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.

STARTING TO SHOP Monday March 5

Henry

After a good night’s sleep, Rab had the bit between her teeth and her shopping list in hand. It was an eclectic list, from toothpaste and cough mixture through underpants for me to gold earrings for her. The latter items because they are cheaper here – the former because they are unobtainable in Australia. The cough mixture in particular is a bit of an oddity – it is Wood’s Peppermint Cure. The kind of medicament that our parents and grandparents might have used – and in packaging they might even have recognised because it hasn’t changed over the years. It is made in Indonesia now, of all places, but presumably doesn’t meet the high requirements of the Australian equivalent of the FDA. We’ve used it all our married lives and always stock up on it when we can.

Our pal Lorna joined us and our first stop was at Lola and Rick’s place to pick up the two cases of sparkling wine which will form the basic entrance level for drinks at the party on Wednesday. Our intention was to drop the wine, which we had pre-ordered from the vineyard Bovlei and which they had delivered last week, at the restaurant for chilling. They claimed to open at 16h00 on their answer machine, so the day was planned to end up there at about that time. Alas! Like many aspects of life on the coast and in SAfrica, they were working on African time, which often has nothing of the urgency of the Mexican manana and there was no sign of them at 16h30 when we called in. They eventually made a call to my brother Pad, who has organised the party. That came through at about 18h00 apologising for the absence. Why they didn’t call me is a bit of a mystery, but I called them and they swore by all that was holy they’d be there tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll try again then, failing which…. Not warm bubbly!! I guess we’ll have to distribute the bottles amongst friends to put in their fridges and to bring to the party.

Ron and Kath Herbert with Kathleen Flemmer

First port of call was to my sister in Kommetjie to drop off a couple of small gifts, notably an enlargement of a photo of our parents taken soon after they were married after Dad had joined up in 1941. None of us had seen this shot before a second cousin sent it through to Steve so it was a lovely surprise for her. Her fellow seems a nice enough cove and we hope they are going to be happy together. His house is on the hillside above the little village of Kommetjie with a wonderful view of the ocean and mountains. He was a surfer in his youth and now works as a journalist and publicity man for surfers and surfing events.

View across the bay from Kommetjie

We lived in Kommetjie (the name means Little Basin and is a reference to the natural rock pool which was ideal for swimming for youngsters) for a couple of months when we returned to SAfrica in 1995 and it is a top spot, even though it is on the cold Atlantic side of the Cape Peninsula, which makes swimming even in the height of summer less comfortable than the Indian Ocean West side of the peninsula.

Next stop was the local mall, a favourite haunt in days gone by. It is looking somewhat run down now and although alterations and renovations are underway, several shops were empty, awaiting tenants. It had a feel of  a place that might not recover from whatever was ailing it now, although of course inevitably we were mentally comparing it to the malls in Australia, which by and large are very well maintained. We had a good lunch at the Mugg & Bean where the standards are still high and where the iced coffee is still simply the best.

I tried to send a package of books to our friend Maureen in Durban from the local post office but the shamefaced young lady behind the counter said they couldn’t do anything but sell stamps because the system was down with no idea when it would be revived. I was able to buy stamps for the postcards requested by the grandgirls – a giraffe for Carrie and lions for Steph. Only problem was we couldn’t find a post box until a kindly passerby told us it was out the front of the mall. I also tried to change some of the miscellaneous currency notes I had brought – US dollars, pounds sterling and euros – only to find that there are still complex rules in this regard with standards that are all too much for me to deal with. The problems arose because I had no entry stamp in my Australian passport as we entered the country on our South African passports. I was therefore regarded as a resident rather than a tourist for the regulatory purposes.

Rab had a good time with what Matt refers to as mammoth shopping. In his mind’s eye he sees Rab (and his wife Dani) as two mammoths wandering through the shops, picking up an item and examining it thoroughly only to drop it back in its place and move on. They usually have no intention of actually buying anything. The pleasure is in the looking. Rab has wandered over many kilometres over the years in bazaars and  malls and markets with very few purchases to show for her dedication to shopping.

Having exhausted the riches of the mall – and having purchased many of the items on the list – we moved on to Fish Hoek (literally Fish Corner) where I lived when I was six or seven years of age. Dad was entitled to buy a house as a Returned Serviceman in the scheme which was just starting to develop Fish Hoek. We lived at 48 Second Crescent and our house backed on to the bush and white sand dunes that are a feature of this part of the world. Today the house, still there, seems almost in the centre of the village. I wonder if there is any genetic trace of the white rabbits which I kept and which escaped from their pen, leading to an explosion of white rabbits in the bush for many years.

