The Cardiff Chronicles-The Day Before The Battle


The script had been written for the 20th of October final in Paris between The All Blacks and the hosts France.

The top ranked team in the world and the most feared team in the world vs the unpredictable hosts, the team which shocked the All Blacks and indeed the entire world, when they knocked them out of the World Cup in 1999.

However, similar to compatriots Amelie Mauresmo and Richard Gasquet playing on the red clay at Roland Garros in the French Open, the pressure of playing on their own big stage was too big when they met Argentina in the world cup opener.

It might not have been the 20th of October, actually it was two weeks before that, it was the 6th of October, it was a clash during the World Cup quarter finals which saw the dream final in Paris being played far from the bugles and the baguettes and closer to Brains and the home of Bryn Twyfel.

It could only be in the great sport of rugby that the world cup hosts played one of the biggest matches of their lives in Cardiff.

Like the Welsh supporters who had to sheepishly offload their quarterfinal tickets for their match against the Springboks in the quarter finals, the French now had to get out their English and Celtic phrase books and come to Cardiff.

This was my first time in Wales, I looked forward to not having to find news on rugby near the obituaries section, however with Wales being dumped out of the World Cup, I did read many a lament for Welsh rugby, but at least it was only the articles on the Welsh team which were near the death notices and not the articles on the quarter final clashes.

When travelling, it is very important for me to acquaint myself with the local dishes and drinks, finding Brains was no problem. However, asking for Welsh rarebit, lava bread and soda bread was similar to asking a white South African whether they voted for the National Party during Apartheid- “No, no-one eats or makes that food”, “What, you can not buy that, you can make it, but I do not know how”- It was a blank rejection of their national culinary delights.

I settled for an Oggy, a mutton pie. It was wonderful to overhear these two aged gentlemen sitting on a bench talking about Wales’s fall from grace, but, yet, also the hope that the young cavalier James Hook will be the next big thing in World rugby.

Walking past the Cardiff Castle and through the Victorian arcades, I hardly saw any French supporters, just confident Kiwi’s. “It will be tough, but we are going to win”, “I am more worried about Australia, the French don’t have a chance here, this is a home game for us”.

I caught a bus to Merthyr Tydfil and was picked up by Alan Howells, a rugby fanatic who had stayed on our family farm in Vryburg, North West, during the 1974 British Lions tour of South Africa. We listened to a more popular Jenkins-Katherine, a new Welsh mezzo-soprano while driving through the majestic Brecon Beacons, her namesake Gareth, the former Welsh coach, is a less revered Jenkins, largely blamed for the early exit in the World Cup.

I spent the night drinking Welsh beer at Cefn Coed Y Cymmer rugby club, an amateur village club. If Wales could only play rugby liked their countrymen drank, I guess they would still be in the World Cup and we would be out. I was taught a lesson by the old men at the club, but they were not in a mood to gloat, instead I was told about why Wales did so badly in the World Cup, why Jenkins deserved to go, but the management should have walked the plank with him.

Besides drinking a South African under the table, the club members, partisan towards the Llanelli Scarlets, saw the Scarlets record their first ever victory against Leinster at Leinster. Maybe the French were watching the Scarlets…

-------------

This was the day before the World Cup Quarterfinals match between France and New Zealand in Cardiff. It was the 5th of October.

The Luton Loner

There he stands, not focused on the courts of Queens, because his action, his
game is in the parking lot.

He stands there with his blue felt tip pen, and old gym bag, floppy
turqoise hat, scabby nose, and thin body.

He must be about 70 years old, he has come all the way from Luton to
get autographs, standing next to small kids and groupies he asks the
players to use his blue felt tip pen to sign.

I meet this sad, forlorn man, while Novak Djokovic is practising. He
asks me whether I possess a blue felt tip pen, I dismiss him with a
quick no, the pretty girl next to me has more heart, more patience,
but no one has a blue felt tip pen.

The pretty girl and her banker boyfriend strut off with their
bottles of wine and their designer garments, the Luton man with the
broken blue felt tip pen returns and in his soft voice proceeds to
trap me and irritate me, telling me how the council forced him to
chuck out his boxes and boxes of autographs, because of it being a
fire risk, yet the coloureds play loud music and slam doors.

He asks why do they allow the Coloureds to that?

I turn my back and hope Djokovic hits the ball into is mouth

Behind the glitz and the glamour of the tennis courts of Queens are some sad men

_____________________________

I wrote this in June 2007 but was encouraged to post it. These events all took place at the Queens' Tennis Club during the Stella Artois tennis championships.

--

Scotland on Sunday

New Zealand supporters had flown across the world to come see the crunch game in their group, after they crushed the Italians, the All Black fans knew that it would be worth their while to leave France to come to Edinburgh to see their boys get a real test. I also decided to go, I was not able to get a VISA for France, and although being unable to book a flight or a train to Edinburgh, I went up by bus.

