Caramelized-Pear French Toast

When I taught elementary school, a supervisor, completing an annual evaluation, fell asleep during the math lesson I was teaching to my first-graders. Later he blamed it on me, saying it was because I told him to observe after lunch, and since he had eaten a big meal, he couldn’t stay awake. I didn’t comment even though he was the one who had picked the class to attend; instead, I watched him joke about it to the other teachers. I knew he was embarrassed, but I felt embarrassed, too, and also responsible. A boring teacher who couldn’t keep her principal awake.

But while he slept, he missed so much excitement -- the gigantic smile on the tiny tot’s face who answered correctly for the first time and the high-pitched squeals from the shy boy who usually didn’t talk. And then the boisterous cheers when the girls won the flash card race and then some of the most encouraging words a teacher can hear --  “That was fun. What’s next?” -- after the math activity was over. Yes, the principal missed all the excitement, waking up only after one of the kids yelled, “Hey, Mrs. Bader. He’s snoring!”

I’ve recently returned from an exciting vacation in South Africa, a vacation I have ranted and raved about for weeks now. A vacation I didn’t want to be over. A vacation where there was so much emotion and anticipation and wonder that I jumped up every morning and couldn’t wait for the day to begin and then fought hard to stay awake at night for as long as I possibly could. A vacation where God most definitely answered my prayer to be overwhelmed with the wonder of His world.

And then, quite jetlagged after 26 hours in the air, I came home, ignored phone calls and mail for as long as I could, and slept for several days before I woke up to my regular life. To my daily routine that can be, at times, a tad boring. To the rigamarole that goes along with responsibilities and a really massive to-do list. To demands.  And to exhaustion that doesn’t come from an exciting game drive in an exotic country.

But I also came home without the high expectations I had in South Africa. I didn’t expect to be as overwhelmed with wonder in Bellville, Texas, where I’ve lived for most of my 57 years, as I was during my South African vacation in the Thousand Hills outside Durban and the private game reserves of Samara and Kwandwe and the wine lands surrounding Cape Town and the grandeur of La Residence. I didn’t realize it, but that’s what I did. Or didn’t. And I forgot a prayer I had confined to South Africa: God, overwhelm me with the wonder of your world. Not just on vacation, but wherever I am. Even in my daily life. Especially in my daily life!   

During our last meal at La Residence in the Franschhoek valley, faced with the reality of leaving all the grandeur behind, I did something quite idiotic: I ordered an egg white omelet for breakfast. Who orders something that ridiculous at a place where the food is as delicious as the view is gorgeous as the house is elegant…? Well, you get the idea. I mean, the cuisine at La Res is unforgettable, but my clothes were snug and I had already consumed two amazing lattes (one was supposed to have been for Ian), so I decided to be “good,” which translates, in this case, as “stupid,” a word I NEVER let my kids at school use! Reid, however, our experienced and traveled son who is not an idiot, ordered the French toast with caramelized pears.

And while I sipped freshly-squeezed orange juice and nibbled on snow-white goat cheese while also drinking the fabulous Ethiopian-blended black coffee (I hadn’t had any coffee in four months so I was overdosing on that treat), it was obvious that I wasn’t being “good” anyway and I kept wishing I had ordered the French toast with caramelized pears.  Obsessing, really. Forget the calories, I wanted the French toast!  And then breakfast was artfully served and it was exceptionally lovely, even the egg white omelet, but Reid’s French toast – oh dear! And watching my son moan appreciatively as he ate, I stared resolutely until he offered me a bite – and that one delicious bite, I might add, cured me of any future food stupidity. It was, in three words, to die for! Well, maybe not to die for, but certainly the last treat you’d want to eat before you left South Africa anyway. Better than the chocolate explosion in Cape Town and Ian’s three chocolate birthday cakes and all things chocolate for that matter, the highest food compliment I can give. And I certainly won’t demean it by comparing it to an egg white omelet even one as delicious as the one I ate that morning!

