Vacation in the Cape

I have a belief, and raise your hand (or like/comment/post/something) if you share it - a holiday isn't a good one unless you come back exhausted.

I know, I know. People have this notions that holidays should be relaxing. My dad has this notion. When he is on holiday, he is happy to just stay in the hotel all day reading the newspaper and (possibly) lounging by the pool. I, on the other hand, seem to take after my mom - trying to fit in as much as I can in as little time as possible. Sure, I can spend a day relaxing, but any more than that and I just get bored and agitated, wanting to do things.

My Cape Town holiday is no different, and I tried to make it as fun-packed as possible. I bustled into town on Thursday afternoon for a short five day trip and intended to make the most of it. Of course, Thursday was pretty much a write-off. I arrived at 16:20 and it was around 5pm when I finally made my way out with my bags in tow. Just enough time to get home, greet the cats, chat with mom, go for a walk and head out to Chinese at Reddies with mom, dad and Michael. By the time I came home, Cherie was back with her visiting boyfriend and we caught up briefly before I decided that it was time to hit the hay.

Friday started off fairly early with Cherie and I dropping mom at gym and then making our way to Tygervalley. Not particularly keen for a shopping trip, I elected to stay in the car and make Cherie do the running around while I planned the rest of my day. By the time she returned (empty-handed), it was time to pick mom up again and make our way into town for the facials that mom had planned. I am not a person who particularly likes having my face touched and examined, but it was quite a relaxing hour and a half. The only part that I did not enjoy was having a mask that was two inches thick plastered onto my face and covering my mouth and eyes. I have never thought of myself as being claustrophobic, but I certainly felt it then! Once that was done, it was a stop at Kauai for a quick lunch before I had my mom drop me at the Adelphi centre in Sea Point. There I met up with Ryan and we took a short walk to his apartment before starting to pack it all into boxes. Yes, I chose to spend my holiday helping someone move, and I have no regrets. I got to see Ryan, and I felt really productive thereafter. Certainly not bored! After moving, Ryan took myself and the two other assistants out for a nice Italian dinner (gnocchi bolognaise for me) before dropping me back at my parents' house in Welgemoed.

I woke up nice and early on Saturday and spent much of the morning in a state of exuberance as I waited for Robyn to pick me up. We had ahead of us a day of catching up and chatting and just general enjoying each others company. We walked around the Slow Market in Willowbridge, had a lovely brunch at Woolies, a cup of coffee at the cafe that her sister works out (which included much mocking of a particular waitress in a teasing fashion) and then headed back to her place (in her new car!) to just have a proper catch up. By late afternoon it was time to head back home and get ready for the braai that was to come. It is traditional whenever I come and visit that the family get together for a braai. It meant that I got to see everyone, even if it was only for a little while, and hear the news and not have anyone feeling left out. It is also a great excuse for a good meal, and we had an awesome one. Once most of the family had left, I stayed up a little later chatting away to Jade and her husband Eric and hearing what was happening in their world. But unfortunately, I had to retire early as I was on medication that had a tendency of making me feel both nauseous and exhausted, a combination that tends to make for bad company.

Sunday was my day for sleeping in, and that I did! Until 8:30!! It was awesome. Then I woke up and started getting ready for the day. Another family tradition is going out for Sunday breakfasts, and the two favourite places are Franschoek and Claremont. As the family had been to Franschoek the week before with Cherie, it was decided that the Gardener's Cottage in Claremont was the place to go. We made our way there (mom, dad, Michael, Cherie and I) and had a lovely breakfast at the restaurant before making our way around the nursery. I'd had plans to have a movie-day with Ryan at my parents', but he had to change it to coffee instead, and he picked myself and Natasha (who was to join for the movie) up and took us to Tygervalley were we got some terrible service at Oppie Koffie. Thankfully, the company made up for it, and we had a good afternoon chatting and laughing away. When Ryan had to leave, Natasha and I made our way to the cinema where we booked three tickets for Midnight in Paris. Michael joined us for the movie and it turned out to be a lovely one! I will have to write a review at some point. After the movie, we made our way home, had a light dinner of leftovers from the braai and had an early night.

Monday was a particularly busy day, as it was essentially half a day spent enjoying myself and half a day spent travelling. It started early with taking my mom to gym, stopping in at the chemist to get pills for mom and dad and stopping in at my aunt's new shop to take some photos. From there it was a rush to the giant sports shop beside Tygervalley to get some running shoes (a job in itself considering how many people had decided that the Monday before school was the day to go uniform and sports good shopping), a stop at home to pick up Cherie and a dash to the airport. We got there on time and I was checked in with time to spare for some lunch, so we decided to go to Mugg and Bean, since it was the closest and healthiest place around. A bad idea if ever there was one. The service was terrible and slow, and I ended up having to scoff down what I could in 5 minutes before jumping up and hoofing it through security. I made it through, but not before being called by the announcer. This could have been highly embarrassing, but they pronounced my name wrong (as they always do) and so I felt far more worse for any Ms Solomon's in the building. An hour and a half later, I walked out of the airport and met Ashlea who took me to my car and I was back on my way to Grahamstown. Usually I drive as fast as possible to get back as soon as possible, but I'd heard that there were a huge number of policemen hiding on the road, so I tried my best to stick to the speed limit and made it in just over an hour and a half.

And so, my holiday completed, I arrived at my house and practically collapsed on the bed. It was the best sleep that I have had in ages. Imagine just how good the holiday must have been!

Fest - Coming soon to a town nowhere near you!

Why does Grahamstown host the National Arts Festival? This little town in the middle of nowhere, this little town filled with University students, most of whom abandon the town at the time of the fest to run along home back to their mommies and daddies and home cooked meals. Why here?

One of my friends asked me today whether Grahamstown has a big Arts scene, and thinking about it… No. It really doesn’t. Sure, there are the plays put on by the drama students attended by their friends, fellows and lecturers and music recitals attended by more lecturers and a couple of locals. But a big Arts scene that does not make. So why Grahamstown?

I have my own theory about this, and it is purely based on my experience of Grahamstown as a town, Cape Town as a city and Johannesburg from the little time that I spent there. Picture the National Arts Festival in Johannesburg. Just think about it for one minute. Think of all the space that the organisers would have, all the places where events could be hosted, all the popular bands who could be included and the big stars who could become a part of the show. And then think about the traffic – how many people would get lost trying to find the place, how many empty theatres there would be and how little exposure the little (or littler) people would get. Think about how much would get lost in the stratosphere as people went about their daily lives. Cape Town would be better, but not by much.

By hosting the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown, you get to experience the talent that hasn’t been discovered quite yet, or the talent that has been discovered and has not been completely corrupted and taken advantage of. You get the big guys and the little guys flung together in a schedule that allows you to see them all. And there is no threat of traffic (or no real threat anyway, though there is certainly going to be more of it than on your average weekday). Think that you are going to be late because there are too many cars? Find a place to park and just walk – Grahamstown is small enough to do that after all.

In a place as small as Grahamstown, the town BECOMES fest. Everything about the town revolves around fest. It is all that anyone talks about and it is the highlight of the year every year. Where else would you have that experience? In a big city, the festival would get lost amongst the ten million other things going on. Here, there is nothing else going on! Your life becomes one of comedy and concerts, ballets and drama, shopping and eating, shows, shows, shows. You are swept up in the arts for two whole weeks, attending shows day and night that fit in with your interests and hobbies.

And then it is gone. Slowly the tourists retreat, the students return and life goes back to normal. The locals revel in the fact that the traffic has died down and they can drive again. And, before long, the talk of the festival has fallen away. Life goes on. It is over. Until next year, that is…

Why Grahamstown, you ask? Because fest wouldn’t be the same anywhere else, and we like it just the way it is.

Reach For Your Dream

A Cobra waiting to be started at Killarney, Cape Town.

I love children. This much should be fairly obvious given the fact that I travelled halfway across the world to teach them. I feel the need to say it, however, just in case it wasn't obvious and you didn't know. I will say it again. I love children. I love looking at them, but most of all I love the good feeling that I get from helping them, whether it comes from helping them learn English or helping them across the road; helping entertain them or helping babysit them. What can I say – I just like helping people. This is why, on Sunday, when my dad mentioned that he was going to Killarney to help some children, I jumped at the opportunity to get involved.

There may be a number of questions that you are asking yourself right now.
What the hell, you might be asking for example, is Killarney?
There may even be Cape Townians asking this question. Killarney is a race track situated along Plattekloof road where you will find all sorts of races (classic cars, motorbikes, go-carts and more) on just about every weekend. Going to Killarney was one of my favourite pastimes as a kid as I would stand on the side of the track with an ice-cold Coke in my hands, listening to the engines roar, bouncing up and down and from foot to foot from excitement and nerves whenever there was a crash and trying to spot Dad's green and yellow in the blur of colour that was the cars drifting around the bends. This pastime fell by the wayside as shopping, movies and friends became more prominent and the roar of the engines started sounding like nothing more than noise. It has been years since I had been to Killarney, and I felt that it was about time that I returned. And what better reason could there be than helping the children?

This is where your next question may come in.
How does going to Killarney help children?
My answer to this one is short and simple. Reach for a Dream. Well, perhaps that's too short and simple for some. Reach for a Dream is a foundation that helps children with life-threatening diseases reach their dreams, whether that dream is owning your own computer, being a princess for a day or even, as was the case this time around, being a professional race car driver.

Now sure, the kids weren't allowed to drive the cars. That would be a little reckless and I am not sure that too many people would hand over their cars to the hands of children. Instead, the kids were brought to Killarney and were provided with a number of cars to ride in – from Dad's classic Lotus to a stylish Ferrari and about 20 others in between. But they don't mind someone else driving – they just have the need; the need for speed. One by one the kids lined up to get a chance to ride in the cars as the drivers were given strict instructions: Be careful; Don't drive too fast; No drifting; Yada-yada-yada. No one was really interested in the rules – everyone wanted to get out on the road and the kids could hardly stand still – their anticipation getting the better of them.

