A Hammam – Spot the difference☺️ (not to be confused with A Hammam but to be read alongside it!)

One of the joys of travelling, after exposing myself to new ideas and challenging my perception of how one ‘should’ live,

is returning home.

And so it was that I found myself happily (and sadly at the same time)

back home after riding a Stunning Arab cross

(horse🐴that is, not anything other😉)

for 5 days in beautiful Tasmania;  

not camping but definitely ‘making like the locals’ in terms of

food and wine (plenty of it) 😍

Our little band of riders were closely observed by many of those around us who thought we must be mad, maybe not dogs, (as in Englishmen and that midday sun☀️) but clearly crazy with an enviable giddy kind of joy.

Because that ride was a wonderful exhilarating experience.  

However it is not the topic for day.

Rather I want to share a differentexperience.  

One I shared with my beautiful daughter.

Today.

We were each given a Christmas gift of self-indulgence

and when she suggested we went the day after 5 day’s horse riding, why wouldn’t I?

And so we did.

We hopped into my little car,

and drove to the appointed place without getting lost.

This could not be described as an unprepossessing building.

On the contrary it is anything but – bright, new, shiny and filled with exotic shops, people and a very large, very bold sign lest we had any doubts:

The Glen Shopping Centre.

I had read what was on offer,

and felt an involuntary tremor go through my body

as I recalled a travel experience 😳that I vowed

not to repeat, anywhere, anytime, ever again 😔

(https://leepowrie.com/2019/01/09/a-hammam/  )

 😳

I read how :

“You will LOVE it.   

You lie on hot stones, you get wrapped in a clay/mud mask and rest and then you are massaged with oils and your hair is washed and you feel SOOO good and rested. “

And yet here I was again.

Breathing deeply, focusing on gratitude

– it was after all a gift

And A Gift it was.

This time it was just OUR gift.

We were still in a small room,

but there were no wooden benches

and no other women, naked or clothed.

Just the two of us as we undressed,

placed our clothes in beautiful baskets,

put my glasses and jewellery into a tiny elegant purse

and then lay down on warm towels,

spread lavishly on a soft bed

(one bed each) ;😉

And

not a spot of linoleum anywhere in sight.

The only noise was the sound of a reed bass and wind chimes, simulating, I suppose a gentle breeze

(except of course a breeze is never as even as the music was –

I did muse on that – but I digress)

I lay happily on my tummy as my back and legs and arms were massaged, oiled and treated with hot stones

(or at least hot something as the lights were dimmed and my head hung through a hole in the bed) 🙃

When I was asked to turn over,

it was with a great sigh of relief that I knew I need not keep my eyes open;

ever alert to avoid being hit by swinging anythings – large or small 😂

The clay was applied with much TLC, the breezy music continued and I wallowed in nothingness till it was all gently removed. (the clay that is 😉)

Dry, snug, oiled, pampered and feeling SOO good,

we finally dragged ourselves away,

to enjoy a drink to Savour the memory rather than Expunge it.

And so it is that the same words are used to describe two very different experiences.

Strange that…🤔….

A Desert

The oldest desert in the world, so the scientists say, more than 500 million years old in fact.   The Namib (open space) is just that – so open it forces your heart to expand and your soul to lift and time to stand still.     So at times as we sat and absorbed the expanse, the silence, the colour, the feel, the vastness it felt as though time too, had stopped.

Was this where time began?

Or is these where time has ended?

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Sandwich Harbour

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This was once, a home

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Just because…..

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We were not alone – Springbok looking at us looking at him

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Space

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wherever we looked

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time to recapture

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or capture

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ever changing and always staying the same

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a moment in time

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so fortunate to see

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and he showed off happily

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There was huge

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effort involved

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in climbing

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the dunes

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whether old

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or young

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but the views rewarded us

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and of course we had to go down too….

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but who is complaining

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The never ending beauty of the dunes

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Difficult to assess the steepness of the dune as we drop down – with the engine switched off you hear the roar of the sand – as if from the bowels of the earth – AMAZING

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These rather ordinary videos will give you an idea of the scale of the place

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some welcome sustenance after the walks

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and this is what happens when you don’t time the tide correctly !!!!!

photos courtesy of the Powrie girls and Erika de Jäger

A Country…..

…in the south west corner of Africa.     Namibia gained independence only in 1990 South Africans have always felt a close affinity to what was previously called South West Africa with many of our young men spending time in the military in this part of the world.

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For much of my youth large parts of the country were ‘out of bounds’ because of the fighting ‘up north’ as we used to say.

Happily now, we are free to explore – and that is precisely what we did recently.

Well actually we only explored a little of the country – 10 days is not enough to do it justice.   Almost the size of South Africa, with a population of 2.5mill (S African has approx 60mill) it is a deliciously sparsely populated so that it is possible to ‘escape the madding crowd’ and absorb the light and air unhindered.

We began in Walvis Bay, with time spent on the water sharing our boat with friends

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The light and mood in the bay is extraordinary – enjoy20170807 - ET2_24

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The Salt Pans are also amazing – this salt pan currently supplies South Africa with 90% of it’s salt; concentrated salt from seawater with the aid of evaporation.    This salt pan also forms part of Southern Africa’s single most important coastal wetland for migratory birds.

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and when we thought we had seen such beauty nothing could compare, we visited Sandwich Harbour…… which deserves it’s own page.

(photos courtesy of the ‘Powrie girls’ and Erika De Jager)

It’s all about ….

