La Residence in Franschhoek

Driving east toward Franschhoek, nestled in the shadow of yet more blue-hued mountains, we had to turn our backs on the spectacular city of Cape Town, the Mother City as it is called, and a city I hope to return to one day. We had to turn our backs on a colorful city that blends the styles of San Francisco with New York, according to one assistant director we met who was scouting movie locations, but is still distinctly unique and not just because of the seals and the penguins and Table Mountain. Experiencing Cape Town was like experiencing a fabulous dessert that awakened my taste buds to something I’d eaten before, but I couldn’t quite pin point what it was  for this delicious city has a taste all its own just like the rest of South Africa and can’t be imitated. I didn’t want to leave the animals of Kwandwe and Samara, but Cape Town is a city that makes me feel  equally happy to be alive!

But we had to turn our backs on the city, on the World Heritage site of the sleeping giant of Table Mountain, which is what it looks like from Robben Island, also a World Heritage site made famous by  Nelson Mandela.  We had to turn our backs on blue -- the blue sky, the purplish-blue haze of the mountains, the clear greenish-blue coastal water -- blue is the color I’ll always associate with Cape Town, a cheery and positive place with friendly  and helpful people everywhere. And it was bittersweet, this turning our backs on this fabulous city, just as bittersweet as the other places we’ve had to leave over the past two weeks.  But one thing I’ve learned from this incredible Ker & Downey adventure is that you have to turn your backs on what you love to discover a lovely surprise looming in front of you in this rainbow country of contrasts.

Motoring through a bouquet of wineries that were at first miniscule dots on our map waiting to be discovered, the roads lined with green pine trees reminiscent of home invited us to travel through a land that beckoned and welcomed and patiently waited for our arrival. And after a brief stop at Spier, a very green landscaped vineyard with picnic sites and terraces and where we sampled and snacked on wine and cheese, in particular the goat cheese which I consumed with embarrassing fervor, we ventured out once more through the green vine-covered hills as we moved closer toward our ultimate destination of La Residence, and as I soon discovered, the pièce de résistance.  

Franschhoek, less than an hour away from Cape Town, is a place where it’s easy to lose sight of your ultimate destination for there’s so much to enjoy along the way. In fact, my suggestion is to get a little lost. We didn’t, as Reid had a visual on La Residence before we saw it, but meandering through the side streets against the background of yet more majestic mountains allowed us a feel for this charming village, host to the fabulous villa which was our ultimate destination. And as we meandered down Elandskloof, the private road lined with breath-taking, fragrant white roses and then alighted at the villa where we were greeted by  Evan, my heart was captured as I was presented with flowers and refreshed by smiles from the staff. And then after a leisurely stroll before we were led to our suite, I decided, once more, that I was not going home!

At La Rez, grandeur outside meets grandeur inside -- just as the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean collided in Cape Town -- and an explosion of beauty occurs and with that experience, my heart moved.    God doesn’t just give us words, he gives us emotions, and for me, this final emotional experience of our trip  is a merging of all that we’ve experienced so far. And just as I felt yesterday, I’m saying it today: I can’t wait to see what this day brings! But for now, my latte’s arrived, the windows are open, and God’s world awaits.

For more information: www.laresidence.co.za.

Cape Town by Helicopter

Five days is a week of work back home. Five days of teaching high school students the dynamics of writing. Five days of encouraging the love of literature. Five days of bells ringing, instructing me to begin a new period of instruction. So before we began our trip, I wasn’t sure that five days of actual safari was enough to experience an adventure of this magnitude. And of course, it wasn’t for safari is more than the animals; safari is experiencing another way of life which celebrates life under every shepherd’s tree, around every corner of sweet thorn, and at every moment in a spec boom forest. Safari is a life far removed from the ringing of bells, but a life lived close-up to nature, a life lived in a constant state of epiphany, and a life lived celebrating the constant new surprises which await each day. And I didn’t want those surprises to be over!

So when we left the Eastern Cape headed toward Cape Town, a part of me – the part crying to stay! – assumed that the best was over. I knew from my friends who had been there that Cape Town was fabulous, but for crying out loud -- which I did a lot of by the way -- it wasn’t the amazing game reserves of Kwandwe and Samara that I had become so infatuated with. But our surprises were far from over as we soon discovered when a driver appeared at the Cape Royale Hotel to pick us up, a driver wearing a black jump suit with orange trim, a huge smile, and a helicopter embroidered on his back.

I had already been blown away, not just by the wind at the reserves, but by the pilot who materialized to fly us from Samara to Port Elizabeth in a small four-seater aircraft, a surprise Reid had arranged for us instead of the three-hour drive, but this one was beyond! Ian kept repeating, “Boy, Boy, Boy,” a favorite term of endearment he has for our two sons now 29 and 32, and I kept thinking, “Beyond, Beyond, Beyond,” my new favorite term of endearment for our South African experience. And this new surprise was certainly beyond what we expected.