The main target this afternoon was AP Jones, a gentleperson’s establishment catering to the rather elderly population of the village. It is a prime spot for retirement and a survey would without doubt demonstrate an average age in the 70s, I think, with the range spreading way beyond that. Unfortunately their annual sale started on Janaury 29, so there was very little to scavenge from the carcass of goods that were available then. The main target was a Pringle shirt for me, but Alas! although they had size 2XL and 3XL, which the salesman tried to insist was just my size, my dress advisor would not agree and even I could see that the shirts hung off me like a carnival tent. There was one Xl, but unfortunately colour and pattern were not acceptable.

Hard at work - slaving over a hot Weber

And so we went on our way, and having missed Carla, we popped into Woolworths to get some meat, wine and salad for the braai we planned for this evening, picking up charcoal at the service station on the way – and not forgetting the matches! Lorna spent the evening with us and I cooked some delicious lamb chops and a bit of wors (sausage). We sat outside in the cool evening breeze as the sun set – what more could anyone want? Good friends, a nice bit of meat and a couple of glasses  bottles of wine. No wonder we slept so well.

Lorna and Rab

PARTY TIME Sunday March 4

The first of the celebrations was a large family gathering – and some of the family have indeed become large since we last met!! In all 27 of us descended on the holiday home of cousins Sal and Mike de Villiers for a braaivleis – the SAfrican term for what other English speaking peoples call a barbecue. The translation is ‘cook meat’ and there is usually a great deal of good red meat indeed, although the more effete younger generation are inclined to non-traditional meats such as chicken and even fish.

Judy and Steve: Rab and Terry: Ronel and Pad

 Three Herbert brothers and spouses plus three offspring and/or partners and one grandchild was the contribution on our side. The other seventeen came from the multi generations on the other side, including a fly in second cousin who happened to be in Cape Town on business.

It was lovely seeing all the ‘children’ again although it is always something of a shock to realise that the oldest child is approaching 50 and the oldest grandchild is having her 21^st birthday soon. I even mistook, initially and in the roar of conversation, one of the grandchildren for his father!

Our family gatherings are exuberant and noisy. I remember many years ago sitting with an old uncle at one of these gatherings and his saying that the noise was music to his ears, but that it had to be said that most of the folk were talking and few seemed to be listening.

Mike – the patriarch of his clan – was in his element. He has a bull-like roar of a voice and between greeting all the guests he was ordering the boys around to get the fire going, the meat prepared and telling the girls how to do the salads. His instructions being mainly ignored on the grounds of his ineptitude in such matters. Beer and wine aplenty, good food, anecdotes about the old days and people long gone. A tremendous day for all of us, especially knowing that the chances of a recurrence are slim. We’re none of us getting any younger.

That fruit was delicious

Although we woke early again this morning – at 02h00 initially, but starting the day at 04h00 with a cup of coffee when we realised we would doze no more, we’d started the day well – me with a dip in the pool. There was a bit of cloud about but no sign of the threatened and predicted rain and it was pleasantly warm. After breakfast we went up to the Constantia shopping centre to get a few necessities for  future meals – and for Rab to do a bit of window shopping and to hunt down some lipstick in a colour no longer available in Australia. This is often an important part of travel for her. I had a coffee while waiting for her and as happens so often when we are here met up with an old pal who was going home from church to call us and the daughter of another friend who didn’t know we were in town. It is always heart-warming to have these chance encounters – and also shows how small the population is.

We were surprised to see as we drove to the de Villiers that the pine forest at Tokai had all but disappeared and had been replaced by scrubby weeds. This was in its day a lovely area where people walked their dogs, picnicked in the shade and our children played Cowboys and  Indians back at a time when such activities were not regarded as racially motivated. It appears that this is all part of  the Green agenda to remove all ‘alien’ plants from SAfrica and allow the countryside to revert to its pre-colonial condition. A fine aim no doubt, although it is not clear whether the growing of alien plants such as wheat and maize will fall within the ukase to allow farming land to revert to bush veldt. The conversion from pine plantation to fynbos – the term for the natural Cape bush – is a long process, even if it is being helped along by judicious planting of the native flowers and shrubs, but it seems that this is not being done – allowing other ‘aliens’ to grow in place of the pines along with a multitude of weeds. Snakes have returned aplenty and the very dangerous puffadder, which loves to sun itself is particularly dangerous. Unlike most snakes, it relies on camouflage for its protection, so it does not slither off at the first hint of danger, but lies on the paths fangs ready  for a strike if frightened. And the fangs are particularly long and strong, quite capable of piercing a boot or shoe, let alone a modern runner.

