TravelStream™ news feed for member katherine-anne on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/katherine-anne en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Fri, 13 Nov 2009 06:08:03 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256982147/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256982147/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256982147/tpod.html Fri, 13 Nov 2009 06:08:03 -0500 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa

A thing or  two about  South Africans. Just some things I noticed and might have got wrong altogether. Simply not enough time to find out, but hopefully there will be another time.First and foremost, I found them warm and friendly. Wherever you went, it was like walking into your local - ah, there you are, sit down, have a drink. Total strangers, as if they were expecting you and happy to see you.The first question would be: 'Where are you from?,'  followed by: 'How long will you be here, where are you staying and where are you going to next?'Genuinely interested, and somehow rejoicing in any good fortune they felt had fallen your way, as you tried to explain life in Europe. That was surprising, in many cases it would have been perfectly natural to feel life was not all that fair. Some people, old people, had never even travelled outside their own town. A dear lady told me her dream was to visit Johannesburg before she died. To me it was just around the corner.........The black women could seem bossy, especially when they were at work. They'd just look at you and you felt like a child, only to burst out laughing once they'd made their point.The mamas, I've seen them like that with their kids - they made me feel safe somehow. Solid, strong women with a lot of common sense and good humour.The ma-thing was funny too. The ladies dancing and singing at Lesotho wore t-shirts with names beginning with ma followed by the name of their first daughter. They asked me the name of mine and so I became Marose. I acquired a number of these names along the way, like Mafreespirit and Masissy (sister or young, not wimp!). A playful way of showing affection, a very nice way too.Another thing that struck me was the total lack of airs and graces. I mistook this for impoliteness, but that is not the same thing.Where I come from we step aside so we wont bump into each other on the streets. In a supermarket, we calculate our steps and slowdown or speed up to avoid arriving at the cashier at the same time. We sense what the other will do, anticipate. Without even thinking  - I suppose we are conditioned. Men and boys show some gallantry towards women, at least in public; it helps pave the way - seems to work. Mind you, I wasn't really aware of this until South Africa.I thought people would walk right through me there, but they smiled as they approached; standing in line at a buffet the man beside you has no qualms taking his food first, but he grabs your arm and says: 'enjoy!'. The bartender ignores you while fiddling with his cell phone, then turns to greet you like you've just made his day. A taxi driver wont open his door for you, but he'll not only see you home, he'll wait till he's seen you're safely inside.Please, thank you and sorry, words that make the world go round, are not used liberally. But smiles and hugs, humour and good will are readily available. You've just got to get it.'Different people, different strokes,' as a friend of mine will say. But then he is a South African.I loved to hear the talk. A certain way of speaking English; quaint and modern, some Dutch thrown in and often ending with a lilting and to me not always logical: 'isit.' Afrikaans to a Dutch speaking person is like staring at a distorting mirror: familiar but funny and twisted. So my interpretation of Die Burger articles kept my guide in stitches.Then there's Zulu and the clicking noises, couldn't understand a word but totally fascinated anyway. The children I was with were supposed to speak English but constantly switched to Zulu. They'd try to teach me, rolling their eyes and laughing at my pronunciation. Just wait till I find a Zulu language course here - I might surprise them yet! South Africans walk a lot. I have never seen anything like it. No matter what time of day, early morning, late at night, there are always people on the move. Solitary, or with a child or two, walking, walking. At a slow and steady pace, right along the highway too, no pavement, cars rushing by and no obvious destination. Many a time I have asked the driver: 'Where are they going to? How far must they walk?' 'Oh, here and there, who knows,' would be the answer. Sometimes a walker would hold out some rand notes, languidly waving them at the vehicles but looking straight ahead. I suppose they don't really expect anyone to stop and if someone does, he is there for that purpose: to stuff as many as possible into his bashed-up van. Transportation - without a car or money for a cab, your chances are slim. See how you get there - never mind getting there on time.Ah, now there's a subject. African time. That's an enigma. Of course, the above explains a little. You set a date, a time, but nobody expects anybody to actually be there at that particular hour.Coming from Europe, where being on time means showing respect, care, discipline - not to mention money, where your job, relationships, your very life, revolve around time, this can take a bit of getting used to.More often than I care to remember I have waited for hours on end, clutching my handbag, worried sick about what terrible disaster must be keeping people from showing up, only to be met by a totally relaxed bunch, no excuses, no apologies, no explanation. Just big smiles: 'We're here, isit?'The sweet sweet bonus is that, once you get over the bother, you can let yourself slip into the African-time comfort zone too. Easy does it - try it sometime.A number of people have tried to explain the difference between: 'just now' and 'now now.'Always laughing when they did. Apparently there's a significant distinction between the two but in the end I suspected they were having me on. To me both mean 'don't hold your breath.'Fair enough, I suppose, just as long as you know.I can happily say the South Africans I came across seemed easy-going with a ready sense of humour - though my puns were lost on them, resulting in confusion and blank looks.I never found out why, however they were often amused when I didn't intend to be funny, so you could say that made up for it.As I said, just some things I noticed, things I liked, things that puzzled me.Things that make me want to go back and find out more.(Nice word 'snaaks', but not soon found in any dictionary.)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256376797/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256376797/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1256376797/tpod.html Mon, 26 Oct 2009 16:23:29 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa

I deliberately made no plans for my time in South Africa after the project - alone in this unknown country I wanted to do whatever I fancied. What I most needed now was to distance myself from what I'd just experienced. Torn between dying to get away and not wanting to leave  those kids, I jumped on the first plane to Cape Town.It was like a breath of fresh air. After living behind bars for so long I could hardly believe I could just walk out the door. Well, there was a big blackboard in the hallway of the lodge with safety instructions and I was given a leaflet on dos and donts, but I guess tourists in Amsterdam get those too. Still, I felt a little insecure when first venturing out but before long I was in the ban of this city. I liked it. The feel of it, something about it did remind me of Amsterdam, a bit wacky, an easy, feel-good place. Surprising and beautiful too. I'm no good at describing the buildings and the sights, they were splendid, you'll just have to take my word for it or google.Again, little public transport, but there's a city-sightseeing bus you can hop on and off that will take you around and about. And there are lots of less obvious places to go see. Long Street was one of my favourites, not just for the shops, but the ambience, hippy-ish and cool.I stayed for 3 or 4 days but I could easily have seen myself living there for a while.Oh, and it rained, I mean, it poured. I was nicely tucked away in the backpackers lodge, sharing a quaint little dorm with an Irish teacher who dressed like a Newcastle lass on a Saturday night. She'd been on the road for ages, telling me stories of Namibian desert storms and the likes and I couldn't help wondering if she'd braved them in her high-heels and mini skirts.Anyway, the place got flooded and our ceiling was about to cave in. We had to be relocated and I was the lucky one to get the 'Presidential Suite', no extra charge. I was welcome to it though, the girl at reception smiling, a chambermaid stopping me to ask was everything to my liking?Well, the suite was done up to the nines, no question about that, and by the looks of it, I had the place to myself, though there was an extra bed near my king-sized one. A private bathroom, great! I dashed in for a quick shower and....................oops..............Yes. Well, he was undeniably good-looking, and painfully shy. Or maybe that was because of how we met.I didn't get much sleep that night. We lay in our beds, too self-conscious to speak, cough or god forbid, snore.I was very, very happy to return to my old room again. The teacher had left, pity, she was fun, but someone else had moved in. I recognized that toilet bag.Oh no..........
