A tight squeeze

Speaking as someone who has seen the inside of every toilet in Europe - in fact, practically everywhere I have ever been - I have noticed over the years that the cubicles seem to be getting smaller and smaller. The sheer logistics involved in actually closing the door once inside could be the subject of a scientific study involving how many combinations there are for different sizes and shapes of body, toilet pan and floor space to be accommodated when the arc required to close the door exceeds the available space.

These cubicles, which could comfortably fit inside a Portaloo, must surely have been designed by a man who has only ever rushed to use a urinal and left the building without requiring the privacy of a door when attending to the call of nature.

In severe cases, the gap between the closing door and the toilet pan can be reduced to as little as 3 inches, which is fine if you are tall and thin enough to straddle the pan while doing so, but I fear the majority of the female population don't meet these criteria. In fact, there must be times when size matters so much that the door cannot be closed. It's a great incentive for dieting - but then again, maybe that's where the underutilised wheelchair-accessible toilets come into their own. I personally find these excellent for using when you are accompanied by a full shopping trolley and don't want to risk losing it while otherwise occupied.

The most spacious public toilet I have ever been into was in a town in Spain. Once inside, I noticed that there was a lift door opening into the room, which I can tell you was a little disconcerting! A further survey of the room revealed that this was where all the cleaning materials were stored. Perhaps the addition of the actual toilet was an afterthought.

Zooming in

A good covering of cloud this morning encouraged us to go to Kirstenbosch for the first time in ages, as trudging up and down those lawns in the blazing sun, lugging heavy cameras and backpacks filled with water and snacks, is not my idea of fun. Of course, humidity was the killer and despite my fair degree of fitness, it wasn't an easy climb. If I look back to my pre-hiking days, I remember that the upper reaches of Kirstenbosch were never even on my agenda.
As summer draws to an end, the staff are hard at work tidying up the beds and removing dead foliage, plants and general detritus, and mounds of magnificent rich, dark compost were being spread liberally. (If I had taken a wheelbarrow, I would have filled it and hotfooted out of there with my loot! Imagine how my barren, sandy soil would love a boost of real soil - the plants would die from shock.)
New growth is bursting forth in many places and it seems that the gardens are in peak health.
Although avid bird photographers are posting their photos of many interesting birds on social media, we were again unlucky in that there were few species evident today - perhaps we just didn't scour the slopes enthusiastically enough - and perhaps the emergence of the sun after about an hour didn't help. However, some close interaction with a confiding little dusky flycatcher made up for the lack of paradise flycatchers and woodpeckers, and it was very enjoyable watching the olive thrushes thrashing through the humus for tasty morsels. A forest canary was consuming berries with gusto on a distant branch.
I took the opportunity to get up close and personal with the fynbos - I don't have much opportunity on the hikes, usually being prodded with a hiking pole and told to move on! I do understand the viewpoint as they are hikes, not rambles, but I feel that as I have taken the trouble to climb the dizzy heights I should at least have a photographic record. My interest is in zoom photography, of which I have much to learn, as it enables me to see the minutest details of the minutest flowers (some of the ericas are just 2mm in size) on a nice big screen and really enjoy what the eye cannot see. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I do.

Camping in comfort

Having had four days relaxing under the stars on a farm in the Langeberg, it is again difficult for me to adjust to life back in a populated place. The Karoo and Kgalagadi has spoilt me forever as far as people and possessions are concerned, and a brief visit back to the almost wild (still had electricity!) convinced me that I could spend a long while in those surroundings.

I camped in my little dome tent for the first time since the infamous Spring star party when it snowed on the Matroosberg and the temperature at night was 2 degrees. I still can't believe it when I look at the photos of the amount of clothing I was wearing and it still didn't warm me up. Every morning they would come and ask me if I would please move into a chalet - I think they were worried I might not make it. So for the next few events I took a chalet, but the call of camping is never far away and I eagerly packed the gas stove, camping fridge and portable larder. It was hard to believe that I would only be away for three nights, considering that the car was filled to the gunwales and it has a very large boot! I felt better when I saw what other people brought and it seemed as though I had even been a little conservative. 

