Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Hello again, from a very grey, wet, morbidly oppressive European January.  I’m tucked away in my kitchen- it has the most amount of natural light in our apartment, but I still need the overhead light on.  On the other side of the door, the girls have spread their toys as far as I allow them to- there is a tent sitting in the middle of our lounge, their crayons and books lying around.  In my office, Anton is DIY-ing an IKEA ‘armoire‘.  The time has come to move the girl’s clothes out of our cupboard, and into their own.

Regardless of the sounds of the drill, the cricket presenters streaming live over the internet, and the murmurs of the girls, the most noise I can hear is the sound of rain falling onto the garage roof below our kitchen window.  Normally, I am not averse to the sound of rain, but coming off the aeroplane less than a week ago, arriving to a snowy Europe, I have spent the last 5 days wondering if I will ever see the sun again.  As it is, we had to drive high up into the mountains in order to see blue sky above the snow-covered peeks, but back to real life down here at sea-level, the sun and blue sky is a very absent friend.

Yes, I know what you’re saying- “clam up, don’t feel sorry for yourself, it was your decision to move, so deal with it”.  And you are right. So I won’t dwell on this for now.  It was mostly a way of introducing this piece about our holiday.

Having a four week holiday in the country that has always been your home is a very different experience to taking a 2 week holiday from work, where you travel to the beach, or spend time doing much needed work around the house. Before we left, a few people asked if we were going to DO anything- like take a safari, because that’s what you do when you’re in Africa, right?

Sorry folks. Heading off into the deep African Bushveld was not going to take precedent over spending time with our nearest and dearest. And that’s pretty much exactly what we did.

Obviously, there was admin to be sorted- checking in with bank managers, following up on house-ownership issues, renewing drivers’ licenses. There is NOTHING quite as frustrating than government institutions to put you in a very un-holiday mood. I spent 5 hours queuing in the sun in order to be able to renew my driver’s license. It was the third day I was home, and between 08h00 and 09h15 before I managed to queue under-cover, the sun scorched my shoulders with such vengeance, I was too scared to venture out without a layer of clothes and sun screen over the relevant parts. Still, while 5 hours could have been spent more effectively, I am now able to drive again legally, which is nice to know.

In that first week we escaped to a holiday resort, away from the city, where the extended family could just relax and not rush around seeing other people. Up there, on the far side of Pretoria, past the jacaranda trees, we were out in the Bushveld. In front of our chalets, the red earth of the Highveld savanna, the scraggly trees that thrive under that dry heat, and the bluest skies I have seen in a very long time, fell away forever. I was struck by just how big the sky seems to be down in that side of the world. In my mind, it just goes on and on forever.

We happily endured temperatures of 30 °C, without a breath of cool air. We snacked on biltong and wors; we braai’d over fiery red and white coals, the urgent smells of meat lingering in the air; we drank down bottles of our much loved South African wines and ciders. We watched as the clouds gathered in the afternoon, we watched as they billowed across the horizon, turning black, colliding with each-other, and eventually, they would crash in anger, releasing jagged strips of lightning to the earth. The rain would tumble down from the skies with sweet release, soaking into the parched earth. And after 90 minutes, the sun would re-appear, happily reminding us that it would always live to see another day. The remaining clouds would glisten silver and gold, the sun would eventually sink in shadows of pink and glorious orange.

We spent our days either playing putt-putt, or doing homework with Alex, at least until the sun had gone down enough to take the girls to the pool. They became fishes- as much as little fishes who can’t swim can be. Beth in her wings would disappear without any distress into the middle of a very deep pool, oblivious to any fear I was feeling for her. I regretted that I had never found the will-power to take the girls for swimming lessons in the previous 18 months.

During the next week, when we were back at home, I got in touch with a special friend, who is something of a magician in teaching little children to swim. After we’d spent an hour or two catching up, she offered to jump into the pool with my girls, who had been nagging for too long. Within half a minute, she took away the swim-noodle that Alex relied on, and had her paddling up and down the length of the pool. At this point, Beth removed her wings, and proceeded to follow Alex across the pool… can you just picture me, still fully clothed, completely freaking out while watching Beth trying to drown herself? My friend however, magic-lady that she is, was in full control, and shot me amused looks, telepathically telling me to ‘calm-the-f*** down’! (I’m not sure I ever did manage to send you a message to say thanks, LD. Seriously, you are an amazing woman, and I am so lucky to have you as a friend. THANKS!!).

Apart from family time away that week, both near Pretoria, and at the Vaal Dam, we managed to fit in drinks, coffees, meals with special friends. Each new home we went into, Alex and Beth would pick up the friendships that they had left behind- as if 18 months between had been just one week. How my girls have become such well-rounded, social, friendly girls warms my heart.

But alas, I have prattled on long enough, and haven’t begun yet on part 2 of our travels- where we joined my family in the Midlands. This is not the cliff-hanger of a Hollywood series, but it will have to be finished tomorrow. And if today’s weather is anything to go by, I can see myself unwilling to leave the comfort of our apartment.

A tout a l’heure,

Xxx