Getting to McGregor

"Let's take my car, " I said. "It's more reliable." These words would come back to haunt me. My little Hyundai looks new and is in fact only two years old. In its short life it has given no trouble whatsoever. I had checked the tyres and fitted a new one and had filled up with petrol. I was quite sure that would be enough in the way of preparation. I was wrong! We set off, Hugh,Julia and I on Friday morning. The departure was slightly delayed by the loss of Hugh's wallet. He had it with him at a restaurant the night before, but that morning it was nowhere to be found. Hugh and JUlia arrived at Evergreen Muizenberg stressed and shaky from anxiety and loss of sleep. My dog-sitter, the ever-reliable Carline had already arrived so we could get going without delay. Without delay did I say? Not really. Gairo my part-time domestic worker had first to be persuaded to leave some of the clothes unironed and get into my car so she could be dropped off at Lavender Hill and this took quite a few minutes, as she was not keen on having her routine interfered with. And then, before we could leave Cape Town itself, we also had to make a detour to Green Point to leave Julia's car with her daughter Jessica. That was not all. Just as we were about to leave, there was a phone call from my grandson to ask me to pay his gardener because he wouldn't be able to get home in time to do so. So we had to make another detour, this time via Diep Rivier We drove in convoy to Luke's house and got there without mishap. Then with Julia in my car to help with directions and give moral support, we were soon cruising down the M3 towards Green Point. Somehow in concentrating on following Hugh in the car ahead, I managed more than once to get into the wrong lane. much cursing and hooting ensuing. However this caused only minor uneasiness, no serious road rage or arrests for traffic violations. After leaving the other car, Hugh took over the driving, much to our relief, and we sailed out of the CBD and onto the N1. Here we met with incredible delays. We crawled all the way to Belville. It seemed to take hours. We were convinced that there had been an accident, but the hold-up was due to nothing but minor roadworks. Perhaps it was this long slow period in low gear that exasperated the battery and made it collapse. Who knows? After that everything seemed to be going swimmingly.The engine purred, the weather was perfect and Du toit's Kloof was as stunningly beautiful as ever. And so to Worcester. there we stopped to buy a burger, which only took a few minutes. We got back to the car to find that in the interim, it had died. The battery was totally flat. There was no garage nearby, but we found a dilapidated taxi, which from its appearance, seemed to have been involved in all the recent taxi wars. The driver, together with four friends, came to our rescue with a pair of jumper leads and the car sprang to life again. By a wonderful stroke of providence, Julia had a brother in Worcester who owned a firm that sold car parts. He examined the car, got it going again and tested the battery which he pronounced healthy. "It should be charged by the time you get to McGregor," he said. Well, we did get to McGregor, but the battery was still flat. I wasn't going to let its moribund state spoil my weekend so I cadged lifts and walked throughout the weekend and after a good deal of devout prayer, we left on Sunday afternoon, determined to keep the engine running and not to stop until we reached Cape Town. And that is what we did. We reached Disa Towers, where we could find both Julia's daughter and her car. By this time the battery of my car was so flat that the headlights wouldn't come on, so we left the poor little Hyundai and went home in the other car. The AA fetched it later on and took it to the agents and now it is well again. PS. Hugh's wallet was found at the bottom of a backpack.

Writing Stories

In the last year or so I have concentrated so much on poetry and this has paid off,I suppose. I have certainly been more successful as a poet than as a short story writer. Besides having published two collections, I have been published in Carapace quite often. I didn't realise what an accomplishment that was until I read in the latest Carapace that the editorial staff receive as many as 80 to 100 poems every two months. But I was given a short story to write for my U3A group homework and this has been a lot of fun. I must do it more often. It is being without an audience or rather a readership for short stories that puts me off. My grandchildren used to read my children's stories, but are now too old for them. At one time I went every week to Paul Mason's writing group, where we did a lot of story-writing.I miss the weekly sessions with Paul and the "girls" I see that the last post on this blog was about the trip to the West Coast Park. This trip was most fruitful as far as writing was concerned. Out of it has come a poem and a short story as well as the post on the blog. Appropos of the trip, I was amazed to read in the last Rescom minutes that one of the residents who went on the trip complained that there were no flowers to be seen. It is true that we have seen more fields of daisies on a previous trips, but I can only think that the poor old thing's eyesight must be really failing. No flowers? My collection of photographs tells otherwise.