The drive up to Leeuwenboschfontein is always pleasant, winding through Du Toit's Kloof, the Breede River valley and then Hex River valley and a stop for lunch at Die Veldskoen Padstal is always on the agenda. The women who work there could teach many a waitron about cheerfulness, politeness and how to welcome patrons. They are simply wonderful.

Once up on the plateau above the Hex River Pass, you take the turnoff to Montagu and about 30km on you lose cellphone contact with the outside world and nobody can track you on WhatsApp until you come back along that road a few days later! The farm has abundant underground water and it looked lush and shady as I pulled into my campsite. I picked a site near the large boma (with huge central fire pit and seating all round, and plugs and water) and it turned out that this was to be a very wise decision, as it rained on the last night and we all just moved everything except tents and cars into the boma, lit a huge fire and socialised into the small hours!

The night skies were magnificent, the Milky Way arching overhead so bright and star-studded that shadows were cast and no lights were needed to walk the long road back to the campsite at 1am. An astounding sight marked a bit of history for us all - as we were looking at various dark sky objects, a line of very bright satellites rose from the south west in sets of three (in all there must have been about 20) and these were the latest launch from Starlink (the controversial 5G satellites). No matter what opinion was held, it was agreed that the sight was surreal and like something from a sci-fi movie. It was spectacular! 

Despite rain on the last night, Plan B worked better than anticipated, and the tent didn't leak. Apart from a drop in temperature from 34 degrees to 7 at 3am, I can count this as a very successful and enjoyable camping trip and am already looking forward to the next one!

A star party again!

Am sitting in the shade of a willow surrounded by lush green lawns overlooking a farm dam at Leeuwenboschfontein. A cool wind is blowing down the valley bringing relief from a temperature a day or two ago of 39 degrees. I'm glad I missed that! Most people will arrive for the star party tomorrow,  and so I am practically alone in this most idyllic campsite with no sound but the soughing of the wind through the trees of and the gentle hum of my camping fridge.
The sun is sinking alarmingly fast towards the western hills, making for early twilight for someone who is used to seeing sunset on the sea, but sunrise will be earlier than home and I will be looking out for the planetary alignment before the crack of dawn.
This is a rare chance for me to tune out of the ratrace, so it's off with the wifi (there isn't any)  and out with the telescopes. Check you later!

Sweltering at Silvermine

How easily we forget the sweltering heat of February when offered the prospect of a fresh breeze blowing up the Fish Hoek valley by the weatherman. Invariably we find ourselves hiking in a sheltered ravine rather than the wind-blasted slopes of a bare mountain, and yesterday was no exception. Not a leaf stirred up at Silvermine as we started off on an easy trail along the river that is fed by the dam further up.  One of the reasons for choosing this particular walk was the shade offered for much of the way by tall but lightly leaved trees and if it weren't for this, the sweltering would have been more intense.
The wind that blew everywhere but there was slightly off the southeast direction and so the clouds that normally drape the mountains were absent and a sky of cerulean blue provided a perfect backdrop for a pair of jackal buzzards soaring overhead, showing us that wings were what we needed! A familiar chat perched on a rock in the far distance, and sunbirds twittered deliriously out of view, but the heat kept other birdlife invisible. A few striking ericas were the only fynbos to attract the eye, and I carried my heavy camera for little purpose except that one should always be prepared for the unexpected.
Despite the heat, we inexplicably decided to extend our walk by going around the dam, where people and dogs were swimming in the deep, dark water. The reflections were marvellous and gave the illusion of coolness, and a little breeze helped briefly. Red dragonflies flitted around exquisite waterlilies where the bridge crosses the head of the dam and some time was spent capturing the moment. March lilies have burst into bloom although it is only February, but everything seems out of season at the moment and maybe it is a sign of changing times.
On leaving the dam, we realised that our cars were more than an hour's walk away, but it was all downhill from there and a great morning out overall. Beer was foremost on the menu at lunch!