The plan was to drive up late at night via the bus, sight see and soak up the atmosphere in the morning and get back for work the next day by leaving late at night.

No change of clothes, no room, no base, just a will to get my hands on some tickets and enjoy Edinburgh.

I had not been to the capital of Scotland since 1999, I had forgotten how wonderful it actually is. I suppose this was helped by my good mood, I had slept the entire bus journey, the only think which woke me was the stand-in bus drivers heavy breathing and bad braking.

I was hungry but had to wait over two hours for my Scottish breakfast. I was not prepared to eat at Mcdonalds, even though it is the one place in the world where it could sound authentically local.

I walked down Princes Road, and nothing was open for breakfast, I headed up to the Royal Mile, now while some travel guides will call this street kitsch or a tourist trap, I think this is wonderfully original and besides the odd eatery or watering hole with a cheap name, I am sure many a Scot does come buy their kilt here. Most establishments were also closed, except a corner café with a rude owner. A black plague soon set on the Royal Mile as the All Black fans came out of the wood work. I ventured up to the Castle, the definitive landmark of the city and got to spot Graham Henry taking a quick walk with his wife.

I had a traditional Scottish breakfast with Haggis and potato pancakes, it was very good Haggis, not too much heart and not too little oatmeal. The All Black fans were outnumbering the Scots by about 12-1, the Kiwi supporters oozing confidence, The Scottish supporters bracing themselves for the inevitable.

I ventured down to the Greyfriars Kirkyard to see the grave of Bobby, the terrier who watched his masters grave for many years, one of the most popular spots in this city. I also went to the Natonal Museum of Scotland which is good for the whole family and even the most hardened rugby fan would not admit that they would have learnt something there. I also visited the Scottish Parliament a very modern building which is very impressive but makes no mention to the controversy of its creation.

I needed to start the trek to Murrayfield, a good 30-45 minute walk, on the walk I met Belgians, Spaniards, Canadians, Frenchmen, Basques. The walk takes you through the more edgier part of the city, passing pubs full of supporters. There were more Scottish supporters but it still seemed like they were in the minority.
I was also disheartened by the way the Scottish fans were outgunned in size and voice by the All Blacks. I suppose they conceded and gave their tickets to the All Black fans who wanted to see an exhibition match.

I still like the Scottish rugby supporters, I have always found them very loyal to their team and also very gracious in defeat (sadly this happens too often), however I thought they lost their marbles on Sunday.

They sided with coach Frank Hadden’s decision to rest almost the entire first XV, they bought his line about resting their players for the big match with the Italians and that they needed to keep their eye on the ball for that match. Why did Hadden not tell the fans and the organizers before the World Cup, that they need not arrive for the match at Murrayfield, and that in order to keep sanctity at that fine institution the game should have been switched to Glasgow or Galashiels.

I still had no ticket, but I bumped into Scott a newly converted rugby fan who was selling tickets, I bought a £118 ticket for a meagre £50. It was a great deal, but as always with touts one has to have an air of scepticism. I followed Scott like a hawk, had some Scottish beer with him and went in. One forgets how massive Murrayfield is, it hosts over 70,000 people and is a great stadium. I soon realised that I was watching a game with two people who liked rugby but did not know much about it, but that is one of the great things of the World Cup, seeing more people introduced to the great game.

The Haka was ferocious and if the Scottish B-team had any doubts that the All Blacks would go lightly on them, the Haka destroyed any such doubt. However, for me, there is nothing more stirring than the bagpipes and the singing of Flower of Scotland. It is one of those anthems that even the All Blacks probably hummed.

It was a wonderful spectacle, the crowd was maybe too enthusiastic for such a mismatch and the All Blacks were far from being at their best, but I was still very glad to have seen a match.

After a walk through Rose Street and a long dinner next to a Gloucester man who idolized Wales but had an All Blacks shirt on I had to get back on the bus to London. It had been a long day.

I arrived back in London at 05:45 feeling tired and groggy but unlike the Scottish team I still had my pride in tact.



----------------

1)Having Haggis for Breakfast
2)All Black Men in black kilts
3)Scotland to their finger nails
4)Out of Bounds Scott and Dangerous Dave and I watching the game
5)All Blacks vs Scotland

Endorsement for the Next President of the United States of America


For the last few months I have been caught between a (Ba)rack and a
hard North Carolina place, and have been very undecided of who I
should endorse to be the Democrat candidate to fight the next election
and become the next President of the United States of America.

If one watched the CNN/YouTube debate this week, you would have been
even more undecided, Senator Hillary Clinton really performed well,
very articulate, clear and confident, she really impressed me.

Senator Joe Biden from Delaware was equally impressive, this very
experienced Democrat has very good ideas and was incredibly adroit.

