0 of 4
The winter windmills of the mind keep on turning.
I have been travelling. What a joy and privilege to be flowing on two wheels along these Eastern Cape hills, their crimson torches lighting my way — it’s aloe ferox flowering time — but take note at how the Eastern Cape bush, with its odd mix of lime and Windsor green, is the actual pulsating canvas which allows the fire of the flowers to burn so bright.
The road to the National Arts Festival is the journey to remember, not the potholes and running water in dreadful Makana municipality.
Surely we are made of tougher stuff? Surely we can look beyond these irritating small things, created by small-minded greedy souls?
Today, the road is a ribbon of delight, and it’s quite good from Qonce to the Fish River valley, where the roadworks deviation is an entire tarred road which curves delightfully down the valleys to the bridge where there are tarred deviations for a few kilometres, though I had a slightly hysterical giggle at the engineer who put a dozen or more flashing red lights at one deviation. Looks like a Christmas tree on steroids. Where the hell do I go?
We would love these lights in many other places, not all together in one place.
Moving on, the road takes me to Gqeberha where sissie is having knee surgery and I must get off Hetty the magic carpet and into the cage.
In Life St Georges, we arrive at 6.15am, 15 minutes late for our sit down and wait. But it is warm and the chairs are comfy.
We are in Springbok Radio’s Hospitaal Tyd and there is nothing to do but warble on and get into a lekker slump in our hurry-and-wait country.
The staff are wonderful and we had amazing interactions.
But my job ended when a male nurse politely said I had five minutes to buzz off.
Now I was free in sunny “Pee Eee”.
I head up to a shop to buy a buoy and walk into belligerence which triggered my historic resentment of the white, apartheid-supporting minority in that town.
He was rude, I was rude, and thankfully his wife said quietly that I would probably get what I wanted at Wayne Pheiffer’s shop on the beachfront.
And there, it is in front of the old Elizabeth Hotel, where I once awoke in bed to have breakfast brought on a tray with large silver lids and stuff, while my humble hovel was in a block of flats just below our gleaming status hotel.
The shop is divided in two: at the back all the sports goods for cycling and swimming I wanted to check out, but it was in the front section, a glass room full of morning sun — and my tribe. Wholesome old bullets glowing with good health after a swim in the Baai just a few metres away.
The swimmers, the coffee shop staff, Pheiffer’s staff, and even Pheiffer himself, looking lean and quietly proprietorial, were all in a good mood.
Suddenly I could see the potential of a “swim-cation” in Pee-Eee. There is even a journo or two here who do it and what fun could be had — swim to the harbour wall or Shark Pier way, shower, coffee, shop, eat and repeat.
In fact, one of the hundreds of ocean swimmers literally told me on the phone we could be swimming in the afternoon.
But hey, after some great chats with the crew, it turned out that they “wear wetsuits”. Whoa, travesty!
Our little group of water bohemians and athletes are dedicated “skin” (no wetsuit) swimmers. I also learnt that the way we swim in Slums is regarded as seriously adventurous compared to the placid waters across the Sundays river.
I landed up yakking with a retired Shell management okie and a London-based son of a judge who in his day had been a champion when my friends and I were detained in 1986.
I asked if his mother had been in the Black Sash and we had a good old talk about those amazing women in then-PE.
I let him know that their role in bringing international and domestic attention to apartheid repression was being honoured with a visual arts exhibition at the National Arts Festival.
It is encouraging to know that Black Sash: Seven Stories over Seven Decades Visual Art is on daily at the Albany History Museum’s Grahamstown Gallery from 10am to 5pm.
According to the programme notes, this is Afrapix photographer and Black Sash member Gille de Vlieg’s photographic collection “of the silent vigils against the disenfranchisement of coloured voters, to the establishment of nationwide advice offices that provided legal lifelines to black South Africans, to campaigns against deaths in detention, child imprisonment, unjust laws and state capture of the grant payment cycle, Black Sash has remained steadfast in its mission.
“The exhibition showcases Black Sash’s journey — from apartheid resistance to post-1994 democracy-building, leading the call for a basic income grant to address inequality, and the landmark Hands Off Our Grants campaign.”
I collect sissie and she bravely hobbles to the car and we head home, of course via Nanaga for a vegetable pie and oranges.
Next day it gets sad. This time the road narrows, but the landscape widens as we take the razor’s edge to beyond Bathurst where sis and friends have come to pay a visit to one of their farming gang who is gravely ill.
I land up in a patch of sun in the historic dining room of the Pig & Whistle, with a pot of tea and delicious coconut and chickpea curry with all the trimmings.
Outside on the picnic tables the four galz toast their friend with a bottle of champagne she had given them back at her homestead.
It feels like a final farewell and the toasts roll with the tears.
Tucked away at the end of a large home behind the Bathhurst Arms is The Little Bistro.
Chef and owner Anne Katz has set up a multilayered eating experience and I asked her to explain.
“The Little Bistro is very much a heart project for me. We opened about three years ago, but I have been serving meals from wood-fired ovens in the area for around 20 years.
“We are a Mediterranean restaurant, serving pizza, hand-rolled pasta and a range of constantly changing side dishes and starters.
“We are mostly centred around the fire at the heart of our kitchen. For example, at the moment we have a gorgeous little melanzane with basil pesto and Parmesan, or a Camembert, baked on a focaccia with green fig, garlic and rosemary. We also do a beautiful handmade nougat.
“My approach when it comes to food is all about first principles. So starting with really good ingredients and allowing them to speak for themselves, by treating them well and keeping things simple.
“Nothing in my kitchen is bought pre-made, everything from mayonnaise, to buns, to pasta, pestos, tomato sauce, burgers, hummus and everything in between is made in-house by us or by someone that we know.
“The beauty of small town living! Food is about nourishment, for body and soul. It’s simple, unpretentious and delicious and being able to bring that and share it with my customers is what feeds me.”
But the whole place feeds my soul. I am always amazed and thrilled at the endeavours of people out there.
The surprisingly homely and lovely and tasty places like this, in Nieu-Bethesda, Rhodes Village, or in Buffalo City like Café Jardine, a calm, spacious café at Floradale Nursery complex which I discovered after becoming a Lavender Blue fan.
In this bleak time of missiles and mayhem, it’s all about discovery of the better people, the story, the encouragement.
I know Ms Nutri-Bullet, my nutritionist, will be keeping an eye on me, but I am going to eat it up consciously, mindfully, one treat at a time.
I will see you at the festival, where I will be with family and a loved one. Hurry because accommodation is getting booked out, though from attending the last 30, there is always room at the inn!
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.