It's a wild winter's day in Kommetjie. Mountainous seas are rolling in from the South Atlantic, thundering across the bay as they curl over on themselves and explode into billions of drops of purest white surf. Sea birds sweep along the faces of the swells, held aloft by the updraught as the mass of water surges towards the shore, displacing all before it. A pod of orcas has been in the area this week, moving fast through the water, dolphin-like. What a privilege.
Two surfer girls came out of the water while I was walking along the rocks. I asked them why they surf, and more specifically how they feel when surfing a wave. They said it was because when they ride a wave they become one with the board and are separated from all physical sensation - they become a feeling of pure exhilaration, unaware of their surroundings, and after the ride is over, they can't remember it, only the feeling. I knew somehow that this would be the answer.
Saturday 30 June 2012
Saturday 23 June 2012
A souvenir from Paris
I brought back a brass ring from Paris. I got it from a scam artist who was so skilful that I gave her the money. I'm not at all embarrassed about being suckered; I thought she deserved a reward for all the effort she put in.
She had a young boy with her and as we approached them, she swooped down to pick up this large 'gold' ring, making a big show of trying it on until she was sure she had our attention and then giving it to us to look at. We gave it back and told her to go and sell it. We walked on but she rushed after us and pressed it into my hand, saying "No jewel, no good for me. Good luck for you." So I took it and walked on. Then she followed us, gabbling about Coca-Cola and 5 euros, pointing at the boy. She went on and on so eventually I gave her 5 euros to get rid of her. It obviously works for her, because she was by no means thin, but I felt sorry for her, having to stoop so low as to make up this elaborate act for a few coins. I would have preferred it if she had just asked for money for food.
I met her husband and elder son a few days later (there was a family resemblance). In separate incidents, they both swooped on a 'gold' ring at my feet, but I was able to tell them that I'd already got one from another member of their family and that they were not nearly as skilful as her. I pointed out that I could see how they dropped the ring first and that they should practice a little bit more. They melted away with sullen faces. Dare I say they were not natives of France?
She had a young boy with her and as we approached them, she swooped down to pick up this large 'gold' ring, making a big show of trying it on until she was sure she had our attention and then giving it to us to look at. We gave it back and told her to go and sell it. We walked on but she rushed after us and pressed it into my hand, saying "No jewel, no good for me. Good luck for you." So I took it and walked on. Then she followed us, gabbling about Coca-Cola and 5 euros, pointing at the boy. She went on and on so eventually I gave her 5 euros to get rid of her. It obviously works for her, because she was by no means thin, but I felt sorry for her, having to stoop so low as to make up this elaborate act for a few coins. I would have preferred it if she had just asked for money for food.
I met her husband and elder son a few days later (there was a family resemblance). In separate incidents, they both swooped on a 'gold' ring at my feet, but I was able to tell them that I'd already got one from another member of their family and that they were not nearly as skilful as her. I pointed out that I could see how they dropped the ring first and that they should practice a little bit more. They melted away with sullen faces. Dare I say they were not natives of France?
Friday 15 June 2012
A Clovelly Childhood #3
Looking at photos on the Fish Hoek Beach Facebook page of the many moods of this much-loved beach brought back memories of days gone by.
On windless, sunny winter days, which seemed so frequent when we were children, we would get up before dawn to go down to the beach to look for paper nautilus, the delicate egg case which bears the young of the pelagic octopus and which is washed into False Bay by the Agulhas Current sweeping down from the tropics. These delicate shells would be stranded on the shoreline at low tide, at the mercy of plundering gulls hoping to find a tasty morsel inside. If you didn't get there before sunrise, the shells would be pecked and no longer perfect.
It was like a treasure hunt as we ran along the beach to see who could find one, mostly being disappointed after reaching down to pluck it from the damp sand to find it already damaged. They were few and far between and most times there were none, but we still have a fair-sized collection in my mother's shell cabinet from those days.
But the greatest treasure of all was the freedom to run barefoot along one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, leaving us with a view of life as it should be and a benchmark for our future dreams.
On windless, sunny winter days, which seemed so frequent when we were children, we would get up before dawn to go down to the beach to look for paper nautilus, the delicate egg case which bears the young of the pelagic octopus and which is washed into False Bay by the Agulhas Current sweeping down from the tropics. These delicate shells would be stranded on the shoreline at low tide, at the mercy of plundering gulls hoping to find a tasty morsel inside. If you didn't get there before sunrise, the shells would be pecked and no longer perfect.
It was like a treasure hunt as we ran along the beach to see who could find one, mostly being disappointed after reaching down to pluck it from the damp sand to find it already damaged. They were few and far between and most times there were none, but we still have a fair-sized collection in my mother's shell cabinet from those days.
But the greatest treasure of all was the freedom to run barefoot along one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, leaving us with a view of life as it should be and a benchmark for our future dreams.