We drove up and over the Ou Kaapse Weg – the road that crosses the Steenberg Mountains and were interested to see that the area which was cleared of eucalyptus gums some fifteen years ago seems to have reverted to native bush. We didn’t have time for a closer look but will probably do so some time. Perhaps the Tokai clearances have been done too recently to judge the ultimate outcome.

Steenberg (Stone Mountains) above Sue & Mike's house

On the way back from the clan gathering yesterday afternoon we popped in to see our friends Sue and Mike who were just finishing off their own braai with a couple of pals from the bowling club with evidence aplenty of good red wine having been and still being consumed. I was invited to join in, but having had my behaviour modified by my many years in Australia, I no longer share the somewhat cavalier attitude to driving and drinking that is still prevalent here in SAfrica, where the chances of being caught are so slim.

I thought I was going pretty well despite the early start, but when I stood up to leave Sue and Mike’s home it was like being hit with a brick and I couldn’t wait to get to my bed. We got home about 19h30 and I reckon I was asleep not longer after 19h31. we both had a good night’s sleep and woke at about our normal time of 05h45 so it seems we may have normalised our sleep patterns.

CAPE TOWN Saturday March 3

Red Hot Pokers we used to call them

Although we were awake at 04h00, we felt remarkably fresh and refreshed. I threw open the French doors to let in the cool morning air and we were struck by the beauty of the sight of all the flowers in bloom. Judy has a wonderful place here – and she is a very talented woman, especially as far as her reputation as fine cook and gourmet are concerned.

The cottage we are staying in is self catering and as is often the case, apart from the ‘starter pack’ that Judy put into the kitchen for us yesterday, there is the detritus of past occupiers., many of whom must have shared Judy’s interest in fine cooking because there is an unusual variety of goods that one wouldn’t expect to find in a holiday let.  Angostura Bitters shares a shelf with Cream of Tartar, a variety of olive oils and vinegars and there is no salt in a shaker – just flakes of Sea Salt sitting next to a jar of Marmite. In the fridge, among the yoghurts and fresh raspberries is a bowl of olives and some tapenade. There is home made muesli and home made rusks – they are always evocative of SAfrican morning coffee – and a jar of feta cheese with some slices of rye bread. Not quite the regular fare.

I had a dip in the pool which is adjacent to the cottage – what a lovely way to start the day, but declined to shift the dead rat lying on the grass by the pool, preferring to leave that to the hired help. I noticed in a sandy patch some ant lion craters. That took me back to my childhood, when we used stalks of grass to disturb the sand on the crater in imitation of an ant trying to get out to lure the snapping insect into biting our lure. Maybe if I have time I’ll see if I still have that skill. 

We made a good breakfast of yoghurt and fruit – some lovely apples and mangoes were left for us as well as the raspberries – with a slice of rye toast and Vegemite. We never travel without that! Although I had asked for the hire car to be delivered, when I called at 08h00 I found that there was a communication problem and the fact that we were a day early hadn’t got through to the operative – who we knew well from previous visits. He was very apologetic but said it would be after 10h00 before he could get the car to us. A call to good old friend Lorna  got her out of bed and over here to give us a lift down to the car hire office and with profuse apologies and an agreed discount, we were on our way to our old haunt of Kalk Bay.

It was a perfect morning as we travelled over Boyes Drive with False Bay spread before us sparkling blue and fringed by the white sand of Muizenberg beach where the early surfers were dotted about getting some good rides in before the wind got up. Steve and Judy gave us a warm welcome, commenting on the fact that I looked very much better. I told him that I thought it might be a bit of a struggle to go to the rugby game at Newlands as planned and he accepted that quite happily – by chance David Delbridge had been looking for a ticket, so all was well. It was wonderful sitting in the warm morning sun on their veranda which overlooks the harbour and watch the passing show while chatting about this that and the other.