It’s all about the right horse, I was told by those who know best. And those who know best are, of course, those who ride all the time.
So why would I doubt them?
After all, they are regular riders who know horses well and are, I was told, the people one should ask for advice when embarking on a riding adventure.
Except, precisely Because they are riding fit and do so all the time, perhaps they are Not the people to ask?
What do I know? I set off to the gym confidently believing if I did the exercises (squats, sit ups etc) as prescribed, for a few months, I would be fine, as it all depended on having the right horse 😳
So there I was, with dire warnings from many friends about the madness of this adventure; the pain I was going to feel in unmentionable parts of my body, the risk I was taking, still ringing in my ears. My stomach slightly knotted as my brain tried to convince my body that those that Know, say I’ll be fine, it’s all about the right horse.
So I waited for Howard from African Horse Co to arrive at our meeting place, Farm 215. at the designated time of 10am having overlooked of course that the riding world runs to its own clock – dictated by where the horses wandered off to graze; how the old car felt that morning (riding in my limited – very limited experience seems synonymous with old cars – the cost of the one mode of transport dictating the cost of the other 😜), which saddle was where etc.
And then suddenly, after hanging around for an hour or so, there I was being handed ‘my horse’ – Luke
Far from sitting down and gently talking me through the week’s plan with words of encouragement ( the picture I had created in my head 😂) with a question/answer type session. Breyten advised; “Howard said hi”, and “up you get!” Which of course I couldn’t do without a step ladder 😂😂
Luke was a large animal – the largest of the three horses – and I was the smallest, or perhaps shortest is more accurate, rider. Somehow that didn’t seem quite fair 😩.
Since there was no ladder, I needed a leg up; and that was the case every time I wanted to mount him, for the entire week! Alas? I never did get to master the art of lifting one leg as high as my shoulder, putting it into the stirrup while balancing on the other and then swinging myself into the saddle, all on one elegant motion 😂
Nonetheless before I knew it I was on the back of a large horse and off down the road to, well I wasn’t quite sure where.
Reminding myself I needn’t worry – it’s all about the right horse.
And of course it is. All about the right horse.
And the legs, and the thighs, and the back and even the feet (6 hours in stirrups and you find parts of your foot you didn’t know existed 😳)
But it is about the horse. And Luke was the kindest, most gentle soul and within half an hour I knew he would not surprise me, well not much anyway. After all he did bolt when the bus greeted him, and we shot into the bushes when the bushbuck shot out of the bushes, but as bolts go, they were gentle ones, even for me, a beginner.
His back was broad and comfortable. His walk was steady if a bit slow. I asked him to trot and he did, not reluctantly nor in mad haste. It felt like he was indulging me: you want to trot, okay we can trot. Oh, you prefer a canter, no problem, I don’t mind cantering.

When we were galloping and I could hear Sparky galloping up behind me, I prepared for Luke to increase his pace. He didn’t, he stayed reliably steady. A ‘man’ beating to his own drum.
He never embarrassed me by moving when I was trying to mount or dismount him, something I was most grateful for 😃 He waited kindly, nuzzled me when I stood close, shared my sandwiches and even, dare I say it looked pleased to see me each morning.
And at the end of 5 glorious days of riding I agreed that it’s all about the right horse.
Perhaps Howard was right when he said. “If you had to chose a husband, you would want one like Luke.   Reliable, stable, predictable, trustworthy, safe”
Did hear a small voice somewhere whisper “and boring”.

I could not be sure.

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There’s more to The Bush


There’s more to The Bush than the bush.

There’s more to The Bush than the big five, or even the little five, or the birds, or the snakes.

The Bush is about the smell, the sound,the Feel.

In this instance, the wind, the rain.

First fierce and dominating so that speech is pointless as words are carried away with the hustle of the storm. Water cascading down, flooding every corner of the land and disappearing quickly into ground parched and thirsty to drink.

And then, spent, the heavens seem to rest and the rain falls gently, so gently my clothes don’t get wet yet I can see the drops still falling on the water hole.

On this day, most holy day of Good Friday it seems appropriate that the sky is black and angry and the storm rages down on us.

And it seems also appropriate that as I turn to look to my right, I see the light through the clouds, not yet shining, but with the look of a promise of what is to come; sun and renewed growth.

And the rainbow to remind me, on this holy day, most holy day of Good Friday;  not of our covenant with Him, but His with us.

“When I bring clouds over the earth, and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and every living creature—every mortal being—so that the waters will never again become a flood to destroy every mortal being.” (Gen 9)

There is more to The Bush than the bush

Fairest Cape ….

A day of rambling out and about in Cape Town. Sundays are busy days on the glorious Cape Town roads so that driving alone, as I was, it was difficult to stop and take photos that do this magnificent city justice. You will just have to visit and see for yourself – this is just a ‘toe in the water’ so to speak


Never noticed this before 😳

 


Steenberg winery where my lovely cousin’s equally lovely daughter recently married is the first farm (1682) developed in the Cape.   So beautiful.

 

 

 

 



Where in the world….

am I?

this crazy planet is amazing.


A swim in the the Gulf of Oman had me looking ahead to Afghanistan, right to India and down to the Maldives as I swam in luke warm tender waters.

Alone, but not alone

Fisherman down the way celebrating their bounty.

And a stop to buy fresh bread, back in Al Ain as we watched the sun set on a remarkable two days.

fresh fresh

made the same way for centuries

cooked along the sides

and so the day ends


A must visit again part of our world.