Thursday 14 June 2012
Rescued in Paris
My father booked an apartment in Paris for 8 days, after the family wedding we attended in Marbella. We arrived in Paris on a Sunday at lunchtime and took a taxi from Charles de Gaulle to the apartment near the Eiffel Tower, where we were deposited on the pavement with 3 suitcases and 2 large backpacks. We were faced with a large closed door which suddenly opened as a resident came out, allowing us into the building. Inside was a small foyer with no signs relating to the apartment we had booked and not a soul in sight. After knocking on a door with no response, I decided to take the lift up to the 6th floor to see if there would be a welcoming owner. The lift was locked and so I had to walk 6 floors to find 3 more locked doors with no signs. I heard voices inside a flat and rang the bell. A very helpful young couple who spoke a little English said they didn't know who owned the flat over the way but knew it was let out sometimes. They also told me it was a long weekend! So down the steep stairs I went again, to find Mom and Dad (81 and 84) still sitting on the luggage, not having found anyone. Back up the stairs again to knock on another door, found another very helpful Frenchman who spoke a little English and was on his way out but promised to help us if we were still there when he came back.
And then a young woman (angel in disguise) appeared and in no time at all had allowed us to use her phone to call the booking agents (in India!) to find out what was going on. They told us the booking had been cancelled, but we had received no notification. What to do!? We would have to find a hotel. Tired after a late night at the wedding, a long drive to the airport, a flight to Paris and then nowhere to stay, the young lady said she worked at a hotel round the corner and it was her day off. She was on the phone in an instant and secured a triple room for us within minutes. Without further ado, she grabbed the luggage and led us down the road, for quite a way, and took us to the Europe Hotel in Bvd de Grenelle. Within half an hour we were in a most comfortable, spacious (for Paris) room with everything we needed to make us feel at home. As it turned out, it was a family-owned hotel and she was part of the brother and sister team. They were excessively kind to us and nothing was too much trouble. The hotel is in a very convenient location, English is spoken, and the public areas offer a lounge, bar and free internet access. The staff are friendly and extremely helpful and I would certainly stay there again. The metro, buses and restaurants are right on your doorstep and the sights of Paris are a short ride away. In the week that we stayed there, we really felt at home.
The main point of this story is to give another perspective on the Parisiennes, who are sometimes maligned for being unhelpful and rude. Everyone we met wanted to chat and there were very few occasions when we couldn't communicate. The owners and staff at Europe Hotel were kindness itself and it is evident that they are dedicated to providing the best possible Paris experience for their guests. Thank you. I hope this blog will bring you many more guests!
And then a young woman (angel in disguise) appeared and in no time at all had allowed us to use her phone to call the booking agents (in India!) to find out what was going on. They told us the booking had been cancelled, but we had received no notification. What to do!? We would have to find a hotel. Tired after a late night at the wedding, a long drive to the airport, a flight to Paris and then nowhere to stay, the young lady said she worked at a hotel round the corner and it was her day off. She was on the phone in an instant and secured a triple room for us within minutes. Without further ado, she grabbed the luggage and led us down the road, for quite a way, and took us to the Europe Hotel in Bvd de Grenelle. Within half an hour we were in a most comfortable, spacious (for Paris) room with everything we needed to make us feel at home. As it turned out, it was a family-owned hotel and she was part of the brother and sister team. They were excessively kind to us and nothing was too much trouble. The hotel is in a very convenient location, English is spoken, and the public areas offer a lounge, bar and free internet access. The staff are friendly and extremely helpful and I would certainly stay there again. The metro, buses and restaurants are right on your doorstep and the sights of Paris are a short ride away. In the week that we stayed there, we really felt at home.
The main point of this story is to give another perspective on the Parisiennes, who are sometimes maligned for being unhelpful and rude. Everyone we met wanted to chat and there were very few occasions when we couldn't communicate. The owners and staff at Europe Hotel were kindness itself and it is evident that they are dedicated to providing the best possible Paris experience for their guests. Thank you. I hope this blog will bring you many more guests!
Postcard from Marbella
Just come back from a family wedding in Marbella. Our hotel was on the beachfront, with views stretching from Gibraltar to Africa - not that amazing when you consider that the distance between the two is only 14 miles - doesn't look like that on maps! No wonder boatloads of illegal immigrants land on the Spanish coast so frequently. It is easy to imagine them crossing that pond-like sea, so smooth and glassy you could skip a stone across it.
For those who have been told that Marbella is a concrete jungle, it isn't all that different to Sea Point, only prettier, and the vibe is as laid back as Cape Town. The sea is too cold to swim in unless that doesn't bother you, and the sand is sticky and brown, too hot to walk on. But the real charm of Marbella is the Old Town, where you wouldn't know you were in a bustling resort.
Our favourite place was the Plaza de Los Naranjos, where we passed many hours under bright umbrellas, eating tapas and drinking beer and coffee, and once an amazingly refreshing pineapple and strawberry juice. Interesting shops line some streets, while others seem residential, genuinely old, white walled and red tiled, with here and there a striking mosaic of tiles. Bougainvilleas tumble over walls and bright geraniums fill pots on every balcony. The tiny cobblestones are laid in exquisite patterns. It was good to be wearing flat shoes, although the local girls wore nothing but platforms and spike heels - rather a twisted ankle than looking less than stylish!