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1255509074/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1255509074/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1255509074/tpod.html Fri, 16 Oct 2009 08:42:34 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Saint Lucia, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

Of course you can't go to Africa without visiting the animals.And I did. I went to Hluhluwe game reserve near St Lucia, a coastal village about 300 km north of Durban. There I was persuaded to go whale watching too. The Addo Elephant National Park, a night safari and a walk with the elephants at Crags Elephant Sanctuary were part of a trip I was on.So that's a lot of animal watching.What can I tell you? Truth is, even as a child I felt uncomfortable at a zoo or circus - sorry for the captured animals there to entertain us. So, with some misgivings, not in the least because we had to get up at 4 am to be the first on the scene, I made my way to Hluhluwe.The sunset alone made it all worthwhile, the misty park a perfect setting for an amazing spectacle of colours and light, changing as you watched, from soft, dreamy pastels, to a glorious orange.Wow. This is Africa, I thought, the Africa you fantasize about, it really exists. So the day made a flying start.It took me a while to realise 'the big five' was not a band but the African animals most difficult to hunt on foot. Some visitors were determined to see  them all, like a conquest, they marked them down. Strange?Of course, the animals are free to roam around and live their lives as normal as possible. But still, you know the situation is not natural, you would not encounter animals like this out in the wilds, they would not sit calmly by the side of the road, insolently staring at Jeeps full of click-clicking voyeurs. Including  myself, I must admit, though it was the tiniest camera and I didn't know how to use it - not much of an excuse, as if they'd know the difference.Still, you get caught up in the excitement, you can't help it, it is exhilarating being so close to them. One enormous elephant came up to the car, I was just about to stroke him when one passenger screamed, another one ducked and the driver got the hell out of there. Apparently he'd been about to charge. Somehow I never see danger, even when it is staring me in the face. So every one was shaken while I was mildly disappointed. But I got to stroke one later, hugged it, tickled it, smelled it. All but wrapped it up and took it home with me. That was at the sanctuary. Our guide, my companion Debbie, and I arrived there, me thinking it was Debbie's greatest wish, but she was not bothered and reached for her book, leaving me to contend with the expectant caretakers and a small group of sheltered elephants. We were the only ones there...........ja, so off I went, utterly embarrassed, one of the helpers holding my camera, snapping away happily while I hate, hate having my picture taken. But onward and forward for I had my fingers up the elephant's nostrils and he would tread on my heels if I didn't keep moving.Of course, he was the sweetest thing - the elephant, I mean. Fond memories.I can be brief about the whale watching at St. Lucia.  I paid a lot of money to get tossed about on a choppy sea, people being sick all over the boat, even on and in their life jackets as they tried to stagger to the railing. The wind would have blown it back in their faces anyway. This was distracting me from the one whale we eventually followed. My sisters and I are almost phobic about being sick, so you can imagine this was not my finest hour, trapped on a boat full of green-faced passengers, moaning and heaving, disgusting smell  - but we weren't turning back till we'd seen a whale. The skipper did his damnedest to find one, as money was refunded if none showed up. We saw one. It was big. Now let's get back.Travelling along the coast later on, I saw loads of them, often with dolphins or seals - fresh air, no charge - a real treat.The Addo park was a nice surprise.I agreed to go along for the ride and the pleasant company, but soon set aside my reservations and enjoyed it for what it was.We had a wonderful time, everything came together, the weather, the scrumptious food we got at a local deli, not that many visitors and loads of beautiful animals. The high point was finding the three lion cubs the park knew existed but had never spotted. They were right next to us because we had accidentally separated them from their mum, who was pacing back and forth, wanting to get back to her babies. We slowly backed out, so she could cross the path, sighing, for this was unique. It was touching to see how protective she was. She rewarded us by staying near for a little longer and then they disappeared.We were so lucky - I just hope we didn't upset them too much.The night safari was cold. Some hyena's larking about and the giggly feeling of being on a school trip.And I just remembered, a boat cruise, near St. Lucia, I've got to look it up. Hippo's and crocodiles it was. I'm racking my brains but I can't come up with much. Hippos were fine, not very exciting, the crocs a lazy lot.Something funny did happen though. I felt a small pull at my hair and looked back to see a black lady, smiling apologetically, arranging some strands of it on her boyfriends shoulder. She wanted a photo of him and my hair - not me. So what kind of game was that?Well, that's it, a skimpy write up of my rendezvous with the big 4, 5, 6......?What really counts is the care and respect I've seen there; the knowledge and the pride the attendants show when talking about these animals. And if they took away the boundaries, I think the animals would stay right where they are - not such a bad place to be. Not bad at all.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254995029/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254995029/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254995029/tpod.html Sun, 11 Oct 2009 09:00:19 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Lesotho, Lesotho

For all the violence warnings, I haven't felt threatened or unsafe for a second during my stay. I did some pretty stupid things myself though and had some narrow escapes.I might get to that later. For now I want to tell you about Lesotho, a place I was hardly aware of. A small kingdom within South Africa, but for me it was out of this world. It took my breath away.Stark and barren, subtle shades of brown, ochre, grey - a shimmer of green. The mountains so different to anything I'd seen before; surreal and eternal. Keepers of tales of bygone years, of battles fought and smugglers dens.Time has stood still here, I thought, after braving the Sani pass, iced over, for it was winter here and cold. I hadn't realised Africa could be so cold.Vast spaces of unspoilt land, dotted with clusters of round stone huts, the inhabitants mostly outdoors, wrapped in their traditional, often grey, blankets. Children, chickens, sheep and the odd donkey. It all spelt poverty yet the feeling was one of peace and good will.On our way to our hosts, a farming family accommodating tourists on the side, we encountered many a shepherd leisurely leading his flock. Often still young lads, having walked miles to school and back - no gaming here - this is their life.They'd exchange greetings with our guide, who sometimes stopped to share a few words in their own language. One man stood out. Proud, well-dressed, a golden tooth, he halted the Jeep and after a brief conversation our guide seriously informed me the gentleman had asked for my hand.That was a bit unexpected. And had we known each other just a little better.........We moved on and he didn't seem terribly put out by my meek rejection.By now I noticed my purse was missing. Everything of any importance in it, not to mention a large sum of money as we wouldn't come across a bank soon.I remembered tipping out the contents of my bag, sitting on a stone near the border. I must have left it there.Zedekiah, our guide, despaired of me. We must go back and look for it. He must be joking, would take us the best part of the day, and anyway, it was gone - good luck to the finder who probably needed it more than I. I'd sort things out when we got back and that was that. But Zedekiah could not let it be, giving me soulful looks, shaking his head, he was really upset.And so, slightly subdued, we arrived at our lodge. Warmly welcomed by the kind and friendly people there. Relatively prosperous, they owned several huts, land and cattle. Food and beds were basic, sanitary outside: a plank with a hole and bucket underneath a rickety tap. It was cold.It was wonderful. I was so happy there. The people were open and friendly, gentle and sincere.One evening ladies sung and danced for us at a neighbouring village. We made our way back by moonlight, its glow transforming a herd of sheep to a sea of pearls on the hills. In the early morning, the air fresh and crisp, we went horse riding, high up in the mountains where the view is spectacular, and you've never felt so alive.We talked. We sat on the floor of the cosy, smoky hut, eating and drinking and talking. The sweet, heady smell of dried cow dung smouldering in a metal pot in the middle of the room. We spoke of our countries, our traditions, our lives; the family respectfully trying to hide their amazement though some things must have been inconceivable.When I couldn't sleep for the cold I stole outside into the dark of night to meet the stars. The stars - no, I wont even try, just close your eyes and imagine........Ah, Lesotho, to think I never even knew, could have easily missed, this wild and romantic encounter. But I found myself there, by fluke or by fate, to embrace the unexpected.PS  On our way back to South Africa, Zedekiah found my purse lying next to the stone at the border - the leather and notes stiff with frost. I hadn't even looked myself.Life can be sweet sometimes. (thank you, zed)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254646477/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254646477/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254646477/tpod.html Mon, 05 Oct 2009 12:17:08 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Amanzimtoti, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

We, that is three young girls and myself, come to volunteer at a project with children. Most of them orphaned, traumatised and sick. This, of course, is a story within itself, a profound and stirring experience I shall not go into too much here.However, on our days off, we were encouraged to recharge, go on trips, see something of the country. Not that I needed any prompting, I was raring to go.Ah, but I could not go alone. Strictly off limits, dangerous, we must stick together and only venture out at daylight. We were given the names of two 'safe' taxi drivers, no other means of transport. What?!To my surprise and shock it seemed there was no public transport to speak of in South Africa. So what about the masses pouring into the country next year? 2010, it's advertised everywhere, you can't miss it. Soccer, I believe. A stadium being built, regardless of the costs, everyone high on excitement, but how are these people going to get about, I wonder? It baffles me - it took us a good deal of organising just to get from Amanzimtoti, or Toti, as the locals call it, to Durban.First call was at the Kwa Muhle museum, set in a beautiful building, a big old house, with a lovely garden. I was told the topic was Apartheid, but we never reached that point, or got past the first couple of rooms downstairs, as our museum guide, a slightly effeminate, civilised young black man, was anxious to educate us on other