When you can't see for looking

The other day a friend and I nipped over the mountain to the rolling hills of the Constantia vineyards for a walk back in history at Groot Constantia. After partaking in a leisurely luncheon, the time came to pay the bill and I reached into my bag for my wallet. This bag has many compartments and is multi-zipped for additional security. The wallet also has many pockets and places for cards. I had stopped earlier at a supermarket for some essentials and had used my debit card, but as is our way, paying is an automatic response procedure where you take the card, put it in your bag, sign the slip, put that in the bag, then leave.

My friend can vouch that I searched every pocket of that bag, every compartment of the wallet, zipped and unzipped everything that had a zip, searched through everything again and again. I searched through diaries, notebooks, piles of receipts, folded up tissues, my jeans pockets, the wallet again - to no avail. And try as I might, I couldn't remember if the cashier had handed the card back. I break out into a little sweat when a card goes missing, not because I fear that someone will hack into my account and withdraw thousands of Rands (no chance of that! - they would be sorely disappointed), but because I fear I have lost my mind as I cannot find it or remember the chain of events. Alzheimer's looms large on the horizon.

My friend sent her husband to the supermarket to find out if they had found the card while we drove back to Noordhoek to sort it out at the bank. When we pulled into the vast parking lot, by an amazing coincidence we turned into the exact same parking space as I had been in earlier, so I scouted the area and asked the car guard if he had seen it, but of course he had no idea what I was talking about. A discussion with the manager at the supermarket revealed nothing and by that time the bank was closed, so as soon as I got home, I phoned to cancel the card.

I have just emptied the bag and thrown out all unnecessary items. I opened my wallet and removed every single thing from each compartment and threw more unnecessary scraps of paper, business cards, appointment cards, shopping lists, a TV licence and two paperclips into the bin. I then shook it upside down just to clean out the crumbs that seem to gather in the darkest recesses - and the debit card fell out.

The mind just boggles.

I have to say that I once lost my credit card and two weeks later found it in my handbag, which I had also searched with the same thoroughness. I am now going to whittle down the things I carry with me to a wallet with one line of cards, one zip compartment for coins, and one pocket for notes. The bag will have one pocket for lipstick, mirror and comb, and the big space will be for the wallet. But then where will I put the diary, notebook, pen, tissues, cellphone, pocket knife, small screwdriver, toothpicks, waterless handcleaner, fold-up shopping bag... I have tried a bag organiser, but I need a bag organiser for the bag organiser.

If anyone has the solution, please let me know. Otherwise I will have to come back as a man in my next life and just keep it in my pockets.

Read every label!

As a  conscious consumer, I am daily horrified by the ingredients I read on the labels of the food we buy in our supermarkets. The latest discovery is bleach in sausage. It's bad enough that our toilet paper, tissues and roller towels are bleached (do we really need everything white?), but to find it in your sausage is enough to banish them from your braai! On the paper note, have you smelled the roller towels that we are supposed to use for soaking up excess oil from fried foods (another no no, but it's still a long road)? Would you want to eat that?
The thing that really peeves is that there doesn't appear to be an alternative, unbleached product, without chemicals. Or that it isn't labelled as smelling gross. We are not given the choice to live the way we want to. Practically everything we put on our food in the way of sauces has genetically modified products such as maize and soy added to it. The fresh food we eat has sometimes been sprayed with pesticides without our general knowledge, so that even this is not what we think it is.
If you try to eat only free range meats and eggs, chances are the animal or fowl has been fed on genetically modified grains, as our government appears to be enamoured of such a policy, despite the rest of the world becoming more and more vociferous against it.
Of great sadness is the sight of shopping trolleys filled with non-foods such as processed cereals, chips, pies, sweetened dairy products, cat and dog food with rainbow colours - and not a piece of fruit or bunch of carrots to provide some nutrition - being pushed by women with small children already showing signs of the weight problems that will be the precursor to ill health later in life.
While I appreciate that my point of view regarding nutrition and health need not be adopted by anyone else on the planet, surely it doesn't make sense that we should accept the poisons that are being dished up to us?