After a brief weigh-in, which we won’t discuss as my collar bones have disappeared in the ten days we have been gone, and another too-brief instruction on emergencies including how to tie the life vest Just in case!around your waist and how now to walk into the blades, we practically pounced in the helicopter, strapped ourselves in, and fitted the headphones on our head so we could talk to each other and listen to the pilot. And then we were off in a lift barely noticeable to me as the pilot made it seem effortless. And as we hovered slightly and lifted gently, the spectacular view of Cape Town was -- not surprisingly – breathtaking!

Circling past Table Mountain we saw the famous cable cars moving slowly toward the top, the majestic mountains of the Twelve Apostles and the stunning ocean. Well, two actually, for at one point we could see where the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean merged. I missed that as I was too preoccupied with the Table Mountain cable cars. Then there was a view of Robben Island where Nelson Mandela spent many years of his life, and the place where we are visiting today. Gazing from on high, the beaches, the waterfront, the sites of the bustling city -- a city known for being one of the best in the world -- overhwelmed us just as our safari adventure had done.

Everywhere we went for the past week, we spent time admiring the sky – the beautiful sunsets and sunrises, the rainbows and clouds, and the birds, the birds, the birds. And now, we were soaring through the sky over Cape Town, looking below, another surprising treat in our adventure beyond what I thought it would be.

And now we’re off once more, not by helicopter but by ferry, and I can’t wait to see what surprises this day brings!

View of Table Mountain from the Robben Island ferry

The Comrades Ultramarathon in South Africa

When the inspiring notes from Chariots of Fire soared through the quaint South African city of Pietermaritzburg, I imagined even the stately Blue Cranes, the South African national bird, stood still as the famous Comrades 89 Kilometer Race was about to begin. Palpable, the excitement and anticipation were seen, felt, and heard not just by the thousands of serious runners who had trained hard and long for this strenuous event, but also by the eager spectators who were clamoring for a vantage point to experience what has become not just a famous event for South Africa, but also for the world. And when the race began at 5:30 AM, the runners quickly raced forward for the time begins at this signal, not when the runners clear the starting gate. Eight minutes is what it took our son to pass through as he joined the 20,000 other runners surging forward while the clock ticked for them all.

In 1921, Vic Chapman, a World War I veteran who had witnessed first-hand the hardships associated with war, wanted to honor his fallen comrades, and from his vision, this race -- a celebration of courage and camaraderie -- was born. In the long run, his vision has become an inspirational event for the world.

At the bed and breakfast where we spent the night, Anna had tried to prepare us for the splendor of the race and the magnitude of the task before our oldest son. We knew the race was huge -- 56 miles is no small feat -- but to experience it first-hand was beyond what we expected. Televised all day long, the country cheered when the signal was given to begin this ultra marathon, considered by many to be beyond what is remotely possible. Runners must have the physical strength as well as the metal strength to succeed and then some more. In fact, everything in this country can be summed up in that one word – more, a word whose synonyms I’ve exhausted. Simply, our experience in South Africa is more than we imagined it would be. And at the beginning of our stay a week ago, the Comrades was no exception.

Exchanging the panoramic view of those sweet, green fields of sugarcane for the close-up look at the sweaty, determined faces of the runners was an equally sweet moment for us. Training, tenacity and commitment along with desire to accomplish something beyond the norm were apparent as these serious runners, admired by the thousands of cheering fans, ran and walked and sometimes limped along the winding route through the famous Valley of the Thousand Hills in the province of KwaZulu-Natal from Pietermaritzburg to Durban. Just like its beautiful host country, the colorful athletes were inspiring to watch as they snaked down the majestic hills outside the village checkpoints while all of us in the crowd, overcome with emotion at the sight, felt honored to be watching. As a high school teacher and lover of literature, I couldn’t help thinking about the athletic events of ages past where the athletes were respected and admired to such a degree that a touch from one of them was thought to cure inferitility. Reid remarked later that the cheering crowds were filled with amazingly positive energy as they urged him forward, encouraging #30110 from the USA, while the bands played, the children screamed, and native dancers delighted the crowds.

No mere marathon even though it’s billed as the Comrades Marathon, this race is also referred to as “The Ultimate Human Race,” a bittersweet event for years of training doesn’t always equal success. Overflowing with emotional moments, runners who do not achieve the checkpoints by a specific time are immediately bused back to the starting line and not allowed to continue; the Comrades is tough.

In the words of Alan Payton, "There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it." And yes, in this Beloved Country, those hills were definitely “lovely beyond any singing of it.” And in this land, the hills were also crying for triumph isn’t achieved by merely finishing this strenuous race, but only by finishing in 12 hours. Also a bittersweet moment as we found out first-hand when our incredible son, having made all checkpoints in the race, was only 2 Kilometers out when the 12-hour time was called.