matters. Religion. After going over the ancestor thing, the traditions and culture, he was obviously relieved to move on to Jesus.Christianity is very much alive in S.A.. Flying in from Johannesburg, a charming lady sitting next to me struck up a conversation, beaming and smiling, she eventually produced a large self-help book, based on the bible. To be converted high up in the sky, now thats a thought.I've come across it many times since; happy, sincere people wanting to share their joy.It was nice to see that side of religion for it seems a rather sober affair here up North and it can take a while before anyone will admit they actually believe.Next stop the Victoria Street Market, arts and crafts, indoor, mostly Indian tradesmen. I fell over myself marvelling at the beads, the sculptures, paintings, you name it, it was there and for unbelievable prices. We had been told to bargain but how mean can you be? I was not about to insult these people.I soon found out I was paying two, thee times as much as others; you were expected to haggle till both parties were happy with the deal - good feeling all around. I never got the hang of it. Too unconvincing, too apologetic and they kindly shook their heads as they took my money.I loved the place anyway, the bustle, the smell of food, the colours, music, the people and the stuff. Same stuff I practically tripped over on my later travels, often better and even cheaper - I just walked past, wondering where it all came from.From the townships, I was told, but I had seen no such activities when I was there.Anyway, I needed some fresh air and wanted to be by myself for a bit, so I  wandered out on to the busy streets. They were packed, so I reckoned I'd be safe there.Here the market continued,  in a fashion. At first I didn't recognize what was on sale. Lying on the pavements, no stalls, was a grimy, brown/grey, collection of what looked like bits of bones, hooves,skulls, hair, herbs and dirty bottles of some potion or other. I soon realised what it was.Muthi, used to heal and ward off evil. It gave me the creeps and I thought, for all the apparent 'normality' of the place, the modern, the glam, the dilapitated areas, part of this world was abstruse, something I knew existed but didn't expect to find out on the streets like this.Back at the project I was severely reprimanded for going off by myself. I was told an observant market guard had followed me for as far as he was allowed - a fortnight ago a tourist was killed on those very streets, no one tried to help her. So much for safety in numbers.I still had a lot to learn.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254475781/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254475781/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1254475781/tpod.html Sat, 03 Oct 2009 05:46:08 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Amanzimtoti, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

A month ago I returned from South Africa, had a quick change of clothes here, moved on to France for a while, and now I'm back in Amsterdam again Eyeing my backpack as if we'll pick up where we left off any time now. That's not going to happen.I must stay put for a while, haven finally given in to my protesting back.So, here I am, my thoughts on South Africa; unfinished business? no, I'm in love with the country.I'll be back, I must or it will pull at my heart forever.For now, I can write, but the funny thing is, I'm brimming over with stories yet not sure I can tell them. They are all tied up in a bundle of vivid, exciting, unimaginable, joyous and alarming confusion. I can try and unpick a few, see if it makes any sense.My first glimpse of South Africa, Durban airport and on my way to Amanzimtoti, was rather disappointing. Everything seemed so normal, the roads, the cars, the buildings. Familiar even. Modern blocks, boring - 4 walls and a roof, the occasional colonial mansion, hullo England, signposts and street names in Dutch. Of course I wasn't expecting clay huts and naked children, but when we reached the house I'd be staying at, a brand new 'granny flat', well, if I didn't know better, it could easily have been any where in Europe.Having said that, there was a great big fence built around the place, bars and locks on doors and windows and the 3 dogs running wild were not someone's pets but guard dogs.Now this was unusual.It made me feel a bit giggly, an over-protective landlord?Hmm, I spent the first couple of nights sitting straight up in bed, peering into the dark, my heart thumping, reaching for my scissors every time a car drove by or a dog barked.Yes, we had just been informed of what can happen to us uninhibited, flighty, gullible white tourists.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246869883/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246869883/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246869883/tpod.html Tue, 07 Jul 2009 02:38:19 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Hautefort, Aquitaine, France

My mother-in-law was right of course when she suggested one of my last bits would be about mixed feelings.We are going back to Amsterdam the day after tomorrow and though we have spent about seven weeks here, it feels like it's only just begun. It goes without saying that health problems have been a fly in the ointment - very frustrating not being able to partake in all the fun and activities I normally would. Still it's been wonderful just being here, watching the flowers grow, drinking the wine, getting a feel of la joie de vivre - I'm not complaining. Sad to leave though, as always.The good part is seeing the kids again, Rose, Dick and Ezra, and all the others I've missed. And I need to get back, for not much later, the 19th, my plane to Africa will take off. With or without me? Who knows, still 11 days to go and I am counting on my lucky stars.But I'll get there, sooner or later, and will be keeping a web log provided by the organization I'll be working for. I think it is www.katherinelapthorn.helptmee.nl, so if you like you can give it a try. Might even be able to hook it up to travel pod somehow, I'll sort that out.Anyway, tonight we have been invited to dinner by Bernadette and Nico, her new beau. I am amazed by the speed at which both Bernadette and Jacques found new loves after parting. Shacked up again, getting on with their lives as if nothing earth shattering happened.Seems like I'm the only one still trying to figure things out, but hey, good luck to them, really and truly. I'll just have to get the new names right and pray they will last for a while.Nico has owned a famous restaurant for decades and I was dying to taste his gourmet dishes, only Bernadette popped in this morning, casually mentioning she would not allow Nico to cook while on holiday, so we'd have to make do with her bits and pieces.Ah well, probably for the best - being laid up all this time has done nothing for my slimming plans and I love Bernadette's cooking anyway.I'm writing this in between packing, emptying cupboards, filling suitcases, sighing and pondering. When will I be back, what will have happened by then, what will happen next?I don't really want to know, what's the point of that, I want to experience it all, to charge on - I  want to daydream, take it slow. Mixed feelings? Maybe, but as long as the formula is right I think it will be just fine.p.s. Just back from a wonderful night with Bernadette and Nico and an absolutely delicious dinner, prepared by.......Nico.Somewhere along the line it was decided he'd take over and I am very happy he did. Oysters for starters, delicately fried, in some wonderful stuff. Ah, I won't go over the rest, too complicated and a fair amount to drink - you'll just have to take my word for it, it was excellent. The wines matching perfectly. The dessert wine, I'm beginning to acquire a taste for that, a Sauternes 1979, tasted so heavenly, I indiscreetly wondered outloud what one might pay for it in a restaurant, as I had just heard it was no longer to be found. I almost choked on it when Nico calmly answer: around 1.000 euro.Good god, I had just casually swallowed some 500 euro worth of wine. Yes, I know, you don't have to be a genius to work it out.So it was a nice send off, making me forget about tomorrow, the last day.I'm going to sleep now, I hope I'll dream of the wine, a taste of honey, a taste of France.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246778848/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246778848/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246778848/tpod.html Sun, 05 Jul 2009 18:49:31 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Hautefort, Aquitaine, France

Just a quickie before we leave for St. Leon-sur-Vézère. Another puzzle. Ants again.I left a cup of orange juice on the table outside and noticed some ants making their way towards it. Well, it was hot and I thought they were either thirsty or fancied a swim, and forgot all about it. Till we sat down for dinner and I saw what looked like the mesh of very fine tealeaves in the cup. There must have been thousands and thousands of them, dead or overcome? - they weren't moving, that's for sure.I know it's daft, but tears welled up and I felt extremely guilty for stupidly thinking they were going to have a nice time. Maybe they were just intoxicated; had the juice turned alcoholic?Peter cruelly tells me they are very dead and suggests we put out some more juice as it seems a lot more effective than his insecticide. I decide to ignore him for the rest of the day, how could he, he knows I have a thing for ants.There is a busy trickle of them now, climbing up the table leg, scurrying across the surface, in a straight line, as ants do. I start to study them; going back and forth, some seem to briefly connect or check each other out before continuing on their way to the killing fields. Once there, they halt and then daintily pick their way through the bodies. Stopping every now and then, maybe someone they recognize, though they all look the same to me. They seem to know exactly what they are doing, a well organized mission. Tiny brains, if any, so who comes up with the ideas? I try to follow just one but it's impossible and I idly wonder if I could put a droplet of paint on one of the slower ones so it would be easier to observe but I quickly abandon that fancy, no one wants to be the odd one out.Anyway, I think we should respect their privacy and let them get on with this ritual; do the decent thing and leave the table.Next morning I can't wait to check them out. To my astonishment the cup is clean empty, not a trace of an ant.They have been resurrected! Woken from their drunken stupor, staggered back home by the light of the moon, probably sleeping it off right now.I am overjoyed. I rush to Peter to smugly inform him of this miracle. He can hardly hide his mirth as he, gently this time, explains that the able bodied ants have carried off the dead that will be on the menu for the next couple of days. Ant à l'orange. I am appalled and reluctantly make my way to the computer to see if Wikipedia can bring some solace.There is a world of information on ants but nothing conclusive about them tucking in to their own. A further search reveals both a definite 'no' and a positive 'yes'. So I choose to believe they don't. I'm just going to go on thinking they lived happily ever after.Well, that's it really, no lessons to be learned here. Unless you count the fact that I sweetly poured Peter's coffee into the empty ant cup, hoping the ants would appreciate this small symbol of solidarity.So yes, I suppose you can conclude that though ants are fairly amazing, you shouldn't let yourself get carried away by them.........
