Plane travel woes

It is said that life should be about the journey, not the destination. If this is the case, there are some journeys best kept to a minimum, the most notable being air travel. Three important criteria pertain to your decision to fly to foreign climes: 1. Don't go for the cheapest ticket. 2. Travel at night. 3. Take as much snack food as you can to tide you over in an emergency.
When I booked my ticket to Paris, the cheapest flight was via Ataturk, Istanbul. Failing to take sufficient care in calculating the flying hours, I duly booked and paid, only to find once the ticket had been issued that there was a sneaked-in stopover at Johannesburg on both outgoing and incoming flights. It was then revealed that a 9-hour layover at Ataturk lay ahead, which would take away half a day in Paris. The return flight had a 6-hour layover from 7pm to 1am. All of this excitement without the advantage of lounge access for this pleb (you have to be special to get this - paying 40 euros was not an appealing option).
Gathering advice from seasoned travellers, I thought I had a plan to pass the time, but as always, the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley. Turns out there was no free wi-fi (not accessible on my tablet); this in itself was of no consequence, as the mind can occupy itself without continual external stimuli. Access to food was expensive and not to my taste and the coffee was appalling. Having already spent 12 hours in the company of the gentleman seated next to me on the plane, another five hours (one of which was spent sitting at a plastic table while he had a sleep on his folded arms (people must have thought we were together!) took the cake and I scuttled off to explore and people-watch for the final four. He was by no means unpleasant company, but I am a fairly solitary person and can deal with long periods in my own company and a great deal of silence.
As planes landed and took off in a continuous stream broken only by 30-second intervals, you can imagine that the airport had quite a bit of foot traffic. While passing the time standing under the Departures board, waiting for the Gate number to roll up from position 40 in line, my sandalled foot was ridden over by the luggage wheel of a Middle Eastern gentleman who took my hand and apologised profusely. I said it was fine, I had another foot and presumed he didn't speak English!
The return trip involved a two-hour delay at Charles de Gaulle, and a six-hour stay at Ataturk, by which time I had it all sussed and bought a bottle of water, parked myself at the boarding gate and read a book!
A detailed report on my travelling, which, like the curate's egg, was good in parts, will doubtless follow ad nauseam. Fortunately, the actual time spent in France was all that I hoped it would be and more, but I could have done without the airports!

Bastille Day in Paris

Woke at 4.45 as the sky lightened over the city. Flung open the window and soaked up the Parisian atmosphere – crowd control barricades, military vehicles and troops, police everywhere and not a car in sight. Only one lone bin picker outside a McDonald’s, otherwise a quiet start to Bastille Day.

After a typical continental breakfast of brioche, croissant and pain au raisin (wonderful for the gluten free diet) and excellent coffee, we set off for the Champs-Elysees to find a place to watch the much-anticipated military parade. Of course, security was on high alert and strategic areas were closed off, so we joined the throng on a merry dance through the most circuitous route imaginable, which took us through the avenue where many art galleries provided an idea of what the public apparently is currently buying. Fine art is not the thing.

The architecture of Paris is surely what brings people back to this city time and again, together with the leafy boulevards and avenues that are such a joy to wander in comfortable shoes. Arriving at last at a point where we could catch a glimpse of the parade, it soon became clear that there should be a pecking order for parades. The front row should be for children, followed by short women (me), then taller women, men and tall men at the back. This would make total sense and enable everyone to see without jostling and obstruction. Needless to say....

I managed to see enough to satisfy myself of the marching skills of the French armed forces and enjoyed the military band that was stationed nearby, but the two highlights were roaring of the engines on the multiple overhead passes of the jets, passenger plane, helicopters and older aircraft (a real crowd pleaser!) and having the cavalry wait their turn in the side street where we were standing. The magnificently turned out horses, and their equally striking riders, resplendent in their cavalry uniforms and helmets with flowing horsetails, were too wonderful to watch as they waited patiently in the shade as the aircraft entertained the throng. At the command, all mounted and drew their sabres, trotting off in perfect formation onto the Champs-Elysees. How fortunate that these animals no longer see the battlefield.

Much later in the day we set off once again for the Tuileries to find a good place to view the fireworks. Having no wish to be one of 500 000 people at the Champ de Mars, this was a good alternative. Everyone was dragging those heavy green chairs from all parts of the gardens and settling down to wait. At 11pm the sky was at last dark and we were treated to a spectacular display befitting a national celebration. It lasted more than half an hour and I doubt whether another fireworks display could be more impressive. A fabulous way to end a very different day in my life!