And when we found him propped against a tree shortly after the race was over, he simply said, "Wasn’t that something?!”

Oh, yes! The Comrades was something indeed! And so was he!

The Apostle Paul, in Hebrews 12, encourages us to "run with endurance the race that is set before us." I now have a whole new perspective!

For information on this annual historic event, go to: www.comrades.com.

Samara!

Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A land whose silence is louder than anything I’ve heard. A land filled with the call of the jackal, the swoop of the owl’s wings, the swish of the aardvark’s tale, and the squawk of the baboon. And if you don’t hear them, you think you do. You want to. And you listen even more carefully than you’ve listened to anything in your life. Samara is peaceful and mystical and emotional, too.

In Samara, a day doesn’t go by without tears, tears that flow from your belly up. Tears that can’t be stopped, tears that can’t be explained. Experiencing Samara is experiencing a land of raw emotions with raw emotion.

And it’s a land of respect, too. The land, its people, the animals respect each other. Admire each other. Celebrate each other. And maybe fear each other a little, too. And their mututal respect leads to a harmony I’ve not witnessed before among a land, its people, and the animals whose presence makes it special.

Oh yes, Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A land that respectfully demands respect. A peaceful existence which shares its peace with those who come to visit. And there is so much to share.

Last night as the sun began to sink down to the horizon leaving a pinkish haze hovering over the mountains, we gingerly hiked down a rocky, somewhat treacherous cliff to a small, hidden cave below, motivated by anticipation of seeing the famous ancient rock art waiting on the cave’s walls. I haven’t hiked like that since I was a young girl climbing with my Uncle Tommy at Palo Dura Canyon 43 years ago, and then last year Ian, who has cracked rib cartilage, broke his arm walking down stairs in the Battleship of Texas. So I prayed a lot on the way down to the cave. “Oh Lord. Please don’t let us break a bone here in the mountains of South Africa where there is no light to be seen, no one around, and no EMS vehicle that could possibly make it this far!” Yes, it was frightening, but once we made it to the cave, the trek was most definitely worth the risk.

In the serene stillness of that tiny cave nestled in the dolomite mountain and blocked by the sweet thorn bush, the only noise was the sound of our pounding chests, pumping with adrenalin and excitement and relief for having survived the hike down the rocky cliff. And we stood, respectfully silent and awed at what was before us. We came to Samara expecting animals, but we’ve experienced so much more.

The first ancient drawing we encountered was a cheetah, a simple child-like, reddish-hue sketch drawn by a bushman 2,000 years ago. A piece of art symbolic of this land, still home to that amazing cat. And then there was more art by the Ngami painted a mere 1,000 years ago. Drawings of man with animals, the giraffe recognizable immediately. Art distinctly different than the bushman’s art. And unique just like the experience of Samara. And, of course, much more than you expect. Reid’s repeated phrase - “Just wait. There’s more!” – wasn’t a hyperbole. There’s always more in this magical, harmonious place.

Yes. Samara is a land that screams to be sung about.

And it’s a land where the reserve ranger is a teacher as well as a guide. And when the ranger says, “Follow me,” you know to be careful for you might be the food for a waiting predator. But when he says, “You go first,” then you learn there is food waiting for you! And what an experience both of them are. First, climbing out of the Toyota land cruiser and gingerly meandering down a darkened, shaded path in the midst of “monkey land” where the greenish foliage drapes over the road and the majestic buffalo are hidden further down in the bush, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But Shakemore, our trusted guide, said to go first, and soon I found out that awaiting us was a culinary surprise: table cloths and silverware and plates and a delicious, kingly feast including anything we wanted to drink. Golden-crusted fish and lamb sticks and chicken sandwiches on rolls and flakey-pastry quiche and bean salad and green salad with cucumbers and tomatoes and the most incredible multi-layered chocolate cake oozing with chocolate icing from Ian’s birthday celebration the night before. And a fire to warm our hands after washing them in a porcelain basin filled with warm water.

What we’ve learned is that the adventure of the animals and the adventure of the land are only part of the Samara experience. The respectful treatment we were given was equally amazing and a part of our adventure as well. And when the ranger says, “You go first. I have a surprise for you,” we learned he wasn’t kidding!

And we also learned that when the guide says, “Follow me,” there’s also going to be a surprise, too. Climbing out of that same land cruiser and walking single-file, Reid grabbed my phone and silenced it, which was enough to remind me we were walking in a land of wild animals. And then, circling a series of sweet thorn trees loved by the giraffe and padding softly through a path of red grass blowing like grain, our knowledgeable guide stopped and pointed. “See that right there. Under the tree?” But I only saw a dark shadow. So he motioned me closer, “Right there.” And this time I saw, less than ten feet away and nestled comfortably under the shade of a tree, a cheetah who seemed totally oblivious to our presence, which I knew was far from the truth. That cheetah knew we were there. And then there was that moment of awe tinged with fear for when I looked at Ian, his face was stricken with terror! Respect and fear go hand-in-hand in this surprising bush land filled constantly with new surprises. Every single moment of every single day.

