Will November bring the Cape Doctor?

We are on the cusp of November! Who can believe how fast this year has flown by? November heralds the onset of the Cape Doctor over the Peninsula when the southeaster blows (usually) at its fiercest and most unrelenting, with what is known as a 10-day blow. If traditional weather patterns are maintained, this will bring out the worst in everyone, as there is nothing like a strong southeaster to set the teeth on edge with grit swirling in mini tornadoes, litter flying like kites in the sky, skirts blowing over heads and, worst of all, people in shopping mall parking lots letting their car doors bang into the car next to them. Yes, we know who you are!
Accompanying this foul wind is the stripping of all the new young leaves from trees and shrubs, and the shrivelling of early blooms in salt-laden air. Lawns will brown and crisp despite valiant efforts to keep them damp and petunias will be ripped from the soil, their shallow roots unable to withstand the onslaught. Doors and windows will have to be kept closed to allow paintings to remain hanging on the walls and prevent hinges from being dislodged from doorposts.
But if we don't have the Cape Doctor, what will blow away the smog and pollution that otherwise covers our beautiful city? What will bring the right conditions for much-needed rain in the summer rainfall areas inland? How will we appreciate the generally temperate weather that this region experiences for much of the year if we don't have this extremely unpleasant wind to compare it with?
For everything there is a season. Let's see what November brings!

Stroll over Slangkop

After a week of unbearably hot weather, a cold front arrived in Cape Town to scatter some showers on thirsty ground, bringing with it a sharp drop in temperature. Having packed away most winter clothes, I was left to shiver in the arctic air, something I seldom do as I don't really feel the cold and it seemed a little odd to put on a puffy jacket for our climb up to the blockhouse on Slangkop. I even made sure I had my black bag raincoat in my backpack in case one of the dark clouds lurking out to sea swung by.
As we climbed the steep path from the lighthouse up to the road above, I marvelled once more at how life has changed since I started hiking. I know that if it weren't for this convivial group of fellow hikers, I wouldn't set one foot in front of the other, and when I look back at the distance we have walked and the heights we have scaled, I know it is all thanks to them. It is truly a special group.
Back to the hike - it is good to walk through the veld at different times of the year, as this allows you to see the enormous variety of indigenous flora as the months progress, and the mountains above Kommetjie are covered in good sized pincushion trees which somehow have managed to survive many devastating fires over past years. The mimetes and leucadendrons are also very showy, while on the ground, the smaller, brightly coloured vygie and daisy species delight the eye. The views from Slangkop stretch from Table Mountain across to a glimpse of the Hottentots Holland range on the other side of False Bay, and for only a little effort, particularly if you walk up from the Catholic church car park, you can enjoy the wide open spaces that make the Peninsula one of the most beautiful parts of the world.
The weather was good to us - I only had to put on my black bag twice!

 

 

 

Lighthouses and lost books

Living as I do in close proximity to a lighthouse, with its beam flashing out as a warning to ships not to stray too close to this dangerous coastline, I often have cause to remember a family who bought a holiday home in Nantucket in the early 20s. They were the Gilbreths - father and mother Frank and Lillie - who pioneered time and motion study. They had twelve children and Frank Gilbreth, when asked why he had such a large family, would pretend to think a while and then say it was because they came cheaper by the dozen. The holiday home consisted of a small building and two bug-lights (small lighthouses which, when they lined up in the sights of a ship's captain, would lead him safely through a channel into the harbour - much like the beacons of Knysna lagoon). The children used the lighthouses as dormitories and the two books they wrote about the family later in life, Cheaper by the Dozen and Belles on their Toes, told the tale of growing up in such a large and interesting family. By all accounts, the father was a real character who developed his time and motion theories through such methods as timing his children on how long they were in the bathroom, etc. With so many of them, it would have been quite a logistical nightmare in the days of single bathrooms! (The Von Trapp family were doing similar things on the other side of the Atlantic at about that time, although apparently on a larger budget!)

