travel

Saldanha Bay

Table Mountain, CapetownWhen I got to Joburg I heard from Kris that he had rounded the Cape of Good Hope by himself (and lit a candle to the gods of the seas in thanksgiving for his relatively trouble-free passage through this exhausting part of the world’s oceans) and was waiting for me at a friendly yacht club in Saldanha Bay, a 165km. drive from Cape Town. I hurriedly bought a ticket to Cape Town, then jumped into a dilapidated Mercedes taxi, with a wonderful driver called James. The drive was long and fairly monotonous, except for the parts where we passed Table Mountain, or some animals appeared in the scrubby distance (lots of springbok round these parts). It would have been boring, had James not been a great guy with a fantastic sense of humour. We roared with laughter through the entire trip, which took nearly three hours through flat scrubby land punctuated here and there by rocky outcrops. We talked about jealous women and relationships, raising kids these days, dishes made with pap and samp (a traditional porridge or polenta made with finely ground maize meal…the staple food of South Africa’s Bantu), corruption in government, the importance of helping your fellowmen out and treating strangers with the same respect you accord your friends and family, how many ways there really are to skin a cat, and why anyone would want to skin a cat, in the first place.
marshland
He consoled me for the endless, flat highways and hours in the car with the promise that once I reached my husband, I could look forward to “kisses for breakfast”. It made the drive extremely fun, and James exclaimed when we reached Saldanha that he was sad, because now he would have to drive back the way he came by himself.
The long drive to Saldanha

Saldanha is a large industrial fishing port; it is also the site of a large steel and iron ore processing plant. The small township is dominated by a bare hill, with huge boulders poking out of it. Streets are very wide, clean, and the architecture is a strange hybrid of European A-frames, chimneys, and the worldwide vernacular style of cheaply built concrete cube housing. Nothing is over two storeys high. Sulfurous yellow street lights are everywhere, blazing up into the sky and lighting up the bare hill at night.
Baby seagulls on a neglected boat

It’s bloody cold. At least to me…I am a child of the tropics, and I will never love the cold. A chilly gale blows in from the South, Southeast, all times of the day, and windchill on the boat can sometimes bring the temperature down to 8ºC at night. Hundreds of seagulls wheel and shriek overhead, cormorants swim, their snaky heads above the choppy, white-edged water, and sometimes we see fat, unconcerned seals near the rocks, or across the bay in the Langebaan wildlife park. I wear two jumpers, and sometimes a pashmina scarf around my neck, when the locals are out sailing their boats in shorts and T-shirts! I sleep inside a sleeping bag, under two heavy blankets. Even so, by Monday I had come down with a cold. What a wuss!

A neglected boat

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photography, travel

Suburbia, Johannesburg

Sunrise over Madagascar
The moment it first really hit me that I was going to be in Africa, was 7 hours after leaving Singapore, at dawn. As the first blush of rosy light crept up from behind the horizon, we were soaring over the huge, seemingly endless island of Madagascar. What a rush! I wanted to squeal like a pig at the sight, but the oh-so-cool, very handsome 16-year-old boy beside me prevented me from behaving like a silly old goose.
At the airport I was preceded by a distinguished looking gentleman in a silk suit, and his retinue of plump, corporate-styled women. As we emerged into the vast arrivals hallway, a brass band like a small army struck up some rousing music, and a hundred people in bright clothes, beaded jewelry, and head cloths, surged forward to greet the man. I was stuck, smiling politely, behind this mob for about 20 minutes before I found a way, in the opposite direction, around them and out of the airport. My taxi driver, Albert, told me the dude was some homecoming preacher. Welcome to Africa!
Suburbian Lodge
These next photos are taken from around the lodge I have been staying at. You can’t really tell I’m on the continent of Africa, by these pictures…The Suburbian Guest Lodge is, as the name promises, tucked away in a respectable (read “white”) neighborhood of manicured gardens, gorgeous flower beds, high walls topped by razor or electric wire, and remote-controlled gates festooned with notices of the various armed response security agencies employed by paranoid owners within.
Suburbian Lodge
underneath a fig tree
I never expected the air to be so chilly. I set off on foot for the nearest shopping centre, on a mission to buy a universal adapter for my various gadgets and gizmos, and also a South African sim card for my brick phone. My hostess—who seems a nice lady, otherwise, and very helpful—gave me a street map with highlighted areas that she said were “black areas”, and told me to avoid them. She also told me not to carry my camera openly on the streets because of “the blacks”. How do you use a camera when it’s in a backpack? I set off, and noticed right away that I was the only “non-black” walking.
Frederik Street, JoburgFriedlaan, Joburg
But everyone I came across said hello, and when I stopped to ask for directions people were gently friendly and helpful, and whole gangs of construction workers or ditch diggers called out “Good morning!” I never felt threatened or unsafe.
shopping center promenades
shopping center promenades
The air was so dry and cool, it was a pleasure to walk the 4.8 km. to Eastgate, except that half the walk consisted of a very long, very steep hill going UP, and the other half was a very long, very steep hill going DOWN, and my knees and feet were killing me! I stopped to rest often at many beautifully maintained parks and promenades along the way…the Agapanthus lily was EVERYWHERE.
Agapanthus
At some point, I came upon Joburg’s Chinatown. I love Chinatown…it’s not a place, really, it’s a state of cultural being. No matter where one goes in the world, it seems, the Chinatown is essentially the same, and therefore a comforting, familiar place to be.
Joburg Chinatown