A 90th birthday celebration

Feeling in need of a bolstering of the spirit today, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to join old family friends at the celebration of a 90th birthday. It was like having an outing with Mom and Dad again, as it was at their mutually favourite place, Kirstenbosch, in the company of friends I was at school with, and it was an absolutely delightful day.
As usual in Cape Town, the weather is very local, and it poured with rain over Kirstenbosch, catching many unawares as they strolled in the gardens, and soon the tea room/restaurant was filled with damp patrons drying off under the welcoming heaters! Of course, after the rain had cleared, the mountains were magical, with mist drifting among the ravines and waterfalls cascading groundwards. The streams running through the gardens babbled as they rushed over the rocks and under the bridges, a sound so welcome to the ears of drought-stricken bucket luggers. The earthy scents of wet undergrowth brought a sense of calm and quiet over this normally busy botanical garden and it was lovely to stand alone at the family bench for a while, undisturbed by chatter.
More rain is expected tomorrow, but this time accompanied by near gale-force winds at times, and so the gentle calm of today will be replaced by traditional winter weather. Gratitude for today and tomorrow.

The old forts on Red Hill

One of my first hikes last winter was to the old forts above the Red Hill road, accessed from Da Gama Park, and it was Cleo's first hike as well. Then, the mountain was still recovering from a wildfire, and the landscape was bare except for the burnt remains of old protea bushes. Today there is quite an infestation of Port Jackson, which should be nipped in the bud, so to speak, before it takes over the natural fynbos again, but I doubt it will be actioned. But generally the new growth is proteas, and ericas, haemanthus and a multitude of sparse-leaved plants with lovely primrose yellow flowers stretch across the hills.
Cleo once again took her job seriously, clambering onto rocks and looking ahead for signs of danger, of which there were none except the ominous, heavy clouds foretelling the rain to come. The walk is easy and only 4km in total, but exceptional views await those who travel this path, and it is a constant source of mystery that the hills aren't alive with the sound of hikers. So much beauty so freely available should be taken advantage of by as many people as possible. Safety in numbers.
The rain fell from the sky as we reached the rocky outcrop where the forts perch, built by the British in the late 1700s, and apart from no roof, remarkably intact. Shelter was found under a rocky overhang looking over Simon's Town, and coffee and biscuits were greatly enjoyed, particularly by Cleo.
On the return journey, I remained convinced that we were on the wrong track, as I didn't recognise any of the landmarks along the way, and it was brought home to me that mountains should always be treated with respect. We sometimes concentrate so much on where we are putting our feet that we don't take enough notice of our surroundings. Fortunately I was proved wrong!

Oddity of nature

A few months ago, I propagated new African violet plants from leaves of a single specimen. All the leaves grew successfully into new plants and they live in a corner of the kitchen under the south-facing window, with another plant many years old. The leaves are a beautiful medium green and are particularly large. Recently I noticed that the leaves had suddenly faded to the palest green with a dark edge, and where a leaf overlapped another, the darker green colour had remained. I observed this at different times of day and night and have come to the conclusion that as soon as natural light goes at sunset, the leaves respond to the artificial fluorescent light in the kitchen by going pale. This in itself is fascinating, but even more so is that none of the other plants do it, even those propagated at the same time. I would love to hear from an expert what their opinion is on this phenomenon.

Under fluorescent light, pale green with dark edge

Sister plant unchanged

Daytime green

Other plant not affected

Rugby in real life!