Packed and ready to go

It's raining steadily now as the cold front settles in for a few days. The temperature in Cape Town will be around 11 degrees, just as I set off for Paris, where an average of 37 degrees is expected over the next 5 days or so. Bit of a dilemma then, isn't it? What to wear!? The lightest possible winter clothes to leave in, and a change of shoes on the way.
I started by packing a fairly large suitcase, then every day I have removed the items that I definitely won't wear, whittling it down to some basic combinations. After all, I will have access to all home comforts at my friend's house in Boussac, and I only ever wear my favourite few shirts anyway. On the off-chance of a cooler evening (not looking likely) I have thrown in some tops that are too smart for local wear (this is Kommetjie) but will be perfect for Paris.
I've decided to wear my electric pink Nike Aquas for the plane as they are light and flat and will disguise the socks I'll be wearing in Cape Town and discarding in Istanbul. The fact that they won't match my outfit is immaterial. There will be no one on the plane or at Ataturk who will give a fig, least of all me. It's just such a pity it will be too hot for my high-heeled ankle boots. They do look good with slimline jeans, but hey ho!
Toiletries have been ditched to the absolute minimum as they will be available wherever I go, so it's just a couple of items for the see through bag those security staff must be so bored with checking.
As a result of ruthless unpacking, my bag will fit in the cabin and weighs just under 8kgs, the maximum allowed. In fact, one third of the weight is attributable to my friend's clothes that she couldn't fit into her suitcase when she went over, so I am literally travelling on a shoestring!

Midwinter sunset

Been so busy tidying up loose ends and ensuring a stocked larder, fridge and freezer to keep the home fires burning while I'm away, that I've had no time, nor the inclination, to blog, but as I enjoy it so much and feel something is missing if I don't, I'm just going to post tonight's sunset! It's too beautiful not to share.
Today's temperatures were almost on a par with Europe's midsummer. Not winter at all.

Watering in winter

Having grappled with a heavy hose from the tap to the top of the garden - about 100 feet - returning twice to unravel knots and kinks and then finding that the high-pressure gun on the end of it didn't work, so popped it off only to have the hose flail wildly like a snake in its death throes spewing fortunately clean water all over me, I eventually managed to get a bit of water onto the restios.
It has been such a dry summer and late winter, with no particular rains as yet, that the restios are drying out and dying. These indigenous reeds were originally planted in an area that has an underground water source that is so close to the surface, a hole dug there immediately fills with water. It was a problem area and the restios were to suck it up and thrive. However, over the last few years, water tables have dropped and rain has been scarce and there is no longer a bog at the top of the garden. This could also be because of intensive housebuilding on all the spare plots towards the mountainside and so the water might have been diverted through disturbance.
Whatever the cause, it's a source of much sadness to see these lovely plants fade away. Watering regularly from municipal water defeats the whole object of planting waterwise, so I only do it when desperate times call for desperate measures.
In the meantime, the aloes are flourishing, and will form the main focus of gardens in this area for the foreseeable future if the rainfall pattern continues.

Warm day in winter

Sweltering in a little pre-frontal heat here in Kommetjie. It's very difficult to decide on what to wear in winter as the sun shines brightly and the wind cuts through you like ice. If you sit in the shade, it is Arctic, but move two paces to the left where the sun is and you shed layers like a snake in spring.
Speaking of which, there hasn't been much sign of the resident cobra at my parent's house in Clovelly, and it is possible that someone had it removed or it moved on of its own accord. However, the record speaks for itself and there will definitely be a replacement soon, as we have always had a cobra in the rocks. With no fence between the house and the wild mountainside, all and sundry in the way of indigenous fauna come into the garden to feast on the large variety of plants that are always on hand. The porcupine ate R500 worth of seedlings only the other day, and these will not be replaced, as it only serves to encourage them. Perhaps aloes and cacti are the answer. It is certainly a fallacy that they prefer bulbs. Anything goes as long as it is within reach!
Mom's little vegetable and herb patch has had to be established in raised boxes, which have proven extremely successful, not only for the plants, but for Mom's creaking bones! No more the active gardener, advancing years have meant that she confines her forays into plant cultivation to pots on the deck and in the house, as always with a large measure of success. I have not inherited her or my grandmother's green fingers, and simply hope for the best! You won't find cut flowers in my house as even those wilt overnight, but perhaps that is because I prefer blooms left on the bush and they feel unappreciated!
I have a hoya that is currently growing rampantly on the balcony and I have taken to spraying it regularly with foliar food, as I am told this will encourage flowering. Hold thumbs!

Very little to report!

Here we are on the 3rd of July and I haven't thought of a single interesting thing to write about for 3 days! The weather continues to be just magnificent here in Cape Town, and I can't keep on gushing over that. The building operation between me and the sea view has been further 'enhanced' by a protruding pergola to criss cross the last little bit. Pointless to even whinge.
I have had something new - a bokmakierie has started to visit my garden! What a striking bird, with its bright yellow and gentle grey markings so cleanly defined with a black bib round its neck. The call of the bokmakierie is what will alert you to its presence, and the instant you put your head out of the door to try and spot it, it will go silent and fly off. Not as relaxed as the sunbirds, boubou and fiscal flycatchers. I fear I may never get to photograph it, but nevertheless it's good to know that it visits as the call is very pleasing and can be heard from quite a distance.
I haven't seen the little hoopoe for a while now, and I fear Mange Kitty is keeping many of the old visitors away, if she hasn't already eaten them. She has turned out to be a voracious hunter, and the gecko population is a thing of the past. A bell around the neck is of no use whatsoever, as they are very expensive and are dispensed with within an hour or two. Perhaps a belt around the body could work.
As winter approaches, birds are not the only things to fly north. Nearly everyone I know is on their way to the northern hemisphere to catch a bit of sunshine (although it seems a pointless exercise with the weather we are having, and the heatwaves in Europe looking like something to be avoided!) and I too will be getting into that silver bird soon. Another adventure in the offing!