I have- and I kid you not- 4 half written blog posts lying in various places: 2 drafts on this blog, 2 as word documents, and I probably have random ideas scribbled in note books that adorn my desk and bed side table. For the most part, the themes center around South Africa, and they are either deeply sentimental pieces or they are angry words centered around stupid politics and government failure. But, the fact that I actually don’t live in our home in Gauteng means that I have decided to keep those opinions to myself,-unless it’s going to make a difference, which it won’t, so my own personal letter to the president will remain just a draft.
As a result, I have spent the last week desperately trying to find something mildly French to write about, but given the frikking awful weather, I am at a complete and utter loss. We have not had a maximum greater than 2 in 2 weeks, and I have no inclination to be out and about, so my world is focused only on my kitchen, computer and television these days.
Last week I got snowed on while waiting outside the girls schools. I was really grumpy, despite the waterproof jacket and leather & sheepskin lined boots I was wearing. And yet, there were still commuters out and about on bicycles, their scarves trailing behind them. I don’t know how they do it- I don’t know how the ladies get around wearing pantyhose and svelte coats, because that’s all I can see.
I have to be honest, I see myself standing on the outskirts of winter. I observe the clothing, I may consider cooking a hearty broth for dinner, I listen to conversations about ski-holidays, but for the most part, I just wait it out, because it will have to come to an end, eventually. A couple of weeks back we had a Belgian friend over for dinner, and he laughed at my irritated mutterings about salt on the roads, snow mush on the pavements, and the excess pile of clothes hanging in my hallway. “Embrace it” was his advice. “Go and enjoy the ski slopes, build snowmen, it’s magical and sparkly”.
Bah, humbug.
In the canals of my memory, snow is unpleasant. In 2012 when snow settled for 10 minutes in Johannesburg, many Joburgers ran around in an excited frenzy- as if Lindt chocolate was falling from the skies. I found it a sad state of events. But you must remember, growing up where I did, snow was not an unfamiliar scenario. And this is the very reason why I have my opinion.
Boston, KZN, would fall victim to snow every 3rd winter, on average… More often than not, it would melt within 48 hours, with nothing more than muddy farm roads to show for it. (Winter in most of South Africa is notoriously dry- winter mud is unheard of.)
On the occasions that it was more harsh, I can count on one hand- the last great chill I can remember was in 1996, which was labeled the worst snowfall in 67 years, or since 1967 or something ;-). And I wasn’t even there for that one- I only just missed it by 6 hours, after I returned to my residence in Durban where I was studying that year. Down in the tropical seaside city, we had non-stop rain for 3 days, and the weather was actually quite unpleasant for a week in mid-winter. At some point in the middle of the week, I tried to phone my Mum, to no avail. Later I managed to phone my grandparents, who could tell me that my parents phone-lines had been disconnected in the snowfalls. By the time I got home on the weekend for our holiday, there were still patches of snow in shadier areas. There were trees lying across farm roads and there was a number of animal casualties.
Going back, my very first memory of snow was in 1984. I was 6 years old, and in boarding school. While I was too young to remember every detail, I do remember all of us boarders- around 100 little kids- being loaded up into army trucks and driven out to the Byrne Valley which had seen more snow fall than the Richmond Town where we were at school. I only imagine we weren’t kitted out for cold weather, because one memory I have is of a pair of stripy yellow and green socks that I was wearing on my hands, to keep them warm. Out in the Valley, I think I wandered around quite aimlessly under grey skies, and falling snow, not loving life, and when we returned to hostel later that afternoon, I was miserable because I had lost one of my glove-socks and my finger were unbearably cold.
It must be that low grey sky bit that gets to me. A couple of years later, during our winter holiday, the snowfalls hit. My siblings and I could sit snug and warm next to the fireplace in our lounge while outside the trees were bare and brown, the snowflakes swirling from the low grey clouds. My Dad would stomp into the house in a foul mood. Nothing works properly on the farm when it snows. Cows don’t like it, staff don’t like it- South Africans are just not kitted out for it. If you’re farming dairy, and you have between 200 and 1000 cows, you can’t house them in cosy barns, and hand feed them winter food. It’s just not feasible.
Inevitably, 3 days later, the skies cleared, and I guess the landscape would look brilliant and magical- white snow on a background of brilliant winter blue sky, but very soon that snow would begin to melt, and we never really had any inclination to sled downhill.
The difference with Europe is that it’s a way of life: family traditions; small businesses that close their doors for month long holidays; Christmas markets; street markets; winter and ski season. Europeans live for it. It’s in their genetic make-up. I actually think I have not met one European who moans about winter like I do. Most of my friends have booked skiing lessons for themselves/kids, are either renting or buying gear, and have travelled to the mountains at least once this year already.
Okay, so we have as well. Anton has sorted each of us out with a pair of snow-pants, and gloves. The girls and him have ski-jackets, and respectively a sled and snowboard. And Alex loves the snow, so on New Years Day this month we headed up into the mountains. The previous 3 days had been… grey…but as we headed out of the city quite early, the clouds disappeared and the sky was blue as ever. The slopes we went to are at less than 1200meters above sea level- that’s lower than the Highveld, and my parents farm, but the ruggedness of the mountains make a truly magnificent sight.
We paid for a snow day pass for Anton to be able to use the ski lift, and we found a spot where the girls could sled. We were on our own. All the other kids we saw were fully kitted out in snow gear, their skis attached to their feet, looking as if they had been born that way.
As Anton went up the lift to be able to snowboard down- he learnt when he was here last time- I watched as Alex dragged her sled up a slightly steep slope. I had to hold it as both her and Beth climbed abroad, and WHOOSH, they were off, careening down that stretch, and then crashed into a shack at the bottom. Mind you, it was probably only 25meters, but it was enough to scare Beth from not getting back on. From then on we went up and down a less tragic ‘slope’, Beth not so keen on being on her own, but Alex looking for a bit more freedom.
All the while, I stood there half content and half disgruntled. I had cold hands, I couldn’t take photos, I was in need a glass of vin chaud…but on top of the Vosges, the snow was as white as, the sky crystal clear, and it was truly spectacular. I then realized what it is about snow that Europeans love. It’s an opportunity to do an activity as a family, or at least drop your kids with a ski instructor while parents hit the slopes. Perhaps in another year or two, I might be able to adjust my mindset, and maybe in two years, I actually might whoosh down a snowy slope on a snow board.
But until then, I will embrace small things, like going out for my first run of the year in the snow. It was strangely invigorating this morning, and quite simply the best way to stay warm. My iPod may have been quite frozen, but my finger tips and ear lobes were as warm as toast.
February to get through, and the weather should turn the corner. Four weeks my friends. Four weeks.
Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals 