Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Thursday morning, winter in South Africa and here I am reclining on a chair on the sunny veranda of my in-laws. My feet are propped up on the ‘balustrade’ and I have bottle of water at my elbow. It’s too early for wine and too hot for coffee or tea, would you believe? A short while ago, I had to change my shirt because the buttons on the long-sleeved denim shirt that I was wearing was actually burning me because they were so hot.
A month ago when we were regaling holiday plans among my friends, they were a little surprised that I was going to willingly holiday in the Southern Hemisphere for the summer holiday- I, of the Winter-whining fame, was choosing to go to a winter climate for my summer vac.

The truth of the matter is, is that last Alsace summer, I wilted. I didn’t expect to have to deal with temperatures of 35 degrees and humidity of 90%, and I was looking forward to a dry winter here, because aside from the cool nights and frosty mornings, you can pretty much count on the sun shining all day. Which for the most part it has.

Winter in South Africa is its dry season (aside from the planet of the Western Cape of course, which lends itself to making wines, so as you can imagine, it’s wet and much colder.) Unfortunately, this winter is even drier than normal, or that’s what it looks like anyway because I think they’re at the end of the recent El Niño weather cycle. Drought is in full swing. Dams are for the most part empty. Dust lingers on the horizon, creating a skyline that appears to be over-bright and colour-less, like an over-exposed 1960’s movie. If it’s not fire smoke from the informal housing settlements that pollutes the air, it’s the red dust of the parched African soil and building construction dust of Jozi, City-of-Gold, that pollutes the atmosphere of this huge sprawling city.

Whatever grass that can be seen is brown, interspersed with black where it has been burnt to protect the remaining countryside. Here in The Big Smoke, city parks decorate traffic islands with rocks and aloes which adds somewhat to the starkness of the imagery.

I can’t help but consider: is the meteological drought an indication of a more metaphorical drought, one where people are starved of the ability to grow, to spread their wings, to branch out and become stronger in order to protect the weaker below, put the roots down to enrich the soil beneath. Has a drought generally been a fore-runner for worldwide social catastrophes? (The latter is just an idle thought, just throwing something out there that has been sitting in the background of my thoughts since the beginning of the year.)

But the drought aside, I think a part of me expected a slightly more antagonistic environment, where people who HAVE are at the constant firing end of those who WANT, and we have to be ashamed of simply having a car to drive and not winding down our windows to greet the man who collects rubbish for money at the traffic lights. Happily, it hasn’t been all that antagonistic, and so long as you are mutually respectful for everyone you come across, you will get treated with the respect that you promote.

I used to say that open channels of proper communications was what made the world a better place, but I think a more appropriate adage would be this: Respect is earned, and if we can all learn to respect each other for our personal cultures and social graces, we can begin to walk on the same path to a mutually beneficial future.
And now that I have shoveled vast amounts of garbage down your data connection, let me regale a few highlights of my holiday so far.
Dad is doing well, albeit as scrawny as a rake. It’s not like he can’t feed himself- he has become quite a demon cook, and reckons that the bolognese sauce recipe I sent him is the best mince he’s ever tasted! No, the reason for Dad’s rake-like appearance is that he’s currently training to climb Kilimanjaro early in August with my li’l-sis. It’s quite a common sight to see him walking across the Boston hills with his Camino back-pack, filled with his camping gear, so that he’s fit enough to walk Kili.

His house is intact- perhaps a little bit too much dust in some places, but that is quite normal for a man. Yes, there was Body Shop shower gel and his cushions are not yet tattered. I can’t comment on the garden, because the drought has rendered it brown and dry, but it is not neglected.

The Beach

We were extremely fortunate in that we scored a long weekend at my sister-in-laws’ family cottage on the Wild Coast. Shewey, there is nothing quite like the beach in winter, we were able to sleep at night without sweltering in humidity. We could play all day on the beach and not stress about shade and/or sunscreen. I have become a firm advocate of going to the beech during a South African winter.

It also meant we could buy crayfish, although this was slightly tainted by the local men trying to sell us crayfish that were too small, and should never have been caught. It was only after the weekend that they twigged onto our needs for ‘legal’ crayfish that they brought round a nominally larger haul, so we missed out on actually eating freshly caught crayfish with our Chardonnay, but the possibility was still there.

(I just have to make a note here, saying how disappointed I am that these young men catch cray’s that are too small, purely to try sell to naive holiday-makers. It will become a perpetual circle- so long as tourists buy the too-small cray, the locals will continue to catch them, just to make a living, because, really, down there at Mbotyi, there is very little else to do to bring in an income.  Mbotyi on the Wild Coast of South Africa is rural, there is no government infrastructure that I could see. The families who live there wash their clothes in the river and leave it to dry on the rocks. They fish for food. And they rely on visitors to sell their wares, be it fish, oysters in December, mussels and crayfish in July, or beads and carvings done by the ladies. It lacks any of the perks of city life, which is just fine by me!)

The added bonus of the Wild Coast is that is blissfully rural and quiet.  It is devoid of all aspects of commercial beach towns- no shopping centers to speak of, no massive population to share the beach with, and you’re surrounded by endless rolling hills of South African beauty.  We had 3 beaches to choose from, including a stretch of beach only accessible at low tide, and basically all I had to do was bond with my children, my nieces and nephew, read a book, cook a few meals mostly for kids, and eat and drink.

 

Xxx

 

Post Script.

It is now the end of August.  I never really finished this piece while still in SA- those data fees are so dreadully third world, I just gave up trying to be online with the frequency that I am here.

It’s not easy to re-kindle my thoughts that I had with those weeks of solitude while Anton was still in France.  I thought I could just discard this, but I don’t want to lose what I did write early on, because much of still stands.

As for the rest of our time in SA, I will take some time to reflect back again next week- it’s sizzling hot here and I forsee days spent indoors to escape the heat and humidity.

Chat soon, and lots of love,

Me,

Xxx