I read these books over and over as a child, as they were on my mother's bookshelf, and although I have searched and searched, I cannot find either book. Even stranger, no one seems to know what I am talking about when I ask where they are! If anyone knows where I can find these books, please let me know. I would imagine they are out of print now, although a visit to a bookshop could give me the answer to that!

Kakapo

It's 34 years since I walked down to the wreck of the Kakapo on Noordhoek beach. In fact, the last time I was there I drove down with picnic baskets for sundowners, so technically the first time I have walked there. Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end. However, today's reality is that there is only relative safety in numbers as criminal elements lurking in the nearby dunes often result in loss of personal possessions and bodily harm - something that needs to be advertised on a huge hoarding at both ends of the beach for tourists and non-locals to be aware of. 

Undeterred by possible muggings, a large group of us enjoyed a little bit of paradise as we strolled barefoot in the shallows along the beach from Kommetjie, a light southeaster bringing relief from the last few days' intense heat brought from inland. Dogs frolicked, toddlers toddled and mothers sunbathed as we passed by on our way to the wreck. We stopped at the landmark log that has been firmly wedged on the rocks above the high tide mark and wondered at the immensity of the tree it must have once been, and how sad it was that is should have been destroyed only to end up as a piece of driftwood on a foreign shore. 

As we rounded the shelter of Klein Slangkop, the southeaster freshened and stinging sand blasted across the expanse of beach between the dunes and the shoreline. No place to hide there and so we peacefully proceeded to the rusted remains of the Kakapo, forever wedged in the sand through poor navigation, sometimes at the edge of the sea and sometimes far inland according to the whims of the weather. Sometimes almost covered and sometimes exposed right down to its propeller shaft. Part of the scenery in Ryan's Daughter - now there's a playback from way back.

We didn't stay long as Kakapo (for those who understand Afrikaans) is an apt description of what humans have left there, and besides, the stinging sand would have played havoc with our sandwiches, so we headed back to the log, disturbing a young seal that had come to lie on the beach and enjoy a bit of a sunbathe. It lolloped back into the water at a great pace, dispelling any ideas we may have had that it was needing medical assistance!

The walk is around 7km and, on a day like today, perfection.

 

Where are the birds?

The variety of birds feeding on the deck has reduced with the onset of spring and greater abundance of food in its natural form. The Cape White-eyes have all but disappeared and must have found a greener pasture. The coprosma that has supplied them with juicy orange berries for some 30 years didn't quite make it through the drought, and only one branch remains with a handful of berries waiting to ripen. Despite having five other coprosmas in the garden, this is the only one that has ever had berries, so presumably the others are male (?). It's sad that the White-eyes' favourite food source is almost at an end and I'm hoping that self-seeded saplings will grow into the right kind of tree for them.
The only two birds that remain consistently, rather as if coming to see me every day, are the Southern Boubou and the Cape Robin - they are possibly young ones that were bred nearby and will disappear when suitable mates turn up, but nevertheless they are early morning and evening regulars and are a source of great entertainment. They barely take any notice of Mango and Biggles any more and a comfortable coexistence is in place. Maybe it's the heat.
The sunbirds are the ones I miss most, with their irrepressible twittering in the hour before dawn - it used to be just outside my window and was the best thing to wake up to, apart from the crashing of the waves down in the bay. I suspect that their absence is due to the proliferation of the pesky sugar bottle feeders that are luring the sunbirds from the honeysuckle, jasmine and hibiscus planted specially for them. Perhaps the only way to attract them now is to give them something they enjoy even more - an upturned spray of water sprinkling the bougainvillea, where they can preen and bath and twitter at the end of a long, hot day. I'll just go and check...

A post from the past

What an endless source of entertainment the sky is! Every moment is different - perhaps a butterfly flutters by, or a flock of pigeons, the straggling V of sacred ibis or a pair of seagulls riding the thermals high overhead. Sometimes it's a hang-glider, a small plane doing aerobatics or the cheerful multicoloured kites which often brighten the skies over Kommetjie.

As I sit on my balcony, a prinia trills briefly on the tiniest twig on top of a tree, silhouetted against a backdrop of palest blue before swooping down to pick up a piece of fluff to line a nest. The foliage on the tree is olive green on top and grey green underneath, and the sunlight reflects off it like a mirror on this crisp but sunny late winter's day.

Wispy clouds are forming over the mountains, fluffy and white, but I don't think they'll be there for long - they form and fade away as I watch. Clouds provide us, and particularly children, with endless fuel for the imagination as we see castles in the sky, dragons and angels, dogs and ducks. At sunrise and sunset, clouds provide a means for us to experience the wondrous beauty of nature's light show, as they turn from cerise to palest pink and vice versa.

On clear nights, we can gaze out into the infinite universe and marvel at our insignificance under the twinkling stars, the odd planet, myriad satellites and occasionally the International Space Station as it hurtles round the Earth every two hours or so.

I believe the sky is blue because it is a soothing colour - imagine living under an orange sky! Any time you are feeling stressed or worn out, look up into the sky and watch nature go about its business. You may see something unexpected.

 

Hoping to hear

After three weeks of impaired hearing from an ear infection, I finally went to the ENT today. It is very difficult to be unaware of what is happening on the periphery of your location, and an entire Sunday went by without me knowing whether I was alone in the house or not. No background noises alerted me to the presence of the rest of the family. A chattering crowd has also been a source of frustration as I have been unable to distinguish individual conversations and so have sat in my seat at lunches as though at a single table. Not very companionable. The last straw was a power failure last night when I was alone at home and couldn't hear any sounds from the neighbouring houses that might indicate habitation. For reasons better known to the electrical authorities, only two houses in the block were affected and every other house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Very disconcerting living in this bubble.
It turns out that Cape Town is currently suffering (apart from extreme heat and the tail end of a drought) from the highest allergen count ever recorded, and so even those who don't suffer from hay fever are affected in some way. I'm told I have glue ear as a result of constant inflammation of the sinuses over a long while and it was a relief to find out where this is headed.
When I was a kid, there was a radio programme (sort of horror stories) and I have never forgotten the episode where an earwig went into someone's ear and travelled around (not fancied earwigs much since then). The endoscopy reminded me of that earwig as I felt this remarkable piece of technology travelling around inside the cavities in my head (not the brain), tickling as it sent back photos in gory detail. Then followed the drilling of the eardrum and vacuuming of most of the fluid - definitely not something you want to do too often and eternally grateful for a high pain threshold and an ENT with the most marvellous bedside manner!
I'm told it will take a few weeks to clear completely with the antihistamines, nasal sprays, saline rinses, etc. and we are testing to see whether the untreated ear takes longer than the treated ear. Always happy to be a guinea pig and contribute to medical science.
And now I know why people are always asking if I have a cold - I didn't know I had a nasal twang. 😷

Taking a little strain in the heat

As Cape Town hits record highs for October, our hiking group set off for a beach walk at Cape Point. One might have thought that this would be the coolest place in Cape Town, being at the edge of the icy Atlantic, but the berg wind conditions decided to extend themselves to the southwestern tip of Southern Africa and cool was not to be had. Perhaps we should have parked down at the beach rather than on top of the mountain - after all, if the path goes down in the beginning, it means you have to climb back up at the end. Another guideline from a seasoned hiker - if the temperature in Cape Town is 30 degrees plus, don't go. That being said, it wasn't unpleasant and a drift of wind did come from the sea, but the arduous return climb did us in, and I'm sure a little democratic discussion will take place in future when extreme conditions come into play. We did settle for the lengthier but less taxing uphill climb and I think only the prospect of a cold beer at lunch got a few hikers up that hill!
It was a snaky sort of day, too, with cyclists reporting many sightings along the roads in the reserve and sure enough, a small cobra lay in the path ahead of us, eventually slipping into a hole just big enough to take its girth. One wonders how many more lay in the cool darkness under our feet!
On a cooler day, the walk from Gifkommetjie to Platboom would be a delight, and we can only hope that there won't be too many of these extremely hot days to come.