The last time I went to a live rugby game was in 1976. It was also the first time. The All Blacks were touring and Sid Going was the star of the show at Newlands. I don't follow rugby, finding it quite difficult to understand, and preferring single player sports like golf and tennis where I can see the ball most of the time! Yesterday an opportunity presented itself to go to the Stormers vs Lions game and I thought, Life is for living, so just go, and I did.
Season tickets and parking in the garage next to the stadium went a long way towards maximum ease of access and was second best to a box. Actually, it was great to be in the throng among die-hard fans who never let up on the cheering, chanting, booing and flag waving throughout the game, all of which gave prompts as to what was happening on the field. Without the constant commentary of TV viewing and close ups of all the action, it wasn't easy for a pleb like me to keep up with the subtleties, but it was clear that the ref was bearing the brunt of the booing. I also knew which direction each team was playing in, so it wasn't a totally lost cause.
Although we lost by a narrow margin, I left the famous stadium feeling that live rugby was infinitely preferable to the TV version for the the human connection with the players right in front of us on a field that looked so much smaller in real life, and most of all the unity of spirit in the crowd.

Elephant's Eye cave, Constantiaberg

What an incredible hike today! Our destination was the Elephant's Eye cave high up on Constantiaberg, and we set out from Silvermine dam in ideally cool conditions of 11͒C. A steady upward climb took us into the mist sweeping in from the south east as we reached the ridge leading along the edge of the mountain on the way to the cave. Yesterday's very welcome rain was evident from the washed away paths that had become instant streams, and a rivulet tumbling across our path and plunging off the cliff face as a quite impressive waterfall.
New growth was all around, bursting forth seemingly within a day of real rain, and many beautiful Erica specimens dotted the mountain, some incredibly tiny and well worth bending down for a closer look. Rock pools had formed in every available place and we were privileged to watch a prinia bathing and fluffing its feathers close to the path. The usual pied crows were in attendance, although things weren't quite going their way as a sparrowhawk continually divebombed them, no doubt to distract them from an easy meal. A jackal buzzard soared effortlessly overhead as we toiled below, earthbound and wingless.
The walk is close on 8km with an ascent of 300m and so gave the legs a good workout. Some chose to wait at the firewatcher's hut on a little hillock, but I was definitely going to the cave, having never been there and pretty fit now compared to a year ago! The extra climb was strenuous but manageable, and I seem to have lost my fear of heights after climbing Lion's Head last week, so all was good and it was an interesting place to visit. The cave doesn't go very far into the mountain and appears to exist through the constant falling down of large chunks of rock from the roof. I chose to sit outside for my coffee! The views are spectacular and well worth the effort of getting there.

Climb every mountain...

Ford every stream...

Looking down on hilltop hut with False Bay in background

Cave mouth

The lengths I go to when taking photos!

Got the t-shirt!

Striking up a conversation

I love striking up a conversation with strangers, particularly in queues. Today I had reason to go into the bank and thought it would take no time at all. There were two counters open, both occupied, and two people before me in the queue. The customers appeared to be sorting out their financial affairs rather than making a quick dash into the bank for some petty query, and it was 45 minutes before it was my turn to hog the chair. As I waited on the queuing bench, I chatted to the man on the left and the woman on the right. A young woman entered the bank and walked straight over to a third consultant who had just seated herself at the desk. Well, if looks could kill! The lady next to me gave her such a piercing stare that it obviously burned a hole in the back of her head and she quickly scuttled into her rightful place at the end of the queue, suitably subdued. When it was my turn, I went over to consultant number three, who told me she didn't open accounts and I must see one of the other two. Back to the bench! Lady on the right swanned over to consultant number three and the atmosphere on the bench lightened considerably. 

At last it was my turn and I sat at the desk while a personable young man bashed away at the keyboard at a speed to rival the perfect private secretary, and it still took nearly 30 minutes of frenetic tapping to make all the entries required to open a simple account. It did occur to me that perhaps 80% of the tapping was on the backspace key to fix the errors, but as he hummed a little tune to himself the whole while, I felt it would be churlish to think such thoughts. In between the humming, there was even time for a little chitchat on the length of time it took. Eventually all was done, and a mountain of paperwork (despite all the key bashing) spewed out of the printer and multiple signatures were applied. But my goal for the day was achieved and I left a satisfied customer.

