South Africa – Page 4 – Brave New World of Blogging

The Bush..

It is a Brave soul that attempts to capture ‘The Bush’. For those of my friends who know the Bush, words are not necessary and can never do it justice and for those readers who have never known the Bush, words are all I can offer knowing full well, before I even begin, that they can never do it justice. So to you all, for different reasons, forgive in advance my paltry attempt at sharing the ‘Bush’

Welgevonden (place well found) sees us rise at 5am although the waking of the birds with morning song begins even earlier.

A quick strong coffee and we are on our vehicle; bundled up against the early morning cold. Very little is said as the smell of the overnight light rain fills our bodies with joy – it is dry and the drought here is crippling and the smell of rain is exhilarating. We have our binoculars and the sense of anticipation that only a game drive can bring.

It doesn’t matter how many times one walks or drives in the Bush, the unpredictability of what nature will reveal makes every trip have the same sense of anticipation.

In this case the terrain is new to us- mountainous, red boulders everywhere as we drop into open plains and climb out 0f them to reveal breathtaking vistas of the next rolling plains.

We stop every so often to gaze at zebra, buffalo, impala, waterbuck, giraffe, warthog, wildebeest. We sit and savour the silence that epitomises the ‘Bush’. Precisely because it is Not silent; only we are, as senses respond to the call of the ‘Piet my vrou’ – a bird call that Is the Bush; the brown hooded kingfisher, so small so exquisite with such a large call you know he is there long before you can find him, the wild cry of a fish eagle. There is the sound of the grass in the breeze, again a sound uniquely Bush. The cicada, frogs, all contributing so that we are silent.

Suddenly energy changes and bodies tense, voices are raised in whispers, adrenalin begins to pump as right alongside us are cheetahs. A sight so unexpected that no matter how often one has seen them, this sighting is like the first.

And there is mother and three cubs, with bellies so full you feel they could be pregnant (except of course they cannot be) and we stare in wonder, torn between watching and experiencing or recording to experience again and again via our cameras . And then a male appears and the most extraordinary fight right before our eyes ensues and continues for about twenty minutes;

The male harassing the mother ; the cubs running around squealing; the mother backing off ; the male coming back; the cycle repeated over and over again as we watched enthralled, horrified and bemused. Nature revealing a pattern of behaviour no one was familiar with.

A young elephant entertains with a show of bravado that involves mock attacks at us and at an imaginary foe as he raised his ears, and little trunk and ran forward bellowing as loudly as he could. Practicing for his future role as protector of his herd.

The beautiful precious rhino, horns intact grazing so close to our vehicle I could have leant out and touched him.

And in this particular day it stays cloudy and cool so when we stop for a cup of tea and a rusk, we huddle together hands curved round our mugs breathing in the warmth, savouring every moment of a unique time in the Bush.

Because every visit and every drive through our Bush is by its very nature unique.

And so still no words describe it, which is why we say, “it’s in our blood”

8/11/2016

all photographs belong to Jessica 🙂 Another thing about the Bush – one usually makes good friends, often from countries far flung, as in our case. Friends who kindly shared their photographs with us.

Thank you Pim Van Dam for this photograph

and the privilege of what Ekutuleni had to offer

“Everest”

Whenever I have to get up at 4am 💤😳I set my alarm to sound, twice, thus ensuring I can sleep soundly till then. Though why I do this is, perhaps a question I should ask (and answer) myself.
You see, I don’t really need to wake up at times like this because I don’t really sleep 😳. My brain seems to mistrust even my reliable iPhone alarm system, (set to play a suitably rousing tune), and keeps me in that twilight zone of non sleep, every so often checking the time and finally being so relieved it is four am so that I Can Finally Get Up.

In the dark, and silence, Jess and I put our hiking gear on and make our way downstairs trying not to wake the neighbours.

We had been invited to walk up Lion’s Head to watch the sun rise, and, since there was no mention of abseiling or jumping down, I assumed the invitation included walking down 😜.

So I found myself in the company of three young, fit women, at the car park at the foot of a mountain we could not yet see. Then they were off, chatting away and disappeared into the darkness. And I found myself wondering why I thought this was a great idea.

I am fit, but in the fading darkness I felt my age and three weeks of doing nothing but eat and drink as I followed as best I could. The path is broad, sandy and not too difficult to negotiate if you discount the angle – which is Up. To begin with, that is. Just as I found my rhythm so to speak, it changed to steps and boulders and my rhythm disappeared, together with any hope of keeping up with the young ladies who had so thoughtfully included me in this little gig.😂

The only thing that didn’t disappear was the angle – it remained Up.

I had company now though. A gentleman, backpack, walking stick, hat – a real ‘professional’ hiker attached himself to me. Thankfully as it was still early morning and not quite light and he had walked this route often and could point me in the right direction when necessary.
I was very impressed with the fact that he could talk and walk at the same time – something I most certainly could not do – and talk he did (and wave his walking stick- often dangerously close to my face as I clambered up rocks behind him😳).

He grew up on Robben island which one could see well from our lofty vantage point. I learnt it was a prison in 1600, a leper colony in 1700 into the 1800, a naval radio base (his childhood years) in the 1950’s, before we all knew it as where Mandela, Mbeki and co were incarcerated.

And then no one spoke as the last chain and ladder were negotiated and we pushed ourselves to get to the top for an amazing sunrise.

No words could adequately describe the awe and exhilaration of this sight and even the photographs fail.

With the dawn came the light so to speak and the rather small summit shrunk considerably as bodies clambered up over the ridge and joined us jostling for position.

I had this awful fear of someone toppling over the edge simply because there were five ties too many on the lions head. So without further ado I headed down.