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246280086/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246280086/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246280086/tpod.html Sat, 04 Jul 2009 02:16:22 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Hautefort, Aquitaine, France

We had obviously arrived at an inappropriate time. The staff was just sitting down to start their own meal, but we were still graciously escorted to a small, wobbly table in the middle of the empty restaurant and advised to take our time over the aperitifs. Our lovely French waitress spoke excellent English, which is unusual -  turned out she was Canadian, just arrived and still finding her bearings. Ah, good luck, I suspect it could be quite a challenge for this young girl so far from home.However, we enjoyed a pleasant but solitary meal; where was everybody on a Saturday evening? Even the chef took pity on us and came out of his kitchen to entertain, wiping his forehead with mock relief after we insured him the repas was most satisfactory.About to leave after seriously over-tipping, for how were they to make ends meet without clients?, we bumped in to a big party of merry guests, spilling into the restaurant, livening up the place no end. Now I wanted to stay, join the fun. Timing, just not getting it right.Still, we were fed, and mellowed by the - real - Bergerac wine we returned to Aubas for a night of music and dancing.Dark now, the little square, lit up by the colourful lights of the fair, was transformed into a magical and romantic spot.The roadie we had seen lumbering earlier, was also the star, the entertainer. You could just make him out, tucked away between the speakers and all the other equipment that was deemed necessary to address an audience of maybe 50 or 60.The dancing was in full swing and no mistaking, this was France. On the wooden boards, laid out in front of the stage-van, I watched something you might see in a film and think it was overdone. A scene too sentimental, too romantic, a thing of the past. It was mesmerizing; the couples dancing to the music of this one-man-band, now playing the accordion. Ballroom dancing, young and old, some experienced and some had found their own comfortable way of moving to the music. No self-consciousness, all very easy and somehow soothing. Like the very old gentleman, composed and straight-backed, solicitously holding his sturdy, resolute wife. She was wearing a woolen cardigan and squeezed into a short skirt with a split at the back, that must have been in fashion in the sixties. Probably specially bought, or made, for occasions just like this. Maybe her husband was remembering her as she was then, his eyes half closed, a hint of a smile.Two ladies were dancing together with much zeal, they were having fun. I noticed they had the same shoes - sisters maybe? Taking turns leading, they've done this before - nice act.A younger man, well dressed, smart shirt and camel coloured trousers, expensive shoes, nice looking too, was moving by himself. The top of his body perfectly still, arms slack, smooth and rhythmical from the hips, great to watch him.I love the punky girl, jerking and hopping in a comical way, she just couldn't find the beat but it didn't bother her in the least. A slightly besozzled man joins her, takes her in his arms and tries to guide her, to no avail. They laugh it off and leave the dance floor, hand in hand.It is all so sweet. The song being sung now sounds familiar and I am doing my best to grasp what the chanteur is singing. It sounds French but it's actually English. 'Whoa aah ate goat noha bot-tie.' Oh, dear me, David Lee Roth would love this. It's 'I'm just a gigolo' and I am quite sure he hasn't got a clue what he is singing.I can't help laughing, it is so funny, but also perfect, just perfect.Time to leave, for this is an intimate, kind of a private party, really. Something these good people have carefully prepared for and looked forward to. And though we know we are most welcome, and are grateful for that, we are not one of them. Not yet.But maybe, in due time...........