The annual Fish Fare was on down at the Anglican Church, so Steve and I wandered down there. The village hasn’t changed much in the past six years, apart from the work being done on the pipe works.  The old cast iron water and sewerage pipes had to be replaced. They were originally laid over a century ago when Kalk Bay was a fishing village with a handful of people living there and they simply couldn’t cope with today’s population. They were laid under the (very narrow) road which winds it’s way between the mountain and the sea and the work has caused endless traffic problems over the past five plus years it has taken to get from Muizenberg to Kalk Bay – a distance of about 3 kilometres.

Brother, Steve, inspects the grilled YellowTail

I bumped into a couple of people we knew from the ‘old days’ and was quite surprised to see how the event had changed and become so much more professional. In the past there were a few stands selling fish products – now there were smartly painted signs advertising all manner of fish meals from grilled yellowtail to crayfish curry. As is often the way in Kalk Bay the starting time of the fair was vague with a range of about an hour and a half from just before ten to just after eleven. We got there at about 10h30 and sales were well under way in parts. The main aim was to get some fish cakes for lunch. The local fisherman have a reputation for excellent fish cakes, but we could not see anyone advertising them.  Word of mouth worked well, however and we found a stall in a far corner where the throng was enough to indicate the presence of these sought after items. We bought a dozen for lunch and a couple to keep us going until we got home. I was hoping to pick up some fried sardines, but they weren’t ready, so Steve and I settled for a lovely bit of grilled yellowtail, which we shared. It was good to see familiar faces and places – and clearly the fair attracts a deal more attention than it did in the past.

I  found it a bit of a strain walking up to the house, but the day was getting warmer, so I took it easy. Lunch was delicious and the sea looked calm as we sat on the veranda. Kate came in  with her Steve and Ella, who is a lovely little baby. Their wedding is on Saturday week and is one of the celebrations of this trip.

We popped in to see Lola and Rick Bartlett at their beautiful home The Old Stables and spent the afternoon chatting to them. They were dog sitting Vicky and Dodge’s miniature dachshund Minnie, who is quite a character and who reminded us of our Barnaby. Vicky was at the beach with Dodge and Oscar and it was good to see them when they called in to pick up Minnie. Lorna also came around and then came back to the cottage with us. I had a cooling dip in the pool while the ladies went off to get something to eat. We had  rye rolls  with cheese and salami and sat out on the stoep chatting while the sun slowly set and the cool night breeze came in.

I watched a bit of the rugby game that Steve and the boys had gone to after Lorna left  – he said it was as well that I didn’t go as it was very hot there – but gave it away at half time and we were abed and asleep by about  20h45.

A lovely day.

39,000 FEET ABOVE THE INDIAN OCEAN March 2 2012

We got to the airport in good time as the predicted storm and widespread flooding did not eventuate. It seems that the authorities are so nervous about being blamed for not warning people in time that they are now over-cautious and are as jumpy as cats in a room full of rocking chairs. Of course this series of repeat warnings has the opposite effect of that intended as people begin to ignore them. Crying “Wolf!” was never a great idea as Aesop’s shepherd boy found out when the wolves ate him.

Rab had a bit of disturbed night as the periodic hooting of the trains on the line at our level woke her from time to time. I must confess I didn’t hear them and I slept well enough by my standards, despite the rather unusual bed.

The International side of the Sydney airport has undergone major changes since we were last there. After checking in, in the old style, with an attendant at a desk! – we stepped into what seemed like an enormous shopping mall, which is the duty free area. Even at that time of the day – shortly before 09h00, spruikers were touting the specials on booze and offering tastes of everything from Mojitos to 15 year old Scotch. A bit early in the morning for us, but there seemed to be plenty of takers. The lounge was very comfortable as were our seats on the flight – a stretched Jumbo being the aircraft used on this flight with it’s fourteen hour flying time. The staff were as pleasant as we remembered them to be – they manage, in typical Australia style, to be friendly and helpful without being obsequious or distant. A good balance. We told our hostie that it was ten years since we had last flown Qantas and in due course the Chief Steward – or Senior Customer Service Manager as I think he is now called – welcomed us back and said he hoped we’d become regular flyers again. A nice touch I thought. An even nicer one was that before we got off, he gave us a bottle of the very good Margaret River Cabernet Sauvignon wine that we had with our meal.