Poetry in motion

What an amazing sight! My flock of sacred ibis that wing their way overhead twice a day - sometimes hugging the mountain contours, sometimes the coastline and often low over the house so that I can hear the swishing of their wings - are gathering above me for the flight to roost in Hout Bay. They are high up, wheeling in two untidy knots, apparently undecided as to whether to fly in unison or as two separate flocks. They circle almost aimlessly,as if no bird wants to make the decision to be the tip of the V and carve a flight path through the air, making it easier for the following flock to take advantage of the slipstream.
The sun is low enough to shine on the underside of their white wings, tinging them a warm golden colour and making them stand out clearly against the pale blue sky. They soar and wheel as the wind carries them further into the distance, still undecided and now definitely two separate flocks of 20 to 30 birds.
And suddenly! Something clicks into gear and the leading bird in each flock turns its substantial beak towards Hout Bay, and every bird slips effortlessly and perfectly into a following V as if a choreographed corps de ballet. Such elegance. Poetry in motion.

Sunday somnolence

It's been a spectacularly somnolent Sunday. No soul has stirred in this household since midday, including the pets. He Who Can Fix Anything has set a record for parking off on his bed and should get in a good 23 hours sleep by tomorrow morning. This is noteworthy in someone who, over the last 35 years or so, has started pottering in his garage at 7am on a Sunday, coming inside only at sunset to resume a supine position. He runs on solar energy and is generally only seen in daylight hours, unless the Duracell battery has kicked in and then there's no holding back. This must be early onset of old age!
We are set for a prolonged heatwave this week, not a welcome prospect as the garden, which has only just started to recover after the treat of winter rains, will take a beating from the already fierce sun, and with water restrictions still firmly in place, even a few hours a week of watering from the wellpoint is unlikely to help. Looks like the lawn is going to be replaced by a new discovery from the nursery, daisy lawn, which is a tight hardy ground cover that, once established, doesn't need watering and you can throw out the lawnmower. It sounds too good to be true, but worth a try!
Even the birds have been quiet today, with just a late call from the Southern Boubou on the deck, letting me know that the suet ball needs replacing after the cheeky and voracious redwing starlings decimated it today. I've put out a shallow bowl of water for the smaller birds - hopefully they will notice it and come for an evening splash. I feel like one myself!

Do you feel fabulous?

I came across this recently: If it doesn't make you feel fabulous, don't do it, don't buy it, don't keep it!

Isn't that a marvellous approach to life? It makes me realise that we settle for so much less than we should in so many ways. We should be taught this from our schooldays, along with other life skills such as managing finances, saying no when yes is not the right answer and learning to think for yourself, questioning everything.

All my life, I fancied I might feel fabulous in long, flowing dresses in vibrant colours but, not being a hippie at heart, much less a flower child of the 60s, there has never been an occasion when I could wear them without raising alarm in the family. So a few feminine follies hung on hangers in my wardrobe over the years but never saw the light of day unless I was gardening. It just felt wrong and so I didn't feel fabulous - and after yesterday's southeaster, I remembered how loose clothing is prone to being whipped over your head when the Cape Doctor blows! So perhaps it was all for the best. 

A close examination of my clothing choices reveals that there is very little that makes me feel fabulous, except for 'going out' and 'special occasion' outfits, and in these casual times these also barely see the light of day. If I put on anything that looks remotely as if I wouldn't be gardening in it, it is assumed that I am going out to a fancy lunch, when in fact I don't always want to look like I'm down to my last T-shirt and track suit pants. I like to dress up, even for no occasion.

Having shed many kilos over the last year, and with no intention of putting them back on again, it is once more time to examine the wardrobe. Everything is now too big - what a wonderful thing! But it leaves me in a quandary - it's all new (I didn't know I was going to go hiking so much!) and some items haven't been worn. Is it Hospice, second-hand shop on consignment, give away to friends or have the local tailor work magic with a needle?  Do I throw it all out and start again? Should old favourites be kept to wear at home only? 

I will have to ask myself every day: Does this make me feel fabulous? After all, isn't that what we are here for?