Samara is a land that screams to be sung about. A lyrical land that awakens dreams in me, dreams not forgotten but long buried. Dreams like hope that still rises from the ashes, dreams that give birth to more possibilities. Dreams of more. Always more.

God must look down on Samara and smile and think, “Oh yes, it is very good.”

I didn’t want to leave Samara today. More tears came. But I will sing about it in my own way for its music mistily touched my soul. Oh yes, I’ll sing about it in my own way by respectfully writing about it. More. Tomorrow.

For Samara is a land that needs to be sung about.

South Africa: A Sugarcane Patchwork Quilt

The many shades of the green Durban countryside loomed in the plane’s window as the South African pilot began his descent. We couldn’t decide what the green crop actually was for it was so perfectly sculpted  that it resembled a large, finely-tuned golf course or an intricate, antique, patchwork quilt. Finally, our neighbor in Seat 29H, probably tired of listening to our somewhat contentious debate (we had been flying off and on for 24 hours), informed us the green crop was sugarcane ready to be harvested. I wanted to say it aloud, but kept quiet instead for some people don’t understand my love of puns: sweet!

The green sugarcane fields beckoned us to this “beloved” land! (I admire Alan Paton’s writing, so look out next year AP students! Oh, and I also thrive on Achebe's Things Fall Apart and Conrad's Heart of Darkness!  Ironically, as the BHS Class of '12 graduated, a class I had inundated with literary masterpieces set in Africa, I was cheering them on, not exactly from the heart of Africa, but from south of it anyway! That digression was for the sake of any AP seniors reading my blog! Oh, I just have to say it one more time:  “Mr. Kurtz. He dead.”) But let me tell you, this land is ALIVE!  

I must warn you that these posts from Africa will NOT be edited, so look out! Rambling is my specialty, and boy do I want to ramble tonight as I look back over the notes I made throughout the day, our first day in this exotic land that I’ve dreamed of visiting ever since Reid started traveling here regularly on business for Ker & Downey. I’d help edit their travel magazine Bespoke!, and I’d lose myself in the vivid imagery of the writing, imagining what this mystical land was like. And dream of going one day.   

I kept thinking about Neil Armstrong. (Remember – I said rambling!) But how overwhelmed he must have been when he stepped on the moon. “One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.” I mean, what a moment that was! On the moon! And here I am in South Africa, and I feel the same (well, maybe not quite; that has to be a hyperbole), but still awed that I’m here. “Thank you, Lord, for pilots, for planes, for the ability to think and figure things out and make them work. For the opportunity to visit a land on the other side of my world. Never let me take for granted how awesome opportunities like these are!”

One small step off the plane and green continued to command my attention for there were green apples and green signs and green hills and green trees of every color from lime-green to avocado-shades to the deepest dark. I asked Reid if that was normal and he said yes. And finally, I saw for myself what an acacia tree was, so elegantly spread out like a bird’s wings, yet taller than I thought  it would be. I’d edited many a travel article about acacia trees, and now to see them! Love them! And mixed with echoes of home, there are mimosas and palms and banana trees, too.

And then as we drove down Durban’s scenic coastal road in our red, rented VW, a road dominated by a plethora of green trees, the indigo-shaded Indian Ocean waved the green out of my sight and left me with another vivid image.  Another first!  All these firsts! First time in South Africa, first time seeing acacia trees, firs time seeing the Indian Ocean. First time riding as a passenger while my oldest son aggressively drove down the wrong side of the road in this foreign country! If I was teaching my creative writing class today, I’d encourage my students to write about all the firsts in their lives that they could remember. The first time they climbed a tree. The first vacation they remembered. The first time they were kissed. Well, maybe not that one!  But firsts, firsts, firsts. I’m going to have lots of firsts these next few weeks. Thank you, Lord, for firsts! (Oh, and especially for your first and only Son!) And fill me to overflowing with awe and appreciation for your world.

Many times over the past few weeks, friends asked me if I was going on a mission trip, and I almost shamefully felt the need to apologize and say that it was just pleasure. But not anymore! For I’m on an appreciation trip, an appreciation trip of what our Creator created! And that’s a great mission to be on, too!

And then there’s the red soil also described  in Alan Paton’s book. And from that red soil must have come the red-clay tile roofs on the houses…

South Africa is a colorful country resembling my grandmother’s antique, patchwork quilt, not just from the air, but from the ground as well; a country we’re discovering through its people, the land, and the culture, all which make it unique.  

Our trip has just begun, and oh how sweet it is!