Turning straight into the coffee shop next door to revive myself after the ordeal, I found the three tables already occupied, but a young woman asked me to take a seat as she tapped away on the keys of her phone. Once that was over and I was enjoying an excellent coffee, we struck up a conversation and in no time I had convinced her that she should definitely buy the red flowery mug that she just loved on the shelf next to us. If we don't spoil ourselves, who will? I asked, and two more women joined in to continue that conversation. By the time we left the shop, we were almost planning a reunion.

Rushing into PnP to buy cat food, I ended up in the queue (from a choice of about 12) next to the man who I sat next to earlier, and so we had a quick recap of our experience in the bank, before finally heading in opposite directions.

Queuing is so much less onerous if you take the trouble to share your boredom with someone else!

Wild seas

How exciting to have wild wintry seas off Kommetjie after such a long, long summer of flatness. One soon grows tired of calm seas (I speak as a landlubber) and watching towering walls of water tumbling into themselves and exploding in fountains of spume is as fascinating as watching flames leaping skyward from a pile of burning logs. Ever-changing energy made visible.
A walk to the lighthouse at sunset is not the ideal time for photographs as the spray diffuses the light beyond the optimal level, but dramatic scenes unfold nevertheless. The odd bird photobombing helps with the atmospherics!
Heavy seas bring hope for good rains as cold fronts approach the land, and we are definitely holding thumbs as the drought still has us in its unwelcome grip.

A walk for Dad

Today is Dad's birthday and a year since he left us, so I went to the place where he and Mom spent so many happy hours - Kirstenbosch. Mom always moaned that he never took her there often enough and so we made a special effort to go whenever possible. They couldn't manage the walks anymore, but occasionally took a ride on the electric cart to see the proteas right at the top of the gardens and of course enjoy the birdlife and views at their leisure. Over the years since they were children, there were family outings to Kirstenbosch and so they saw many trees growing bigger and bigger over some 80 years and more, as well as the expansion of the gardens from its small beginnings.
The family bench has had its plaque removed for inclusion of their names and I'm looking forward to seeing them having a permanent place in these beautiful surroundings. I know they are too.

A brisk walk up past the Bird bath took me through the winding route of the cycad garden, with its interesting sculptures of dinosaurs peeking out from behind these ancient plants. The pterodactyl is my favourite and I scanned the gaps between the huge trees, expecting to hear a screech and flapping of unfeathered wings, but it was not to be.
Then it was down to the Boomslang for the required wobbly walk. I seem to be losing my fear of heights (all that hiking) and for the first time I managed to walk all over the gardens without a puff or a pant. A marvellous achievement and I'm sure Mom and Dad are proud!

Through the pine forest to a magic swing

Flat walks sometimes turn out to be longer than uphill, and today we walked over 6km through the Tokai forest from Spaanschemat River Road to the M3. High cloud kept us cool until we reached the shelter of the tall pines and it was a very pleasant amble except for having to move aside constantly for cyclists along the path. The few horses that passed on the sand track were a joy to behold - magnificently muscled, shiny coats and obviously adored by their owners.
The stream that runs through the forest (I think it becomes the Diep River) has dried up since last I walked there about 9 months ago, but there was evidence further down that it is in fact running, but underground in places, and the water we did see looked clear and healthy. Workmen were clearing the excess rushes and vegetation near the M3, and it was good to see maintenance in progress.
We had our coffee break on Lime Hill with the big pine tree, overlooking the traffic on the highway, but in the other direction was a marvellous view of the mountains from Muizenberg to Devil's Peak, certainly a delight to the eye. We accessed the hill via a crenelated weir, which brought out the inner child as I jumped across, and paved the way for more playing later on the walk, when we came across the best rope swing I have ever seen. It hung from a high branch in a pine tree, with a swinging arc of about 30 feet. After some fellow hikers had called back their youth, I took the plunge and jumped on.
What a wonderful feeling to swish through the air, hair blowing back with abandon! In my enthusiasm, I pictured myself as a fairy on the swing and let go with one hand, waving to the crowd as I swung to and fro - one can but dream and it was tremendous fun, but I forgot that momentum required fierce clinging with the other hand and tonight my shoulder is telling me I wasn't a fairy! Good times!