Looking back

Today I have nothing of interest to report on. That is assuming that the things I do report on are of interest anyway. Perhaps they only interest me. When I first started my blog, way back in June 2011, I wrote once or twice a week, with the intention of it becoming daily. When I mentioned this to my mother, she said, 'Oh, you don't want to bore people!'
Well, 1 511 posts and 121 000 page views later, be bored. Here's one of my favourite blogs:

I once had a BMW 7-series automatic.
I had never thought about owning one.  I was driving a Toyota Conquest at the time.  One day my husband says: "We're taking a drive up the West Coast."  Who am I to argue - I love a drive in the country and we are seldom in the same car.
We get to a small town about 200km from Cape Town and he pulls into a car dealership, goes into the office and comes out with a bunch of keys. "Let's take this car (a large red BMW) round the block." Well, ok. So we go round the block and back into the yard.  He gets out of the car, says "I've bought it for you. See you at home."  (This may seem a trifle odd, but he is not big on discussing things and works on a "need to know" basis.)  He gets into his car and leaves.
So there I am in this huge car, never driven an automatic and his dust has already settled. After figuring out how to adjust the seat in 4 directions so that I can see over the steering wheel, I start the engine, lever the gearshift into Drive and ease out into the street.  I nearly find myself back in the yard thanks to power steering and drive with my fingertips after that. Thank goodness for a Saturday afternoon in a small town - not another car in sight! The onboard computer tells me all kinds of things that I've never needed to know in the Conquest - I've hit the big time now!
It doesn't take long to get used to my new posh car, after all, BMW drivers aren't rocket scientists (well, some may be) and anyway the car drives itself.  It surges forward at the slightest pressure from my foot and it isn't long before we are bowling down the West Coast road at an easy 160km/h.  Ah, the recklessness of it all!  (In my defence, there were no other cars on the road and it was only due to the extremely comfortable and quiet ride that I was unaware of my speed.)
My relaxed journey comes to an abrupt end as I approach the first hurdle, a traffic light, after about 150km. I have to start thinking about how to stop, where's the clutch, there is no clutch, which foot should I use, what do I do with the gearshift?  It is no small panic, I can tell you.  By the time I get home I am exhausted but well able to handle the animal.
My husband was home long before me. "What took you so long?"  How fast did he drive?

Hope for gardens

The dark days of winter are suddenly over, as the sky lightens well before 5.30am these days. Somehow I didn't notice a gradual change, just an awareness that the days had got longer. Winter persisted into October this year, also a marked change from last year, and the spring flowers in the garden were weeks late compared to previous years, but nonetheless did arrive.
Despite good rains, the water table has not replenished itself, and the level of the well remains a good five feet below ground level. In past years of exceptional rains, it has sometimes risen to within two feet. I do not recall ever seeing it at such a low level after the winter in 36 years. At its current level, it seems unlikely that we will be able to water the garden much past January next year from this source, and so the water tanks will need to be decanted into smaller containers to take advantage of every drop that falls in the summer months.
So here we are in October, and the buddleia and clivias are giving a splendid display, while the first rose has bloomed. Nurseries are getting busier as people take heart from the increased dam levels and set about replacing the plants that were lost during last summer. Most gardens have been transformed from the traditional lawn and flowerbeds to a more water-wise format, with aloes and other hardy indigenous plants becoming the focus, and mine is no exception. After weeks of destruction by a family of mole rats who excavated caverns underneath the lawn (I fell right through up to my knees in one patch), things have finally settled down and we are slowly digging up the remains of the grass and turning it into a garden. I have at last found a wonderful gardener who has green fingers and can just put a stick in the ground and it will grow.
Now we just have to hope the southeaster doesn't blow too hard this summer!

Almost as deaf as a post

It's now ten days that my ears have been blocked due to URTI and I can appreciate the difficulties of the hearing impaired, and how much of life passes by without this essential sense. Perhaps the pressure build-up adds to the sense of isolation, but the main effect is to eliminate background noises that enable us to be aware of what is going on around us.
By not being able to perceive their presence, people approach outside my range of vision and give me a huge fright as I suddenly notice them. I can't hear traffic and have to ensure that I look both ways before crossing the road and not rely on sound as I sometimes do. Pots bubbling on the stove go unnoticed until they boil dry and the food is well and truly burnt at the bottom. I can't hear the dialogue on the TV (not that this is particularly important!), or hear the music (which is!). I irritate people who have to repeat what they have just said, and the pressure causes a constant chorus of cicadas to ring in my head.
But the really important sounds that are missing are the birdsong as dawn starts to break, the crashing of the waves down in the bay and the whispering of the wind in the trees. I cannot imagine what life must be like for those who have never heard or have lost the ability to hear the gentle vibrations of nature. Yet another reason to be grateful for life's blessings and ignore the minor inconvenience of temporary hearing loss.