If you are ever in Marbella, don't miss the Old Town. It will take you back to the time when Marbella was a little town with a beach where young people from all over the world would hang out, tanning all day and partying in the beach bars at night. How the locals must miss it.
For those who have been told that Marbella is a concrete jungle, it isn't all that different to Sea Point, only prettier, and the vibe is as laid back as Cape Town. The sea is too cold to swim in unless that doesn't bother you, and the sand is sticky and brown, too hot to walk on. But the real charm of Marbella is the Old Town, where you wouldn't know you were in a bustling resort.
Our favourite place was the Plaza de Los Naranjos, where we passed many hours under bright umbrellas, eating tapas and drinking beer and coffee, and once an amazingly refreshing pineapple and strawberry juice. Interesting shops line some streets, while others seem residential, genuinely old, white walled and red tiled, with here and there a striking mosaic of tiles. Bougainvilleas tumble over walls and bright geraniums fill pots on every balcony. The tiny cobblestones are laid in exquisite patterns. It was good to be wearing flat shoes, although the local girls wore nothing but platforms and spike heels - rather a twisted ankle than looking less than stylish!
If you are ever in Marbella, don't miss the Old Town. It will take you back to the time when Marbella was a little town with a beach where young people from all over the world would hang out, tanning all day and partying in the beach bars at night. How the locals must miss it.
Sunday 10 June 2012
Change in the weather
Isn't Cape Town's weather wonderful? Thursday and Friday it rained buckets, we put all our clothes on at once and snow fell on the mountains of the Western Cape. The sea was wild and lumpy, with a distant ship rising on the swells, revealing the bulge on the plimsoll line before plunging into a trough and being swamped across the bows with white water.
Today the sun is shining in a cloudless sky and the gentlest breeze drifts across the Peninsula. Small fishing boats are trying their luck just offshore, and at the Outer Kom the waves are enticing the bravest surfers who are prepared to risk a tumble in nature's washing machine.
Ever-cheerful sunbirds are feeding on the hundreds of aloes which are out in full splendour, splashing red and orange across the deep blue sky. Otters have been spotted this morning and their tracks are evident on the small beach down at the Kom.
We are in favourite Sunday mode: fire on the go for a braai, reading in the sun and listening to the Golden Oldies from the 70s on Capetalk Radio.The afternoon will be taken up with the Men's Singles final at Roland Garros. I'll be rooting for Nadal as usual. It's just a pity to be inside on a day such as this.
Today the sun is shining in a cloudless sky and the gentlest breeze drifts across the Peninsula. Small fishing boats are trying their luck just offshore, and at the Outer Kom the waves are enticing the bravest surfers who are prepared to risk a tumble in nature's washing machine.
Ever-cheerful sunbirds are feeding on the hundreds of aloes which are out in full splendour, splashing red and orange across the deep blue sky. Otters have been spotted this morning and their tracks are evident on the small beach down at the Kom.
We are in favourite Sunday mode: fire on the go for a braai, reading in the sun and listening to the Golden Oldies from the 70s on Capetalk Radio.The afternoon will be taken up with the Men's Singles final at Roland Garros. I'll be rooting for Nadal as usual. It's just a pity to be inside on a day such as this.
Thursday 7 June 2012
Cape of Storms
It hasn't rained like this in Cape Town for what must be years. The sea off Kommetjie is mountainous and I can't tell if there is any shipping due to the cloud and rain. If they are sensible, all vessels will have pulled into port by now, although perhaps large tankers don't feel the swells - I certainly wouldn't like to take a cruise ship from Cape Town to Durban. It's no wonder that our coastline is littered with the wrecks of those sailing ships of old, whose crews braved the unknown to bring spices and other treasures to Europe from the East. Today we scoff at their methods of travel, with our GPS and automatic pilot and every conceivable navigational aid, yet they must have been cleverer than us because they sailed into the blue with basic navigation by the stars and still mostly came home again, even though it was years later.
I have a photograph of the replica of the caravel that Bartholomew Diaz sailed on his voyage of discovery, which I took from above Slangkop lighthouse here in Kommetjie, on the same route that he would have taken, and the ship is so small that you can barely see it. It would have been terrifying to sail in that in today's weather and their only warning of an approaching storm would have been a rising swell and a bank of clouds on the far horizon, and if they were lucky they would have time to get to the shelter of False Bay before the storm broke.
If it weren't for those early adventurers, most of us would be living on a very crowded piece of land in the northern hemisphere, so we have a lot to thank them for, not least for braving this magnificent Cape of Storms.
I have a photograph of the replica of the caravel that Bartholomew Diaz sailed on his voyage of discovery, which I took from above Slangkop lighthouse here in Kommetjie, on the same route that he would have taken, and the ship is so small that you can barely see it. It would have been terrifying to sail in that in today's weather and their only warning of an approaching storm would have been a rising swell and a bank of clouds on the far horizon, and if they were lucky they would have time to get to the shelter of False Bay before the storm broke.
If it weren't for those early adventurers, most of us would be living on a very crowded piece of land in the northern hemisphere, so we have a lot to thank them for, not least for braving this magnificent Cape of Storms.
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