More mutterings

May is the season of sunsets in Cape Town, and also berg winds, the hot wind that blows down to the coast from the interior. I don't enjoy the berg wind, as it increases the static effect on hair and clothes and I already have a problem with touching metal objects such as shopping trolleys and door jambs. It also dries out the garden, nullifying any good effects of a little rain.
In the past (I will call it 'before the drought', rather like the phrase 'before the rinderpest' so beloved by Herman Charles Bosman), a berg wind would motivate me to do an 'autumn clean' - washing heavy bedding, curtains and other household accessories that need plenty of wind and warmth to dry the same day. Now we aren't allowed to use enough water to do the most basic of laundry. Our good humour is wearing thin as we scan the weather forecasts for news of rain. A forecast of 90mm over the catchment area next week is greeted with jubilation and passing around of positive posts on Facebook. Within hours, the forecast has been reduced to 30mm. Are these forecasts now 'fake news'? Are they designed to excite and deject us on the same day? Should we stop reading forecasts, rather like I stopped watching the news many years ago?
Of course, there are times when they are wrong and we get much more rain than hoped for, and I think we are pinning our hopes for drought relief on unusual and unexpected weather patterns. I would not like to be a weather forecaster right now. They probably get backed into corners at parties with fingers wagged in their faces, as if they are responsible for the situation.
In the meantime, we are learning a valuable lesson in wastage and scarcity management, which will stand us in good stead in the coming years. I think the long-term answer will have to be desalination, and I'm busy planning my route down to the sea, just a few metres away through the neighbour's garden, for a nice thick pipe to draw water up to the house to be filtered through a home desalination plant! We can dream.

Lion's Head, almost

Today I did something I have never had any ambition to do. Climb Lion's Head. Not quite to the top, but close enough for someone who has a fear of heights, steep cliff faces and narrow tracks.
It was yet another magnificent autumn day in Cape Town - barely a breeze, blue skies, calm seas - marred only by low smog preventing us from seeing to the far, far distant mountain ranges of the escarpment and the hinterland beyond.
The initial steep climb up a gravel jeep track was just training for the rock climbing to come, and many younger people passed us coming down from their presumably post-dawn hike to the summit. In fact, many younger people passed us going up as well, and being the polite hikers we are, we gladly stepped aside and pressed ourselves against the rockface to let them get ahead. At full moon the path is clogged with climbers wanting to see the sunset and moonrise at the same time, and the very thought of being part of the human chain on that precarious path is enough to make sure I never join them. Weekends are also pretty crowded on Lion's Head, with dogs, children and babies in backpacks joining the throng. Nevertheless, it remains a challenging, and in places downright treacherous hike, not to be taken lightly by the faint-hearted or vertigo-averse.
I belong to the latter group, and decided this was the perfect opportunity to test the brain and convince it that you can change your mind and change your life. Going up was difficult, but constant encouragement from my fellow hikers kept me going without incident. Climbing the first ladder, clinging to the staples in the rocks and pulling myself along the chain turned out to be fun, but there was still an even more challenging scramble up the rocks on the so-called 'safer' route. As I went up, I wondered how I was going to get down.
The views are stupendous and the air was like champagne. Any second thoughts about doing the hike were instantly swept away and for that I am very grateful. We are so privileged to have all this beauty on our doorstep. An Australian couple who I took photos of with all the appropriate landmarks in the background were blown away by Cape Town - the most beautiful city in the world. We had to agree. Of course, there was no southeaster to taint their enjoyment!
Going down was a doddle. I never gave a thought to the steep drop on my right and clambered easily down the rocks I had been so concerned about on the way up. My only regret was that I did not get someone to take a photo of me clinging to the rockface, supported only by the staples clenched in white-knuckled fists! I will have to go back for that.

Proof that I was there

Not much of a path, although quite wide here

Not too happy at this stage, sitting well back from edge

The path

End in sight, but not ready for that degree of ladders and chains

Twelve Apostles and Camps Bay