In a land with its own lingo -- where “turning off the tap” refers to the rain forecast for the day and a “trolley” is a luggage cart at the airport;  where “just now” means anytime between now and infinity and “howzit” means how is it going; and also where “one time” means a really great time -- the Baders have now invented their own South African phrase, caramelized pear, to describe anything so indescribably delicious that there are simply no words to do it justice. Caramelized pear is not just “wow” but “ohhhhhh wowwwww!”  

In South Africa, we experienced many caramelized pearmoments besides the delicious one at La Residence, moments which made me forget my sagging eyelids and Ian’s cracked rib cartilageand Reid’s almost-pneumonia. Over-the-top times where we’d forget all problems and worries and responsibilities, and instead, be simply overwhelmed with God’s world. Awed, really.

The dark, antelope-like waterbuck that looked like he sat down on a freshly-painted white toilet seat, and the majestic golden-maned lion that entertained us by rolling around in a heap of rhino dung, and the lazing cheetah in the bush who calmly looked at us while we somewhat fearfully stared back. And then there were the young, male giraffes banging their long necks against each other as they fought for dominance and the angry, aggressive elephant in musth charging down the road as our guide hurried out of his way. Then there were those other delicious moments like returning from a cold game drive in Samara, only to find a hot bath already drawn with slippers and a robe warmed and ready, and the high-pitched squeal of our guide when he heard that an older cheetah not known to be pregnant had given birth, and all the heart-felt celebrations heard throughout the camp for that birth! And also silly, yet still unforgettable moments like the morning when Ian, after hearing that the “cats” sometimes lounged under the teak decks in Kwandwe, stood on our deck calling, “Here Kitty, Kitty!”  

Oh, yes, there were many, many caramelized pear moments on our trip!

And then it was over.

On the last day in Samara, Reid, fighting a bad chest cold, was obviously not feeling wel, and when the mother in me asked him if he wanted to stay inside while we went out on a game drive, his answer was adamant: “No way. I’m NOT going to miss anything.” With eight years of safaris under his belt, Reid knew a ridiculous question when he heard one.  You don’t sleep when there are so many amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunities awaiting you. You don’t stay inside when outside there’s something you’ve never seen before. You don’t refuse to go when there’s a possibility that you might miss something awesome! You just don’t!  

And Reid was right for the last animal we saw that night was the elusive big-eared, long-nosed aardvark, the very animal Reid had wanted to see the entire trip!

Yesterday, I walked outside on my front porch where in the midst of my mess of a garden, birds were chirping and hopping and pecking at the yellow sunflowers I had pulled out of the weeds, delightful birds having as delightful a time as the ones in South Africa. Two weeks ago, I would have asked our guide what those birds were, and then we would have stopped and talked all about them. We’d have learned their call and their mating habits and idiosyncrasies. And I’d have left with a new appreciation for yet another creature in God’s world. And I wouldn’t have missed the moment that I almost missed on my own front porch, which is also part of God’s amazing world and also a place to stand awed and overwhelmed.

My son’s reaction that last day on safari will always remind me of the amazing possiblilities God gives us each day. Overwhelming moments to stand in awe and wonder as He unveils his world. Caramalized-pear French toast opportunities to experience. And they are, most definitely, not confined to South Africa. 

And that first-grader’s question continues to echo through my mind and my heart, words I have since repeated in my morning prayers to God: “That was fun. What’s next?”

More of Kwandwe!

Kwandwe is where I first experienced a sundowner, the reflective, restful time of enjoying the sunset after a chilly afternoon game drive in the bush. A time when the bright sun finally gives up trying to keep the deep blue night away. A time when a dull, metal tray on the safari vehicle is spontaneously transformed into a charming table complete with red-and-white tablecloth, napkins, and pewter glasses. A time of tasty sweet treats and a variety of drinks including amarulu which, when poured in strong, hot African coffee, warms up anyone chilled from the day’s adventures. And a time for listening. On our first sundowner, I was so caught up in the magnitude of where I was that I assumed a cricket was a wild animal! A sundowner is a restful time before the rest of the night’s surprises unveil themselves, yet a time to reflect on the surprises of the fabulous day soon to be over.