Now this sounds simple, but believe me it was anything but simple. There is a narrow path. Do not think of a clear flatly graded walkway; think of boulders and rocks that require either very very long legs or very solid bottoms. You’ll work out which I used 😂

And that is not all, there are sections of chains and ladders that require strong nerves, and hand feet coordination (like that manual car driving 😜) and patience. As fast as we were trying to descend (some our ladies were due at work at 8am) so were a remarkably large number of athletes coming up.

Heads down, listening I think to some steroid pumping something, sweating, puffing, on a mission – which did not allow for novices like yours truly. The problems became particularly acute at the steep boulder sections and the chains/ladders.

Then I understood what it must feel like in modern times on Everest. Here am I trying to descend before my courage fades, but am forced to stand still, using valuable lung capacity as these young hulks shimmy up. At the same time I’m trying not to look down – it is a long long long way down – the view is startling, infinite and without interruption to the car park

My turn now to clamber down some rocks, hanging on to the metal foot or were they hand holds? At the same time as the next wave of body flesh arrived from below and had to wait for me to complete my descent. They puffed and snorted surely not to rush me, but to maintain their rhythm? Nothing could have rushed me – I hung on for dear life, acutely aware of the view they had as they looked up at me, acutely aware of the drop below should I hesitate for a second, acutely aware of how many climbers had failed, permanently not on their ascent but rather their descent – I have read all the Everest books!!!!
Acutely aware of how absurd it was of me to presume to do this. Alas, too late she cried.

And then the boulders were cleared, now just the steep steps and I would be passed the danger zone so to speak. I began to relax, in time to see some of those supreme beings who had run past me on the way up, now pass me on the way down!!!!

As the yard arm reached a respectable hour, about 7am I saw more ‘normal’ people setting off up past me. Some of them looked as though they were heading for a stroll in the park; no park here
Another group had brought their dogs, which left us wondering to this very moment where they were heading. One gentleman had a ‘work jacket’ on and another couple were limping at the start – a little like Jess and I are still doing two days later whenever we try to go up or down stairs.

Clearly again, those questions of fit and faint hearted come to mind

A Glorious Day

31/10/2016

When the Mother City chooses to sparkle, she does so like no other city.

Which is why I and hordes of others were up at six to ‘promenade’ along the Sea Point promenade ❤️. This is a ‘public space’ and ‘the public’ are here.

Some are waking from a night sleeping rough and some continue to sleep; well, it would seem, even if rough, as they don’t stir while we, and as I said there are many of us, pass them by. At the risk of denting the exhilaration of this morning, I will dare to wonder how many of these men (only saw men – the women? I know there are women doing it tough) began as someone’s son with plans and dreams – perhaps they sat at a Steytlerville roadside waiting for a break once?

Did I tell you my travelling companion called me last night? At 11.48pm – but that’s another story 😃
People.

The two Italian men. I know they were Italian because they spoke that beautiful singing language. I’ll correct t myself right there; one spoke it, volubly. The one dressed in natty yellow cotton shorts, belted, pocketed and creases perfectly ironed with a natty white shirt. His companion, whom I presume found every word fascinating was silent, all in black, listening attentively as the singing followed me for the length of my ‘promenade’

The young mother, niftily dressed in jogging gear pushing an equally nifty pram in which was, I presume a nifty baby, although all I could see was a cap which had fallen off its head onto its (his or hers, I could not be sure) face so it (he or she, there was no way of telling) could not see a thing. And the nifty mum of course could not see either.

The modern way is to have the baby looking forward in its pram (be it a he or she) and the pusher (be it a he or she, I notice) looking down – surprisingly? at their phone.

What happened to mother and child facing each other as they go out for their walk – a mutually shared experience of talking, singing, ogling each other. Gone with the shared family TV watching I guess. It is, as I said A Brave New World – see me blogging ✍️

Another new mother, or at least I hope a new mother, came jogging towards me with her little one tightly bundled in that nifty pram which is clearly compulsory for promenading. I say I hope newly mothered, meaning there is anticipation of change in the future.
I have been struggling to find a polite description of what came towards ‘us’, me and all the others walking in the opposite direction. I have failed to do so. Giant melons, two of them, advanced in a threatening manner and then we realised there was a body attached to them, and occasionally we spotted a head between the bounces. 👀
I watched those around me and the look, almost without exception was one of incredulity that such anatomical gymnastics was possible without serious damage. Our new mum ( we hope she’s new and this is not a life long condition) seems oblivious of any discomfort either to herself or those approaching her on the path. She returned on the two further occasions I ‘promenaded’.

Everyone, it appears is beckoned by the glorious beauty of this city to emerge and ‘promenade’. A deliciously lived lady of indeterminate age – hunched over so the top of her hat was more readily visible than her face. Her arms and legs as gnarled as the dried white game biltong I used to love, only brown, that leather worn brown that speaks of years of use. Arms and legs moved with a rhythm born from determination rather than ease. And I smiled with admiration.

Big bold muscled young men walked with little dogs (why big men, little dogs?) and ladies were dragged along by their large canine companions. There were also the clearly professional dog walkers, shirts with pictures of dogs and in case you didn’t quite get it, they had dogs, three and on occasion four. 🐶🐕🐩 Each on its own lead and more interesting it’s own agenda. I had to stop and watch with interest – another blog perhaps?

A young man robed in black, white tassels visible under his waistcoat, head appropriately covered walked to or from, with his velvet zipped bag with gold embellishments under his arm and a far away look – apparently oblivious of the world.

Hang gliders , gymnasts, bathers, clothes washers, bird watchers, people watchers, coffee drinkers …..

Sea Point on a glorious day can keep you occupied all day