The food on the flight was excellent. One of the top chefs in Australia – Neil Perry – designs the menu and it makes choosing from the options somewhat difficult. A couple of Dark and Stormys - rum and ginger beer - got us into the right mood and the red wine, as I have said was a tremendous accompaniment to the meal. I thought with that aboard I’d sleep better than I did. Of course it was only about 15h00 when I started dozing off and the flat bed was truly flat – and long enough. They are a little short for me on some. But it was also a little narrow, making lying on my back difficult as my shoulders overflowed. (as I dozed off I thought that might a be problem for the coffin maker and made a mental note to remind Rab to get a wide enough box. And that got me wondering if coffins are recycled if they are used when the deceased is cremated? And if not why not? Have a stout removable flammable liner enclosing the body; whip that out for the big burn and re-use the expensive outer shell.

At that stage I fell asleep only to wake a couple of hours later with a pain in my knee. Turned out that lying on my side my knee had overlapped the rim of the seat and that was what caused the discomfort. I walked it off but was wide awake, so settled down to watch a couple of films. I always enjoyed the Tin Tin books when I was younger, so that was my first choice and I thought it was excellent, especially Tin Tin’s dog Snowy who reminded me so much of my darling Bilbo. That was followed by Iron Lady. The critics have been harsh on the film, while praising Meryl Streep’s acting,  saying that there was too much of Maggie Thatcher in her declining years as she slowly sinks into the swamps of Alzheimer’s, but I thought it was brilliantly done, juxtaposing her current awful situation with the glory of her days of triumph.

A final meal before we start our descent into Johannesburg and our long flight will be over. Not looking forward to the hour and a half  on the ground there or the two hour flight to Cape Town, but that’s what we are stuck with.

Later:

South African airports were not a good experience! We were about 15 minutes late in coming in, which cut the time we had to get to the departure gate for our domestic flight to one hour fifteen minutes. We were taken aback when we finally made it to Immigration after a trek of what seemed like several kilometres in a very warm building. There were people everywhere and long lines winding slowly through the sheep pens that were controlling the crowd. As is so often the case in airports al over the world, there were unmanned desks – why can’t enough staff be  rostered on?? – and by the time we were through there, we were down to 45 minutes to get to the gate of the next flight.

The luggage was coming off the carousal, there were plenty of trolleys  so we grabbed our cases and headed for Customs, which seemed to be a long, long way from baggage collection. No sign of a Customs Officer anywhere, so at least we weren’t held up there and after we had dropped off our bags at the Transfer desk – no hold up, we had just under a half hour to get across the airport.

Signage wasn’t too good, but we were directed to the correct route by very helpful staff when we asked the way and so began our trek up two flights of escalators and through the tide of incoming passengers to Security where we were herded into another sheep race with ten minutes to go to boarding time. We got through without any problems and made it to the gate with a minute to spare, very hot and tired after our rapid walk – how I wish I had insisted on Rab having a wheelchair because her knees were giving her gyp – only to find yet another race with all the sheep standing in line? WTF? No seats at a departure gate??? We went and sat in a nearby café until the line was short enough for us to join and keep moving and were finally seated after my usual grumble about the fact that some other pr*ck had put his or her luggage in my overhead locker. Fortunately there were others late to board and I nabbed their space to their annoyance. The flight down to Cape Town comfortable, the food appalling and in due course we swept into Cape Town past the glory of Table Mountain spotlighted by the evening light.

On the ground we found that the airport had indeed changed significantly since our last visit – stretched to enormous length for the increased traffic of the soccer World Cup. Seems though that the designers of SAfrican airports worked on a linear basis rather than the cluster approach used in all the better major airports around the world because once again we were faced with a long walk from aircraft to baggage collection, and then another long walk to the exit. Steve was picking us up and he told us to make our way to the Departures gate as it was easier for him to park there and it would save us another long walk to the car parking area. I have to say that I was pretty well done in by the time we had got our bags loaded into his car! And I clearly looked it as both he and Judy were very concerned about me.

The setting sun made for some wonderful views of the mountains as we drove away from the airport. I would love to have got a coupe of shots, but there was no stopping on the freeway.

We made our way to Constantia and Judy Badenhorst’s home – Lusthof – where we are staying for ten days in a self-service cottage. It is a lovely place and Judy, an old pal, gave us a very warm welcome. It seemed a shame to turn down her offer of a swim and a glass of wine, but by that stage the bed was not only calling, but shouting very loudly.

We were in bed soon after nine and slept like logs – at least until 04h00 when a crowing rooster nearby announced it was time to rise. That’s a lovely sound at the right time and in the right place and we felt so good, despite the early hour that we welcomed the little fellow. Of course he didn’t know when to stop and after about half an hour, by which time we’d had our coffee and rusks we were contemplating roast chicken as a better option.

This was the scene that greeted us - more to come.