The Cape Doctor is in attendance

To answer the question: Is the Cape Doctor going to blow in November? - emphatically YES. The familiar summer weather pattern seems to have settled in and we are being treated to a thorough cleansing of the smog and smoke of the winter months that hang like a blanket over the Cape Flats. On a clear day you can see the buildings on the seafront at the Strand on the opposite side of False Bay, and sometimes the clearly demarcated vineyards on the lower slopes of the Helderberg. With the wind comes a very choppy sea on the False Bay side, and keen photographers spend hours down at the harbour in Kalk Bay trying to capture the moment when the backwash on the sea side of the breakwater hits the wall and shoots tons of water high into the air in a spectacular display of raw natural power before giving the moored fishing boats a swabbing of the decks (although Maria Wagener's great photo reveals that savvy skippers moved the boats in time!). A spring high tide frequently smashes the windows and floods the restaurant on the rocks and I suspect forms part of the attraction for patrons at the window seats, as they nibble nervously with one eye on the foam-spattered glass, but can dine out for years on the story of how the wave burst through the glass and drenched their dinner.
The Atlantic coast is another story. The stronger the wind, the flatter the sea becomes, taking on a breathtakingly inviting bluey-green translucence that belies its icy temperature. Today was such a day, and must have been devastating for the participants in a surfing competition at Long Beach where the break was totally absent. It's really difficult to plan an outdoor even in Cape Town, no matter what time of year!

Helluva hot hike up a hill

Today we walked from the second car park on the Signal Hill road down to Maskew's Path on the Sea Point side, following a steady downhill, and very rocky, track along the Lion's Rump until we reached the line of gum trees bordering the upper roads of Fresnaye and Green Point. Our destination was the noon gun looking out over Table Bay which has traditionally been fired over the centuries to warn of approaching ships at the Cape. Today it is a minor tourist attraction, and we walked with another group who had not done this hike before. Having said that, I must point out that apart from the leaders of our group, I was the only one who turned up for this hike and without the other group, it would have been just the three of us. It didn't take long to figure out why nobody else had pitched, although I have done this route before and was apparently undaunted.
Somehow our Signal Hill walks are always accompanied by a heat wave, and today was no exception. The line of gum trees gave a dappled shade as we descended, but a fearsome climb lay ahead, almost straight up the steepest part of the Lion's Rump as we neared the masts of the noon gun battery. The slippery surface of loose clay offered no convenient indentations, roots or steps to assist us on the way up and it was a case of best foot forward and he who hesitates is lost. By now the sun was beating down mercilessly (sorry for the cliché, but it was) and the less agile among us must have been wondering what they were doing on this helluva hot hike. I took one of the older ladies by the hand and dragged her up the hill with me and can only say that it really got the heart racing - first time I've had peak cardio, according to my Fitbit, in many months, and 25 minutes - so it was a really worthwhile exercise rather than an inconvenience.
An inconvenience was the ramshackle and totally obsolete bit of fencing at the top of the scramble which necessitated a further arduous climb, although along a well-marked trail, to an open gate that led us further round the hill, and suddenly we were there! In the parking lot at the battery were about 10 mini tour buses and cars. Yes, there is a road. I think there were more than a few among us who immediately decided they would come by car if ever they needed to see the noon gun fired again!
The three of us then left the other group to listen to the tale of the noon gun before it was fired, as we had to get back home early and so we didn't have our normal half-hour rest and refreshment break before tackling the relentless climb up the jeep track on the City Bowl side of Signal Hill. It was here that the heat really beat down as the cooling breeze from the Atlantic had disappeared, and it was while I was on one of my frequent rests to breathe and reduce my heart rate that I realised why nobody else from the hiking group had turned up. They knew what to expect.
But I will do it again, only never between November and April!

Was 6.2km as I turned the GPS off.