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246179395/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246179395/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/katherine-anne/1/1246179395/tpod.html Mon, 29 Jun 2009 10:52:13 -0400 Just a few steps from bliss - South Africa and France

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Hautefort, Aquitaine, France

We left, of course. With regret, the atmosphere was so relaxed and friendly but I wasn't about to hang around for the next 3 or 4 hours feeling this hungry.So on to the next village, fingers crossed there would be food readily available there. Aubas, some 10 km further on. I love this place. It is situated on the banks of the Vézère and it's a bit of a shambles. No visible order or uniformity. One or two beautiful mansions, in need of a lick of paint, the gardens a little wild, sitting amongst a jumble of houses, cottages, outbuildings - most in some stage of (dis)repair. Big, red blocks of brick built on top of the beautiful, ancient, honey-coloured stone walls, cement spilling out from the joints. Somehow it didn't matter.The mairie (town hall) was being renovated too. Covered in a veil of white net as if waiting to be led up the aisle. Crooked little streets and allies, leading nowhere or ending abruptly at the last doorstep. A stark, barren church, something you might see in a spaghetti western, but inside it was surprisingly warm and cosy. Decorated with all kinds of bits and pieces and I couldn't help wondering what these little treasures would fetch at some brocante. There for the taking, the chandeliers, crucifix, statues and some ancient benches and chairs. Many of these churches have been looted already and now you will often find the doors locked or anything valuable nailed down or removed from sight. Shame. But this church had kept it's faith in mankind and rightly so, I hope. It is one of the few churches I felt at ease in.Anyway, we arrived just in time to see the end of a children's play. A tiny, improvised stage, on each side a teacher holding an end of a drab piece of material - the curtain. Le rideau.No guessing what it was all about. A handful of 6 to 8 year-olds kept appearing, to earnestly whisper or mumble their lines, in their everyday clothes but miraculously transformed by a simple hat, black cape, false nose or mum's costume jewelry.A final rideau and they all came back, bowing, giggling - applause. I wished we'd got there sooner.I turned my attention to the village square; there was a modest fair of sorts. A tame merry-go-round; its fire engine, horses and what have you were rusty, out of date, the colours faded - a Dutch toddler wouldn't have been seen dead on one of those rides, and I couldn't see any French kids jumping for joy. Only one little girl, runny-nosed and crying - I knew just how she felt.Next a gambling attraction, one of those things you can try and pull out a watch or bracelet. Cheap, shiny stuff, who would want it anyway? Well, crowding around the machine was a bunch of ladies, totally absorbed, slotting in their euros like there was no tomorrow. And think again if you think all French women are petite, these had bums as big as houses, accentuated by stretch pants, t-shirts riding up. I was tempted to stand amongst them and have my picture taken, just to point out the relativity of slimness.For reasons that escaped me there were two bumper car attractions. A bunch of bored looking teenagers, embarrassed faces when they crashed in to each other, hung around one, the other deserted, unfavoured.And finally a nasty looking stand with a kind of circular gutter filled with the dirtiest water, probably enough germs there to wipe out the entire village,some mechanism creating a pathetic flow meant to keep some filthy plastic ducks moving round. They had a metal loop on their backs so the children could fish them out with bamboo rods. Grubby stuffed animals were to be won but by the looks of them they had been hanging there for ages, not won or not wanted.No one was attending the stall anyway.The traditional long table was waiting under the trees but there was very little sign of interest, as a matter of fact there weren't that many around at all. Realistically we knew something was not right but sought out the lady selling the meal-tickets anyway. She was happy to pencil us in....... for the lunch tomorrow. Swallowing our disappointment we turned away, not before noticing three men hastily pouring wine from a large plastic container into Bergerac wine bottles.These were to be sold at tomorrow's lunch. Hmm.........Dominating the square was a large truck, its side now opened to reveal a black stage. The rest of the vehicle was being adorned with branches of evergreen, in an attempt to camouflage it, but in the end it was still a lorry, albeit with foliage.A man, bit like Julien Clerc, was carrying sound equipment back and forth, fiddling about, connecting things. An old woman sat heavily on a chair amidst it all, belly on her lap, watching, sighing, gesturing she was too old to help. Was she his mum, hoping maybe we'd take pity and lend a hand?Time to move on, time to eat, time for La Table de Jean, a recommended restaurant at Coly, not far from here.........to be continued
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