Busy week

Last week there was no time for writing; I had too many commitments. By Sunday night I was quite exhausted. And yet looking at my diary, it didn't seem so full. How was I able to hold down a job and also do things like visit friends, play squash and train dogs as I used to do when I was younger? One slows down so much as one ages. I suppose it is a blessing. Life might seem very dull and empty otherwise. However last week was certainly not dull and empty. It included a trip to Hermanus to see the whales, another to the West Coast National Park to see the Spring flowers, a visit to the Boomslang walkway at Kirstenbosch, a birthday party, a Dog Agility Trial and a rock concert. I also went on my usual Wednesday fynbos walk, had my grandson Darryl come to visit and attended the weekly Off- the Wall. poetry reading. More than enough excitement for an eighty-year-old! I have learnt a valuable lesson this week. It is not advisable for me to go on a tour organised by Village Management. I do not have the right temperament for outings for the aged. Or perhaps for any organised outings. I only get into trouble. I made myself most unpopular on this particular outing. What I did was to go off for a walk while we were waiting for our lunch orders to arrive. There was a big crowd at the restaurant and I knew we would have a long wait. It just didn't occur to me that members of our party would become impatient and would decide to leave without their food. I had a pleasant stroll. I found a bird hide where I saw dozens of lovely pink flamingos, black-backed stilts, and lapwings. I met a delightful couple who lent me their binoculars. When I thought the kitchen had been given enough time to prepare our lunches I walked back, only to find our party all sitting in the bus, champing at the bit except for two loyal friends who were rushing about frantically calling my name. I suppose I was lucky they hadn't decided to leave without me. I was in disgrace.

Beware of poets on excursions Don't take a poet on Senior's tour not even an old poet Poets are not the same as other folk. They want to stop and look at lilies when it's time for tea. They like to stare at sunsets when it's cocktail hour They compose odes at lunch. When no one else is missing and all are just where they should be, the poets can't be found because they have wandered off like Wordsworth's clouds in search of pelicans or perhaps of rainbows. So now if you should board a bus to travel to a place where tourists like to go, make sure that hidden underneath the rugs and picnic baskets, the folding chairs and vacuum flasks, there aren't any poets

Kissing balloons

On Monday I went into hospital, the Kingsbury Hospital to be exact, for what I have learnt to call a "procedure". I am not sure whether this word replaces the word  "operation" or whether it is something different, perhaps it takes less time and effort, or costs less or doesn't involve a long stay in bed.
Actually, referring to the paper I had to take in with me, I underwent six procedures altogether: two Iliac stenting, one placing of an aortic catheter and three sel angios( whatever they may be.) In two days I have learnt so many new words!

What I have experienced, is to be present at a miracle of medical expertise and modern technology.  It was all done under local anaesthetic so I was conscious throughout and could follow what was happening more or less, although I couldn't quite understand all of it.  As far as I could make, out this is what was done.  Two balloons on the end of two long wires were introduced into my leg arteries (one for each leg). These were called the "kissing balloons" They were then guided up from the groin into the belly until they met at the confluence of the blood vessels. here they presumably kissed and also somehow placed two stents and a catheter in place, before parting and returning to base as it were.

The amazing thing is that all this hardly hurt at all and that after a night lying flat in bed, I cold go home. And what is even better, it no longer hurts when I walk.

I must also mention that I was most impressed with the level of care in the hospital. I won't complain about the cost of medical aid  again.

Kissing balloons

Spring is in the air.
In the hospital foyer two young lovers, waiting for the lift,
hold hands.
Outside the window of the ward,
doves bill and coo.
On the roof across the way,
two hadedas rub their curved beaks together.
And in the operating theatre, two balloons
travel up my arteries until they meet, kiss
and seal their union with a pair of rings.

Namibia Poems

SOUTHERN NAMIBIA.

I didn’t know a desert ever

could be so desolate

or a wasteland ever 
be so bare.

The road runs on and on

smooth straight and black

across a pale and pinkish emptiness.

In the distance yellow humps

of dunes rise up

and blue hills edge

a sun-bleached sky.

ETOSHA GAME PARK

Driving across the plain we see

how sun on the dry grass makes it glow.

Scattered around are sparse green thorny bushes.

In one of them a leopard is hiding,  

a spotty face between the speckled leaves.

All day we’re overwhelmed by sightings,

huge herds of wildebeest and oryx

fat, stripy zebra, tall giraffe and lots

of little springbuck

prancing.

At evening while we’re sitting,

silent by the water-hole,

a group of thirsty antelopes

is forced to move

because an elephant platoon

has come here, marching, slow

along the wide, well-trodden path

to have a splash and slurp

before the sun goes down.

SWAKOPMUND

Bits of the old German town remain
between the blatant modern buildings.
All is clean and friendly,with
a Continental look and
a Teutonic tidiness.
And nearby there are saltpans
pink and white, flamboyant with
flamingoes.

Harvey Tile Holiday

{In Zambia my daughter Eleanor sees this sign on a school: "A roof without Harvey Tiles is like a school without teachers. There will be illiteracy. and on a police station : " A roof without Harvey tiles is like a country without police. There will be lawlessness] The family ponders on these words]

 It's early morning in Swakopmund.
Cold mist sinks down upon the sea.
A desert lies bleak and menacing behind us.
"A roof without Harvey tiles is like dawn without sun" says my son-in-law Andreas
"There will be chill and desolation."