To pay or not to pay

Our postal service leaves much to be desired, and as there has apparently been a long strike at the central depot, we haven't been getting anything in the post box for months. Things have started to trickle through, but we definitely did not receive the two speeding fines for my husband and son earlier this year. A message on his phone alerted He Who Can Fix Anything (apart from paying speeding fines) to the situation when he was informed the fines could only be paid at Wynberg Magistrates Court and not online as they were so old.
As I am chief cook and bottlewasher, also general dogsbody (positions that are not remunerated), I was informed that I should pay them forthwith in case there was a problem getting licences renewed at a later stage. So I set aside a few hours of my valuable (though unpaid) time and set off for another new experience of the state of the nation. I found a parking place right outside the court and went inside to be greeted by a sign saying: 'Do not give clothes to prisoners'. My bag then went through the x-ray machine and I went through the thingy that hopefully didn't x-ray me. This was followed by a body search (patted down by a young lady), and a body was duly found. I asked what she thought I might be hiding under my quite flimsy summer blouse but humour wasn't on the menu - just doing her job.
I found the mercifully short queue of what appeared to be taxi drivers awaiting their turn to pay fines under a sign that said 'Prisoners Friend'. I asked a fellow fine-payer if that meant those who paid bail for their friends. It was. Most of the men were indignantly flapping long rolls of printed paper similar to a till slip from a popular supermarket after shopping for Christmas all in one go - one fine totalled R8 000 and this was for multiple offences of not having a licence. He had told the traffic cop he had it at home, but that obviously didn't sway the issuing of the fine. I asked him why he didn't just get a licence but the general consensus was that the magnitude of the fine was the problem, not the lack of a licence! I sat there clutching my little piece of paper on which was scribbled the reference numbers of the minor speeding fines - not even an official document. I felt a little out of place, but grateful that I had a licence.
The queue quickly moved on and I reached the officious lady who would direct me to either pay the fine, appear in court or beg for a reduction. She asked to see my ID and of course I had to confess that they weren't my fines. Without the slightest attempt at PR and trying to improve relations between finers and finees, she snapped out: 'Affidavit from your husband.' No smile, no discussion. I said I just wanted to actually pay it. 'Affidavit from your husband.'
I confided to the handsome young man with a full set of gleaming gold-tipped teeth seated next to me that nobody I knew ever paid their fines and just threw them away. He asked if we had had a summons. 'But what about when I try to get a licence renewed?', bleated this honest taxpayer. 'They'll print out a statement and you pay it then, and then they give you your licence.'
Bowing to his greater knowledge and unbelievably impressed by the gold teeth, I accepted his advice and left.
On the way out of the gates, a samoosa seller brandished her wares and I bought a packet, feeling peckish after the excitement of fraternising with taxi drivers, and was duly ripped off by the lack of filling in them. I think she should be inside, explaining to the magistrate about false advertising.

Spitskop, Silvermine Nature Reserve

I had never heard of this particular peak before, despite having lived here for 60 years, and that is probably because 59 of them were not spent hiking. It is always nice to do a fresh route and this one was particularly pleasant with a variety of surfaces: gravel track, sandy track through knee-high fynbos, muddy track with stepping stones through head-high fynbos, a little rock hopping across the flattish sandstone rocks at the peak, and a fairly stiff climb up a short hill or three. It kept the heart rate rising and falling and provided a good selection of beautiful flowers to observe along the way. Unfortunately I didn't have my expensive camera as this doesn't go on any walks where there is any slight possibility of losing it to an unworthy criminal, and so my photos today are poor quality, to say the least. However, they allow one to see the amazing colours and markings that nature offers those who care to look, so I will post a few.
The weather was variable, as it is in Cape Town in November (actually, any day of the year), and we alternated between rain gear and shedding all outer layers on a number of occasions, but the rain never became more than a light smattering and we would have survived without all the extra PT. The icy southeaster made for ideal walking temperatures, making the uphills not so arduous and the downhills easy enough to allow for a lot of pleasant chit-chat along the way. Sometimes we have to concentrate so much we can barely remember who we walked with, so this was a nice change.
The views from the peak were breathtaking - from the far mountains of Stellenbosch to Simon's Town to Slangkop to Chapman's Peak and, in the gap, the Sentinel and Karbonkelberg of Hout Bay, with the Fish Hoek/Noordhoek valley stretching out below. Well worth the effort and one of many spectacular vantage points in the Silvermine reserve.