Kwandwe is where I first saw termite mounds as plentiful as the stinging ant beds in my backyard and so tall I had to ask what in the world they were. To me, they looked like small sand piles that a child would have poked holes in, one after another.

Kwandwe is where I first discovered that the reserve rangers were walking animal facts. Knowledge from years of study and training, but also from enjoyment and observation. And from experience they were quick to share, teaching us about the giraffes and how their eyelashes might possibly be so long because of the sharp sweet thorn bush they love to eat, or so the legend says.

And then there were the warthogs! I love those pig-like warthogs, those dawlin’ practically hairless critters with a puff of hair at the end of their tail that sticks straight up when they run, and whose curving tusks, which can grow quite large on big boars, are used as a weapon. Hunted by lion and leopard and cheetah and jackal and….., the skittish warthogs are at the bottom of the food chain and were seen scurrying everywhere on Kwandwe.

A land also teeming with birds and a land whose name means Place of the Blue Crane, the national bird of South Africa, Kwandwe is a land where the guides identify the calls of the birds before they see them and where they carry well-worn books to answer any question not immediately known. A land of the lovely bokmakierie -- a yellow-splashed, monogamous bird that mates for life and continues to imitate the call of its mate should it die.

And then there were the graceful antelopes like the eland and red hartebeest and the impala and springbok and the Greater kudu with its spectacular, spiraling horns. The most abundant large antelope on the reserve, the kudu was stately and majestic! Reid would quiz us when we’d see the antelopes, and I stayed somewhat confused except for the kudu and the small territorial steenboks with the white belly. And I loved how the antelopes shared the same land as the mighty Cape buffalo that would have scared a Brahma bull to death. (Sorry, BHS!) Each day, the rangers would ask what we wanted to go look for, and Ian always wanted to see the buffalo, considered the most dangerous of the Big 5 -- the lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, and Cape buffalo. The buffalo, our guide told us, could be wounded but still circle around and stalk the hunter, who then became the prey.

At Kwandwe, the mornings crackle with anticipation and excitement, yet at sundown, even though the light may be diminished, the discoveries aren’t over as the tracker uses a spotlight so the nocturnal animals could be seen on our way back to camp. And we learned never to pack up our binoculars for there was always something new to see, even at night. The hopping Spring hare resembling a tiny kangaroo and the black-backed jackal and the aardwolf all appeared on our nightly journey back to camp.

And then at the lodge where we were, as usual, greeted with moist towels and hot drinks and a warm fire, our dinner was ready. And that’s where I first ate ostrich -- only because one had bitten me on the rear end a long time ago and I felt like I had a chance to get back at it. So I nibbled on the ostrich meat I expected to taste like chicken, but which tasted more like sirloin. And it’s where I ate the juiciest, most delicious tomato, which turned out, quite surprisingly, to be springbok. And the kudu, as delicious as it is delightful to look at. I love fruits and vegetables, but I’m glad I tasted Kwandwe’s meat. And that kudo was especially delicious.

And then after our sumptuous meal as we were escorted in the dark back to our suite, we’d hear nothing but crunching tennis shoes on the gravel and feel nothing but the wind sweeping across our faces as the day’s experience settled deeper within. And as the wind swept our smell in the direction of the animals, I’m quite sure they would either slip away or settle in and wait for us to pass by. Or simply wait and see. Just like we’d done all day long.

But then we’d open all the doors of our room, leaving only the screen doors shut, and listen to the sounds of the night and wonder what was right outside our door, and we’d drift off to sleep, lost in this majestic land. And in the morning when I woke up, I’d always be inspired to dream bigger dreams just like the owners of Kwandwe whose vision has inspired so many.