We travel north on a black salt road.
Sand stretches pale and pink on either side.
Liquid cools in flasks and sandwich edges curl.
"A roof without Harvey Tiles is like tea without cake" says my granddaughter, Isabel.
"There will be tastelessness."

In Etosha the grass glows yellow in the sun.
A pale sky floats above muddy pools.
We sit in silence with binoculars.
"A roof without Harvey Tiles is like a water-hole without game." says my daughter, Eleanor.
"There will be boredom."

But then the springbok, zebra, kudu all arrive
and later floodlit families of elephants with slurping trunks
and later still, a hyena;s speckled head is seen
reflected in the water.

And when I fly home far too soon --
"A roof without Harvey Tiles is like an old woman without her family," I say.
"There will be boredom, tastelessness, chill and desolation."

Namibian Holiday

Now that I have been back home for a few days, I think I have recovered enough to write about my holiday. It was good, too good. Now everything seems dull and flat. it doesn't help that I got used to being part of a family again, so my little flat seems very empty and lonely, now. To counteract this sterile self pity, I shall try to record some of the highlights: the sights, scenes and activities of my two weeks in Namibia.

I have downloaded an awful lot of pictures, even after sorting them out and deleting the worst of them, they fill large file. I shall chose a few and write about each and in this way try to capture the essence of my Namibian holiday.

Walvis Bay:
a surprisingly large town in an enormous expanse of nothingness. Our plane was the only one arriving at the little airport, so it was hard to understand why it had to be parked miles away from the airport building necessitating a long trudge across the tarmac carrying hand luggage,(in my case, mercifully,only a handbag.)
Eleanor, Andreas and Isabel all came there to meet me. They took me to a restaurant in Walvis Bay for lunch and then for a stroll along the front to see the lagoon's flamingoes, all bright pink in the sun. Flamingoes allow you to get close enough to admire their weird beauty, their long elegant necks, their slow-striding graceful pink legs and their big beaks like shovels, but move away before you can get your camera focused.
This photo of these lovely birds in flight is not as clear as I would have wished, but is the best I could do.
SWAKOPMUND:
A lovely clean seaside town, everything neat and tidy, with a distinctive continental flavour, although modern architecture is infiltrating the traditional buildings.  Ordinary South African supermarkets can be found between the old nineteenth century German  houses.

The one pictured, once belonged to Andreas's mother's family and is just round the corner from where she lives now. There was time for only one night there, because Elanor and Andreas wanted to take me to Etosha and those next three days were the only bookings available.

 
It was a long drive though the most desolate country I have ever seen. I couldn't believe any desert could be quite so desert-like. It has it's own beauty, but I would find it hard to get used to. Slowly the dry emptiness gave way to thornscrub and savannah and there were even some animals to be seen, notably warthog. They seem to like to forage at the sides of the road. We spent the night at a lodge outside the reserve. We were cheated of a Namibian sunset, by having to have our sun-downers on the wrong side of the dining hall, but the accommodation was comfortable and the breakfast adequate. We reached the gate to the reserve quite early and had time to look around before checking in to Okaukuejo camp. A feature of this camp is its tower which I climbed while Eleanor and Andreas checked in, not knowing that we would all be climbing it later. Going up all those steps twice caused my calves to be stiff and painful for days.

The view from the top was very good. Unfortunately my camera was not able to record adequately the spectacular sunset we experienced there.

We spent the next night at Halali camp. Both camps were well appointed( I think that is what one is supposed to say about satisfactory accommodation ) and pleasant to stay at. The best feature at both was the access to waterholes. Places were provided where you could sit and watch the animals coming to drink. At these we saw an amazing variety of game especially in the evenings. (The pools were floodlit at night which made late viewing possible.) We were lucky enough to see a hyena come down to drink. I wasn't able to photograph him, but I could see him very clearly as he bent his spotty head down to the water.

The most exciting sighting for me was the leopard we saw hiding in a thorn tree very close to the road. Difficult to spot unless you knew exactly where to look, but his face clearly to be seen peering through the leaves.  But also, I was thrilled to see two young lions, their faces bloodied from a recent kill, making their was towards a nearby water hole. And of course there were the zebras, fat and stripy, hundreds of them, and the buck, hundreds of them too, and best of all the elephants at the water holes.
Here are just a few of the photos I took.

We went back to Swakopmund, after making a detour to see a huge meteor, shiny and heavy and not star-like at all. While we were at Swakopmund we spent a day in the desert.  The others in the party slid down huge dunes on surfboards. I just watched from afar and enjoyed the scenery. This part of the desert is so empty and so beautiful.

But, even here where you would expect no life at all, there are birds. I think this one is a banded plover.

Now it is all over. It's sad to be back, but I have had fun compiling this blog.

Wasn't this a great holiday?