Joburg Chinatown

Joburg Chinatown
At the shopping center I found my adapter, but no luck with the sim card because I hadn’t thought to carry my passport with me, and you can’t buy a sim card without ID here.
I had a big breakfast and excellent coffee at a place called Nino’s. It was 8 in the morning and most of the shops in the mall were not even open yet, but the smoking area at Nino’s—a little glassed in room to one side—was packed with fat old Italian men. They were set out in twos and threes, at different tables ranged around the room, but were all engaged in the same conversation. I really had no choice but to eavesdrop, since they were shouting across the room at each other. The topic of conversation was one that fat old Italian men probably started in the 1600s, and have carried on with until the present: “Things just aren’t the way they used to be…back then, life was really good. Today’s world is shit, and nobody is doing anything about it. Italy, of course, is still the best country in the world…” I think someone should make a recording of this timeless, monotonous conversation, so that cafe’s everywhere in the world can play the track continuously, and save the fat old dons the trouble of opening their mouths.
I could not resist a few pieces of Zulu beadwork, for sale at the Bruma Lake flea market, and these were my only concession to the world of souvenir shopping.Zulu beadwork
Back to the lodge by 1pm, to shower, change, and share my lunch—a box of nectarines, some freshly baked loaves of dark bread, some nuts and dried fruit, a tin of sardines in olive oil—with this fine-looking fella here. He liked the sardines, of course, but also the roasted almonds. Lupo di delicatessen.
"Free wolf with every room"
After lunch, I drag a chair out into the courtyard, to sip a coffee and smoke underneath a small fig tree growing behind a garden gate that leads to the staff members’ quarters.
fig
That brisk walk up and down a mountain (that’s how it felt to me!) has tired me out and I will happily fall into my huge, soft, clean, fluffy white bed, to sleep through the nightly torrential downpour and mighty thunderstorms that rake across Joburg at this time of year.

Tomorrow I am heading, very early in the morning, back to the O.R.Tambo airport, for the last day of my journey toward Kris: a flight to Capetown, and then a taxi to the Saldhana Bay Yacht Club.

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travel

Johannesburg. Got here at 6 a.m., came straight to the little guesthouse I booked, and slept till 3 in the afternoon. We are a long way from the city (should’ve twigged when I saw the name of the hostel was “Suburbian”) in a quiet residential area of big houses, high walls, pretty flower gardens. I don’t see anyone walking, but I will try.

My taxi driver recommended “bap

Flying to Capetown on Friday, hopefully to see my love by the end of that day. Whew, this meeting has been 6 months in the making! Nearly there.

Suburbia (not quite what I had in mind)

Aside

windswept
My dad, our family friend Mae, and I went driving for the day to the Tanay foothills of the Sierra Madre—the longest mountain range in the Philippines. I tried shooting from the moving car, so as not to disrupt the trip or annoy my father’s driver too much, but didn’t meet with very much success. The shot of these windswept, grass-covered hills was the only one worth keeping. The bare hills are a testament to the locals’ charcoal-making activities for many decades, and the painter John Altomonte responded to my photograph with some lines of poetry, which I will include here because they help make the photograph seem better than it actually is…

Weeping winds, a broken hearted land…
gone the children- the trees, her winged troubadours?

life, travel

The Sierra Madre with dad

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Thank you, Miri…I promise that I will never, ever die. ;)

In the Zululand Observer

In my inbox tonight…an interview with Kris by Val Van der Walt of the Zululand Observer, November 14.

amazing people, Inspirations, travel

An article in the Zululand Observer about Kris…

In my inbox tonight…an interview with Kris by Val Van der Walt of the Zululand Observer, November 14.

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paints and pens, stuff i've made, travel

Departure date

9 November 2014

Looked up flights to Manila from Darwin last night (I am stopping by to see my Dad before I head to S. Africa) and they’ve gone up $150 since last week. Pushed by the steadily rising prices of the Christmas season, I bought a seat on the last flight that was under $500: November 23rd, Sunday. After that, prices shoot up another $200.

My Darwin days are numbered. I sure hope immigration issues my passport before the flight date! *nervous, about-to-be-sick laugh*

I spent all last night trying to make a storyboard, for the first time ever, and learn to use some simple video-editing programs, because I’d like videos to be a part of the trip’s creative output. Trying to sync the movie to music was the biggest struggle, but I think I’ve got it figured out now, though that’s only in theory. I don’t know how all you Vimeo Pro Account denizens do it, but I use a stopwatch. LOL Learning a new thing is always exciting, and I’ve recently taken on two new obsessions: watercolours and a GoPro. That’ll keep me busy (and too distracted to be seasick, I hope!) for a long time.

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art + design, blogging, life, travel

About schizzograffia

The ABOUT page on schizzograffia is finally up…click on the image to view larger

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