and came back. No side effects from that, so I’ll extend the walk as the days go by, although I don’t think I’ll be able to make my favourite route as that is really steep. But we’ll see.

Kalk Bay Harbour from the end of my walk

Dalebrook Pool

 Back in the car I drove down to the shore to Dalebrook Pool. The water was crystal clear and the schools of little fish shone in the morning light as they twisted and turned. As the tide was low, no water was coming over the pool wall and the temperature was ideal. Refreshing without refrigerating. Salt water gives that extra buoyancy that makes a sea swim even better and I just floated around the pool like an otter admiring the swoop and sweep of the mountains above or turning and looking out to the seaward side and the views out there. Sitting on one of  the old stone benches built into the embankment like an old elephant seal basking in the morning sun I reflected on how lucky I had been to have enjoyed this double again and recalled how many times I had done so in the past. Not for the first time I recognised what a fortunate life I have led.

Back home, Rab and I had a bit of fruit and some of the excellent seed loaf we had picked up yesterday with a bit of excellent local cheese and salami. Good tucker indeed and enough to sustain us for another assault on the local shops. This time it was Cavendish Square in Claremont – an old stamping ground of ours. Our main mission was to get the wedding presents for the two celebrations next week and, of course, to have a good look around with some mammoth shopping perhaps – at least that was Rab’s mission. Me, not so much! As is so often the case, we bumped into someone we knew – this time it was cousin Sal and her husband Mike. White South Africa is a small society!

Having sorted out the wedding presents and bought some items of clothing – jeans for me at R99 (A$12.50) – and various other items of no consequence, we stopped briefly  for lunch – and hopefully a WiFi connection at Col’Capaccio, an Italian restaurant in the centre. Unfortunately the Internet connection was slow and kept fading, so I could not ;pick up all the 129 items of mail that had accumulated or the Aussie newspapers, but the disappointment there was more than made up by the excellent pizzas we had. Just the way we like them – thin and crisp with excellent toppings. Not too much tomato, a touch of cheese, plenty of avocado plus salami and sesame seeds in my case, spinach and feta cheese in Rab’s. Excellente.

On the way home we popped in to see Val and her mother. Val was my secretary at one time back in the late 70s and we have remained friends over the years. It was good to see her and to have some laughs about the old days. I used to play Scrabble with her mother at one time. She is a lively old lady, now approaching her 90^th birthday and still as bright as a button, all five foot of her.

Then back to the cottage for a swim and a snooze ahead of the BIG night to come. We picked up Lorna on the way to Carla’s and got there ahead of the guests. The restaurant is not a big one – just enough room for the seventeen of us on two long tables. The sparkling wine – can’t call it champagne any more – was nicely chilled and we opened up several bottles in anticipation of the thirst to come.

Brother Pad, Mike and Sue

Before too long everyone was there and the decibels started rising. At one time many years ago I had hepatitis and was forbidden any alcohol for twelve months. It was a time in our lives when we were in party mode – young, footloose and fancy free – and as the only sober person in the room I notice how it took about half an hour for the noise levels to rise – and also how boring we are when we’ve had a few drinks – and repetitive too!!

This captures some of the atmosphere

Lola and me

Although as expected with this mix of old friends and family gave rise to a good deal of clamour, it was boisterous, a lively sound of people enjoying themselves – a lot of laughter mixed in with the general conversation. Most of the folk had met each other, but not seen each other, over the years, so there was a lot of catching up to do. Some had never met but were astounded to find that they had common acquaintances despite living in widely separated parts of the country.

We had taken a dozen bottles of sparkling wine and although only seven of those were dispatched, David had brought a cool bag with a half dozen of chilled Sauvignon from an excellent estate (with no labels – how did David get them???); Mike had brought a couple of bottles as had Steve and Pad and …. All in all we reckoned that about 17 or 19 soldiers did their duty and passed on during the night – plus several beers for those who had a thirst when they arrived or did not like sparkling wine. This level of consumption reflected the ageing of the guests – back in the day we always used to count on two bottles a head for a good dinner party.

Steve made a nice, and brief, speech ( our father always used to say that a speech that was too long wasted valuable drinking time!) and in my response I remarked on how many of the couples around the table shared more than 130 years life experience, many of them 30, 40 or more years together. In all there was more than a thousand years of experiences to share – no wonder there was so much to talk about. I also took some care not to cause any overflow of tears but touched on how wonderful it was that we were still all able to enjoy each others’ company and that the fact that we knew it might end at some time added a special focus.

Prawns with peri-peri sauce

There was a bit of singing after that, but then the food came on. As ever, the food was excellent. Most people chose the speciality of the house – grilled prawns with a per-peri sauce developed in Mozambique in the old days of Portuguese rule and conversation went down to a dull roar as the food went down, only to resume the previous level as, reinforced by the food and continuing the intake of good wine, conversation flowed and then Rab was persuaded to give her rendition of Land of Hope and Glory and we were off for the second half of song and laughter. What a great evening it was and all thanks to Steve and Pad who gave it to me as my birthday present.

Lola and  Rab - is self-portraiture late at night ever a good idea?

As we spilled out into the night, the watchman who had kept an eye on our cars loomed out of the darkness with his weapon of choice, a wooden pole about six foot long and thick enough to hold up a fence. I gave him a good tip and he gave me a great smile. And so to bed.