Last Tuesday evening the barefoot mountain guide and I were home doing nothing particularly out of the ordinary since, like most South Africans I think, we’re in the post World Cup slump – all cheered out and budgets blown completely. He was cooking supper for us and I was hovering unhelpfully in the kitchen as I do. Continue reading
9am on Monday morning and finally on a plane en route to Cape Town, having already forced myself out of bed far too early, braved an icy Highveld winter morning and Fourways traffic (which I sincerely do not miss!), bought a dodgy luminous yellow poppy-seed muffin at Lanseria airport and spilled tea on myself. Twice. Tea in a paper cup is always suspect, as any good Tea Master will tell you. Just don’t do it. Continue reading
My body is convinced I’ve lost the plot. They tell me that’s what happens with jetlag, but I really think that it might be more than that at this stage – I suspect a revolt is imminent. The barefoot mountain guide & I got back from a two week visit to Canadia (yes, that’s right – Canadia. So that “Canadian” makes more sense) last week and we’re still hovering somewhere over the Rockies time-wise. Continue reading
I live in a new city. Or rather, I live in a city new to me. In November last year I moved from Joburg to Cape Town, a move most Capetonians applaud in the same spirit as one would applaud a rescue from the arctic. Continue reading
Last week, in celebration of having finished my yoga teachers training course, the Barefoot Mountain Guide and I climbed on board the Shosholoza Premier Classe train at Park Station in Joburg, and took a leisurely 24 hour ride through the wondrously green Karoo back home to CT. Continue reading