Fun in Fernkloof

I was fortunate enough to spend a few days in Hermanus lately, hiking in the magnificence of the Fernkloof Private Nature Reserve in the mountains behind the town. The geography of the area makes for very localised wind conditions, and while some parts were blowing a hoolie, others were calm and very pleasant for walking along the easy trails that traverse the steep slopes. The views make any short strenuous stretches very well worth the effort, and one can see why this is such a popular retirement/holiday town with so much accessible and unspoilt natural beauty.

Waterfalls tumble in the deep ravines, no longer at their winter peak, but nonetheless a welcome sight and sound, and birds flit in the fynbos, catching your eye with their iridescence and the flight patterns that sometimes make it easier to identify little brown jobs than the actual plumage. An exciting sighting was a gorgeously patterned puffadder sunning itself in the narrow pathway. The steep slopes don't make it easy to deviate from the path and there was a little bit of a standoff; encouragement from a pebble lobbed nearby made Puffy slither slowly and not very enthusiastically a few inches to the left to allow us to pass. It's always a privilege to see these reptiles in the wild, and even better to be able to leave them undisturbed.
A lizard lay lazily on the back of a concrete bench, so perfectly camouflaged that some of us nearly touched him before seeing it was not part of the bench. He posed unconcernedly for the camera.
Far below, whales (for which this coastline is famous) bobbed in the bay, treating us to the occasional breach and accompanying splash just to show us that they can also have fun!

Still felled by a bug

It's been a while since I blogged, due to health issues and the angle grinder drama, and in between a delightful break in the countryside. The health issue is the bug that is striking everyone down - upper respiratory tract infection with no apparent cold or flu, just straight to the cough and then the painful ears, accompanied by deafness and loss of balance. I generally refuse to bow down to illness, but this one kept me out of circulation for a week (not wanting to infect anyone else) and two days man down on my bed. My attentive offspring kept the home fires burning and attended to my every need, but this didn't improve the infection and so it was eventually off to the doctor, antibiotics, probiotics, cortisone, cough mixture and painkillers. I, who never even take a disprin, was replacing my meals with tablet intake (or so it felt).
Nearly two weeks later, little has improved and I have been warned that this particular strain of whatever it is keeps coming back. Which leads me to the realisation that, despite all my efforts to follow a healthy eating regime, doing long hikes in the fresh air and getting lots of sleep, there is no guarantee of good health for anyone, and it is only when struck down with infirmity that it is brought home that our health is the most important element of life. This insignificant issue, for me, made me think of all the millions of people out there who suffer from severe and debilitating illnesses, pain and disabilities on a continual basis without complaint, while I have only suffered the minor inconvenience of being unable to participate in conversation over the weekend due to blocked ears. It makes me feel rather silly.