My Kalahari Adventure Part 3

It was more than two years since I had been in this part of the Karoo, and I don’t think rain has fallen in that time. The veld was so dry it was grey, even though many of the plants are a dull colour with tiny leaves set close to the stems for efficient retention of the very last drop of water that might be absorbed. And yet we passed bushes that were a mass of pink or yellow flowers – nature responding to infinitesimal amounts of water that allow the buds to burst out within days and so attract whatever bird or insect that will pollinate it and ensure its continuation as a species. There are many that have succumbed to the drought, but one can never be sure. The Karoo is a survival story.

Not a single car passed us on the road from Beaufort West to Fraserburg. These are indeed the roads less travelled and make us very aware of how vast and lonely this land can be – sometimes good and sometimes bad. Fraserburg has a golf course – astoundingly – and one could be forgiven for driving by and not recognizing any traditional features. But one can only admire the hardy golfer who plays a round in such inhospitable territory – a links course would be a dream to aspire to, never mind the manicured fairways of Fancourt.

The bad part of a lonely road struck just north of Fraserburg, and we came gently to a halt as a result of a sharp stone piercing a tyre. Completely in control of any situation and totally unflappable, Japie and Ralie extracted all the tools to do a repair, while we did a good job of remaining cool, calm and collected in the airconditioned bus. As luck would have it, a handsome young farmer chanced by in his truck – first vehicle of the day – and in no time the bus was jacked up, the tyre plugged and pumped and we were waving his tail-lights goodbye. Salt of the earth.

The white gravel stretched ahead of us, kilometre after kilometre, the dry veld on either side unbroken by trees or buildings. Even the sheep were far away, closer to a water trough fed by an iconic Karoo windpomp where the farmer brings feed for the diminishing flock in these severe drought conditions. It was heart-rending to come across a young lamb lying in the hot sun at the roadside, too weak to clamber through the fence to join the rest of the flock, and although we stopped to carry it up, we held out little hope for its survival. They rushed towards the fence, thinking we were bringing food, and no ewe claimed the lamb as hers. There would be many such situations ahead and I learned that living away from big cities (where everything needed for life comes easy) entails many hardships. It seemed as though the main 'crop' for the farmers was stones.

Misty morning among the vines

Walking through the vineyards of Groot Constantia in a very fine drizzle, not even quite that, afforded us an excellent opportunity to do something most of us shun - getting wet. What could be more beneficial for our skin than to be refreshed by nature, free from chemical additives? Being February, there was no chance of being cold and this was why we cheerfully set off in the dampness, strolling between vines groaning with grapes on one side and a completely newly planted vineyard on the other. With nobody around to give us a story behind this, we had to speculate on old vines beyond productivity, or a new varietal being introduced. Being the oldest wine farm in the country, it could be the former. We took our usual route down to the graveyard where the Cloetes rest in peace, then turned down the track to pass the irrigation dam and the lovely thatched homes that line the estate, before heading back up the hill to the manor house. A brief interaction with the resident ducks, who were setting off to hunt snails and other titbits under the vines, is customary and this was perfect weather for them as snails just love a little damp earth and glide out of the undergrowth in droves.
As we gained height, it seemed that the clouds lowered and we eventually succumbed and donned our rain jackets. We chose a coffee spot under the gum trees high up on the hill where more land is being cleared for new vines, but the drips from the leaves made it wetter than in the open and we soon moved off along the clay track. This being quite damp now allowed the clay to stick to our boots and shoes and soon we were walking taller than ever before. It was a mission to kick the dirt off when we reached a grassy patch and took quite a weight off our feet!
There is a collection of old farm carts and carriages that were used on the farm back in the day and we turned in to admire the craftsmanship of the cartwrights and wheelwrights - unfortunately new lighting was being installed and the atmosphere of antiquity was somewhat marred by aluminium  ladders, electrical cords and power drills.
By the time we returned to the cars, the clouds had lifted, the mist dispersed and the sun would soon being shining in a bright blue sky - a change of weather as only Cape Town can do it!