Car after car was brought forward as the stewards and assistants helped the kids into their helmets (another must) and into their cars of choice. Wide eyed, they sat as the cars sped towards the starting line and, with a seemingly obligatory revving of the engine and squeal of the wheels, made their way onto the track. Round and round they went with the onlookers leaning over the cement divide and practically falling onto the tracks themselves to see what was happening and who was coming around the corners. With each whoosh of a car passing by, the waiting children became more and more eager for their turn to come around. Each car that returned saw a face grinning from ear to ear and a child running out of the car to stand in line once again.

Boerie rolls, curry and rice; fruit juice and Coca-Cola; eyes glued to the track as cars overtake each other, cringing at how close they came to colliding; jumping as a car's engine revs unexpectedly or a tyre squeals in the distance; noses stinging at the smell of burning rubber, dropped oil and used petrol. Nothing like a race at Killarney to take me back to the good old days of no-cares living. Now if only I could have hopped into one of those cars too...

More than just a burger

Candy-floss-pink and white flamingos, a pale-pink piano and top hats in every colour imaginable (including more pink, of course) greet us on entrance into Beefcakes.

“Table for two, please.”

“Take your pick.”

I look around the empty fifties-style diner, hidden amongst the tirade of buildings on Green Point's Main road, taking in the bar complete with stripper figurine, the staircase leading down to the club below and all of the empty light grey couches. I pick one for the two of us to sit at. On Saturday it had almost been impossible to find a seat, but in the middle of the week we have our run of the place, being the only customers and all. On one hand it's a bad thing – who wants to come to an empty restaurant? On the other, I know what it was like being the only straight girl in a bar full of gay guys, and it can be a little overwhelming. Beefcakes doesn't only refer to the burgers, after all.

We hardly have time to take in the disco-balls that cover the ceiling before our waiter sidles over.

“Good afternoon,” he gushes, filled with the kind of enthusiasm that made me feel exhausted. “I'm Dwayne. Can I get you a drink?”

I consider getting myself a watermelon Cosmo, remembering how good it tasted the last time, but reminding myself that A. it is the middle of the day and B. I might be driving home, I opt out.

“Just a Coke, please.”

He sidles on back to the bar and we take the chance to scan our menus and decide on something to eat. What will it be today? I flick past the 'Bugger the Burger' section and look at the burger selections. What about a 'Buffy the Hamburger Slayer'? 'Chilli on the Willy'? Maybe a 'Beach Boy Burger' will hit the spot. Eventually I decide on the 'Greek God' burger, but now I have to decide on what kind of meat I want – each of the burgers can come with a beef, chicken, lamb or ostrich patty. By the time Dwayne has returned, I have decided on the recommended lamb (realising that it will go best with the tzatziki on the burger), a combination of salad and fries on the side. I sit back to relax with my ice cold Coke in it's truly diner-style glass and a fresh breeze from the open window rustles my hair – the perfect way to spend a sunny day while still being indoors.

As we wait for our burgers to arrive, we let our eyes wander, taking in everything from the decorations to the wallpaper to the rest of the menu.

“Look at this dessert,” Mike announces, pointing out the Strawberry Seduction – strawberries with a combination of vodka, black pepper and cream to dip them in.

“Vodka and black pepper?” If I could have raised a single eyebrow, I would have. “And anyway, I doubt we'll have room for dessert.”

“I think it'd be divine. And I always leave room for dessert,” he says with the air of a food critic, “even if it means not finishing my main.”

We're interrupted as Dwayne bustles back over with our burgers in hand and places mine in front of me. The smell of garlic fills my nostrils and I involuntarily lick my lips before digging in. I carefully watch Mike as he does the same and, as his eye meets mine, I know we are both thinking the same thing.

“It was a goner from the first bite,” I say minutes later, looking longingly at my empty plate and wishing there was more. Not that there's any room for it, of course, but I could always find space for a meal like that! Mike nods his head in agreement, his earlier idea of not finishing his main forfeited as his plate is as clean as my own.

But that won't stop us from sharing a dessert. It won't be the strawberries, sadly, as now is no time for vodka. We opt for the chocolate brownie instead, at Dwayne's suggestion. When it arrives, Mike can hardly wait to dig in, and just about does as I snap some shots. Once I join him, it's gone within seconds.

As Mike pays the bill, I take a final look around, capturing some more of the decorations on my digital film, and then it's time to go. With one final look at the original-esque Coca Cola poster on the wall, we are out.

“Take a shot of the building,” Mike insists. “Just to remember.”

I catch Dwayne grinning in the distance as I snap the final shot.

I don't need to take the shot to remember. I'm sure I will be back all too soon.