The waiting room

On Tuesday my son had one of those horrific angle grinder accidents. The grinder disc caught on his jersey and churned through it to slice into his lower abdomen. I will say right now that it didn't puncture the abdominal cavity but did damage the muscle wall, so he was incredibly lucky. It isn't my favourite phone call - 'Mom, I've had a bit of an accident, but Cape Medical Response are on the way'.
My sinking heart returned to its rightful position. Qualified people would soon be on hand to sort it out. I was on my way home at the time and got there just before the ambulance, finding my son slumped against the wall with a man pressing a cloth against his stomach to staunch the bleeding. I saw he wasn't too pale, felt his forehead (don't know why), can't remember what I said. In the distance I heard the siren. People stood around looking fearful and concerned.
The paramedics soon assessed the damage and said good under the circumstances. Yay. Options were given. Off to hospital for further assessment and essential repairs. For various reasons, a state hospital was the destination - Victoria Hospital in Wynberg. Having always been lucky enough to have private treatment, this was an experience I was not really looking forward to, although I have always believed the medical treatment doesn't differ. I got there about an hour after him and went into the crowded ER waiting area, where a security grille gate was standing open, leading into the ward and I leapt through, having no idea what else to do.
The ER was wall to wall beds (stretchers?) and doctors and nurses bustling efficiently, cheerfully and frantically to deal with what must be an ongoing nightmare in terms of work hours, stress levels and communication challenges. My son lay on spotless, laundered bedding, in a row of patients awaiting attention. I waited with him, but no one made eye contact or attended to him. He wasn't bleeding to death, and it was easy to understand that we would just have to wait our turn. I still wasn't quite clear on why he hadn't gone to a private clinic as I had confirmed I would pay, and I went into the passage to make a phone call when I was told by a fierce, and very capable, nurse that I had to go into the waiting room behind the gate! 'Out there?' 'Yes!' She handed me a form and said I had to fill it in at Reception so that a file could be opened and they could treat him. It should have been done when he arrived. I would hear nothing for another three hours.
This lengthy preamble to the purpose of this blog leads to my experience of the waiting room of a state hospital.
The poorest of the poor attend state hospitals, if they can even get there. The benches are the hardest you have ever sat on. Three hours is normal to wait. Sick babies and children wait three hours. Two people have drips attached to them, hand held. Faces are lined with pain and years of hardship. They know the drill. But they talk to each other and to me. Brief friendships form in mutual discomfort. They tell jokes and laugh. Many of them come from other parts of Africa and still consider these good conditions. The facilities were clean and adequate, but some sort of food or even water should surely be available, even if just for the children. I fitted in well, in my dishevelled hiking clothes and uncombed hair after a morning up in the mountains. We who can afford private care know nothing of deprivation or suffering. We should all experience time in the waiting room of a state hospital.
Eventually a fellow 'waiting relative' said I should go to the gate and wait for the nurse when she called the next patient. I had no idea if my son had been attended to. I did so, and immediately I was told he was all sewn up and getting his medication, ready for discharge! A miracle. He shuffled out of the ER, having been given the very best medical attention, 15 stitches and a fistful of tablets for the princely sum of R110.
I wasn't the only privileged person in the waiting room. There was a young couple who didn't mind the long wait. That really is the difference. We need bigger facilities, more doctors and living conditions that don't exacerbate illness. That would be a perfect world. Greed and corruption are robbing the poor.

Cecilia waterfall the hard way

On Tuesday our group of intrepid hikers toiled up to Cecilia waterfall. I say toiled because we took the anticlockwise route which involves a much longer uphill trek with steps up to knee height - not the easiest way for those wanting a little less effort. In fact, I did one of the steeper sections twice, as I foolishly left my stick behind on a water break and had to go back for it. My cellphone also dropped from a shallow pocket but was fortunately picked up by those in the rear. This set the tone for the day, and should have been forewarning that I should take more care - although in the end it was others who needed to take more care.
The weather was cool and cloudy with a fresh southeaster blowing in from False Bay; nice for walking. We were about halfway up the steepest section when a young woman with a tiny baby strapped to her front passed us on the way down - it couldn't have been more than 2 weeks old - astounding what you see on the mountain.
The path to the waterfall is fairly rocky and we had just started the level section when one of the hikers turned her ankle and immediately it became apparent that this would be a tricky path for a rescue, something that should always be anticipated as accidents are called that because they are unintentional, unexpected and undesirable. Fortunately she was able to continue with a little assistance but our progress was of necessity much slower. When we reached the waterfall, it was surprising to see that it was not the raging torrent we had recently seen in Skeleton Gorge, but just a steady flow of multiple trickles, and the resulting river further down appears to be fed by many other streams on the way down.
I found it an enjoyable walk, but would have preferred the clockwise route as the uphill is a little less relentless and there is more opportunity to enjoy the vistas on the downhill - they are stupendous!