 

The frown on my face

I've always been plagued by facial expressions that do not necessarily reflect my feelings according to my surroundings. That's a difficult sentence, but it basically means that my thoughts are usually a million miles away from the conversation I am surrounded by and my expression is with my thoughts. And so often I am accused of looking cross or irritated or even just not smiling enough, but that is not the case. Of course, there are times when I do reveal a clear reaction to my surroundings, as we are all entitled to do, but in general I am not one who spends much time being angry or unhappy.
There are two other reasons for looking vaguely disinterested or frowning, and impaired eyesight is an ever-present cause - nothing is ever entirely in focus and concentration is required, particularly when trying to read a menu or follow the ball on a televised tennis match. This causes narrowing of the eyes and pursing of the lips, but it helps bring back some focus!
The third reason is my current state of semi-deafness caused by glue ear. This has left me on the outside looking in for a month now, and shows little sign of improvement. Being unable to hear most of the conversation around me and none of  the background noise has left me in a bubble of isolation that is difficult to deal with, as many of my interests lie in listening to what others have to say. I have searched without success for an old-fashioned ear trumpet! I am unable to hear when the washing machine and dishwasher are running, or whether a pot is boiling on the stove, and yesterday I left the wellpoint running for an hour as I couldn't hear the pump.
So what I am trying to say is, don't feel offended if I don't look happy to see you. I'm just trying to (a) see if it's you, (b) hear what you are saying and (c) remember if I turned off the stove.
Perhaps botox is the answer. A frozen face will deal with many a misunderstanding!

Taken after my first hike in the mountains. Too tired for an expression.

The simple life

With the world in the state of disarray and impending chaos that it is in, and which you and I don't seem to be able to make our voices heard over the ka-ching of cash registers in the back office of big business, a return to the simple life seems more and more attractive.

We are constantly bombarded with adverts exhorting us to aspire to greater and greater degrees of material possession, but with that comes the albatross of increased subservience to the financial system, which owns everything you think you own, and can take it away from you in the blink of an eye if you fail to make two payments. More people than you think are two paydays away from the street. So next time you see a homeless person sleeping under a bridge or a scruffy individual with a cardboard sign at a traffic light, imagine yourself in that position and you may realise how tenuous your link to the good life is.

Now for the good news. It is possible to rid yourself of the 'trap'pings of commercialism without actually physically suffering. Your mental attitude is your own problem, but that too can be fixed by you. Take the time to sit under a tree and look at the sky through the leaves - no thoughts are required and you may not even know that you have benefited in any way, but whether you like it or not, your soul has been restored and your body rejuvenated. It matters not what you believe in, but communing with nature, and this doesn't mean talking to it, is a natural restorative that costs nothing but your time. Only you can know how valuable that is.

Working barefoot in the garden is another great way to release stress, as long as you don't stress over dirty toenails! Although a manicured (funny how that came up) lawn is the socially accepted norm, and a neglected garden is seen as uncared for, if you look closely, you may notice that even weeds have beautiful flowers and something down among their leaves is finding it useful in some way. Imagine a meadow of wild flowers in place of a lawn that needs to be cut and fed and watered continually. The financial implications of maintaining a showpiece garden are not inconsiderable either. Who needs the stress? Indigenous is the way to go, failing which, whatever seems happy with the least possible attention is fine by me.

You may think that this train of thought is inspired by experience, and you may well be right there, but life only turns up events designed to allow you to learn from them - you can choose how you react to such events.

I choose the simple life!

Pine cone pondering

About 25 or more years ago, I went down to the pine forest near Red Hill and gathered a bag full of the most beautiful, large, fully open pine cones to put around the tub in which the Christmas tree stands. To this day, they decorate the floor for two weeks over the Christmas period, as no one will allow a fake tree in this house and there is nothing more resonant with the season than the fresh smell of pine resin as you enter the room.

I ran out of suet balls for the birds, and remembered our hike leader collecting pine cones on some of our walks for a friend who put peanut butter and seeds in them for his garden birds, and I remembered the pine cones waiting patiently in the cupboard for Christmas. Ideal for the purpose. I smothered the evenly spaced scales with peanut butter and hung it from a beam on the deck. In no time it was covered with birds pecking at the peanut butter (sugar-free and no salt) and soon it was a bare cone again. I then replaced the suet balls and the pine cone has hung, seedless, nearby for the birds to perch on. 

I take a lot of bird photos, sky and cloud photos and passing ship photos (no, really?), and so I am often outside near the pine cone and after a while I noticed that the scales were moving - closing inwards in cold, wet weather, standing open in moderate temperatures, and drooping downwards in extreme heat. (Waiting for some rain to take a photo of it closed.) Considering that this pine cone was picked up on the forest floor around 25 years ago and is technically 'dead', I think it is fascinating that it displays barometer-like indicators of humidity. Anyone know any more about this feature of a pine cone?