Up to the manganese mine

Yesterday was a supreme example of a perfect late summer's day in Cape Town - clear skies, gentle breeze and not too hot to begin with. The trail from the East Fort at the beginning of Chapman's Peak is in the shadow of Vlakkenberg for the early part of the morning and so we were able to struggle up the loose, rocky and much steeper than we remembered path without too much discomfort until we reached the jeep track and the beginning of the zigzag to the manganese mine. It was clear that the southwesterly breeze was not going to be wafting up from the cold sea below, and so there was little relief once the sun peeped over the crags, and we stopped often to admire the view of the harbour and the comings and goings of the pleasure boats taking trippers to view the seal colony on the other side of Hangberg. A tunny boat was enjoying the calm sea, leaving a whirlpool in the centre of a circle of white wake, and kayakers paddled along the coastline in their colourful craft, perhaps seeking the company of the dolphins that play here.
The heat took its toll and we decided to only go to the lower manganese mineshaft, not the extra 100m or so (vertically) to reach the shaft on the upper ridge, and even so it was a strenuous morning on the mountain. We tend to forget what an important role the weather plays in hiking, and that a few extra degrees of heat can completely change our ability to do a hike that would be a walk in the park in winter.
As always, the views were spectacular and a very pleasant late breakfast down at the beach made for a perfect day.

Table Mountain's beauties

February is the time when the disa uniflora blooms on Table Mountain and a hike in search of this beautiful flower is a must. This always involves climbing steep ravines, as they only grow in seeps and waterfalls on a cliff face, and never in abundance, so some locations are a jealously guarded secret. We go each year to the Cecilia waterfall above Kirstenbosch, which even in the driest times has a few drips to sustain the ferns and mossy growth, and we are assured of a sighting. There is a crossing over the stream a little lower down where a single disa has been seen for the last few years and we were not disappointed. A bright splash of pink was visible from far away and we clambered eagerly over a rocky patch and up the small rock face to get within a foot of a prime specimen. It is such a relief to see it flower each year without it having been removed by anyone (it does happen).
We started off in overcast conditions but humidity again got to us and it was quite an uncomfortable hike on the really steep bits, of which there were many, but from time to time a breeze would find its way over a rise between the ravines, and the sun didn't beat down on us too mercilessly. Our hikes are characterised by genial banter and frequent outbursts of laughter, and all complaints about the lies told by our leader (it's just around the corner; the hard part is over; it's flat from here on) are met with a cheeky grin and a pass around of a bag of jelly babies to cheer us up. There are times when some want to walk fast and some want to walk slowly, but everyone is catered for and I doubt that anyone ever regrets a hike with this companionable group. Complaining about the wind or the heat or the height of the steps makes hiking what it is - a delightful morning out in some of the world's most beautiful places, far from the madding crowd and yet within sight of far-off suburbia.
The Cecilia waterfall had a fair curtain of water trickling over the upper reaches and anyone wanting a cooling shower only had to stand in the pool below to receive just that. Far above, seven visible disas contrasted brightly against the dense green moss, peeping out between the fronds of the ferns that doubtless hide many more from view. But we saw what we had come to find, and that made all the climbing and perspiration well worth it. I have no doubt we will be back next February to see if there are more, and many times in between just because we can.

Marvellous mushroom carelessly knocked aside, unnoticed

The Big Tree, towering skywards, our very own Faraway Tree

Relentless uphill

Disa uniflora

Even steeper

Cape Siskin