To be honest all the Democrats, bar Mike Gravel performed well, and I
believe that the Republican party will battle to keep the White House
in 2008.

I was very confused, but have decided that my straddling must end, and
I have made a decision.

The Audacity of Hope, is one of the best books I have ever read by a
politician, Barack Obama's story is inspiring, his ability to connect
with new voters is phenomenal. When delivering a speech there is
probably no better at the moment. I dont think it is just hyperbole
when people refer to him as a "phenomenon". He might be a junior
senator, but that is relative, Hilary Clinton is not that much more
experienced than he has. I think the idea of an African American
president is very exciting, (just as the idea of a woman finally
becoming president, but with all due respect to John McCain and Mitt
Romney, I am less excited about the prospect of the first war veteran
president or the first Mormon president).

Barack Obama's face on the ballot sheet will be a massive test for the
USA and the country would have to decide whether they are ready for
him to lead the country, I believe Obama will be a great President,
but not now. The former Senator of North Carolina and failed Vice
Presidential candidate John Edwards is not a perfect candidate. He has
his flaws, he is easy for the GOP to attack. The haircut, the
litigator, the populist.

He is also a longshot at the moment, he is a distant 3rd. However, I
watched the debate this week, and whilst most did exceptionally well,
John Edwards did better than them. He won. On adressing the war,
health care, poverty he came out angry but to the point. He is someone
who has devoted his last few years to alleviating poverty. For John
Edwards knows that it is not right that the richest country in the
world can not protect its citizens from poverty, he knows that it is
not right that many CEO's pay less tax than their secretaries. It is
not right that the richest country in the world offers no universal
health care for all it's citizens.

I also believe that an America lead by John Edwards will be an America
much more respected in the world. He has been incredibly vocal on his
call for the removal of 40,000-50,000 troops immediately from Iraq and
the full withdrawal in a year. Edwards will ensure that America plays
a much constructive role in Africa, and ensure that America does not
use religious ideals to determine their policy on how to curb HIV/AIDS
but use the policies which will best suit those most affected and
vulnerable.

I also look to Elizabeth Edwards as someone who would make a great
first lady, her story is inspiring, her battle with breast cancer, and
her work in the fight against poverty. She will be an activist first
lady who will lead from the front with her husband.

America can do better and will do better under John Edwards

http://www.flickr.com/photos/forallofus/910820386/ Taken from www.johnedwards.com

Day 3 Barrydale to Cape Town

Sitting down for breakfast in the large lounge and breakfast table of the Tradouw guest house. I am initially disappointed that my lust for meat will not be satisfied because we were now out of the Karoo and in Barrydale. However, some good eggs, muesli and filter coffee did the trick. It turned into an even finer breakfast when Leon put on some Arik Einstein for us (given to him by Israelis who had stayed there). After breakfast, Leon gave us some expert advice and took us through his Indian Medicine Wheel garden on their property across the road from the Tradouw. We bid farewell to a fine establishment run by two very caring and attentive hosts and made our way back up towards Ladismith. I had dozed off in the car and we had missed some of the attractions of the R62.

We turned off to the Warmwatersberg Spa. It was a very cold morning, and the idea of an outdoor spa did not appeal to me, however the price and setting was unbeatable. Surrounded by 5 mountain ranges and the hot water spring at 42 °, at the cost of a mere R20 (£1,42). It was incredibly refreshing and often I behaved liked an adventurous kid running between the freezing cold pool and the hot baths.

Back onto the R62 and you pass a sign which would make any unsuspecting traveller, particularly those sleep-eyed, male travellers who are not enamoured by the scenery, which will no doubt make you screech on your brakes and think that what you read simply can not be true. Ronnie’s Sex Shop, painted in red on to a wall of a property with little else near it seems to be the oddest place imaginable for a sex shop. It was amazing to see the amount of cars which had stopped there. This place was a landmark of the R62.
Oh yes, the only think Ronnie Price’s shop has to do with sex is that it’s curios shop sells cheap lingerie and bra’s adorn the bar. I briefly met Ronnie Price. long curly hair, barely held together in a pony tail with a very friendly face.

Ronnie had little do with the name, it used to be called Ronnie’s Shop, then one night his friend’s added in the word “Sex” and proceeded to underline this. His friends prank has turned Ronnie Price into a very well known tourist personality and with a much healthier bank account. I had some carrot cake from the Road Kill Café, run by the lady we sat next to for dinner the night before. She and Ronnie’s wife pass the time by playing many games of scrabble, Ronnie’s son, who seemingly models himself on a quasi-alpha male version of Freddie Mercury.

We tried to find the pagoda-The South African Peace Pagoda. We followed the directions of the map but felt that we had missed it. We drove back and saw Peter and Nora Frazer’s farm-“The Manger”. You drive on a dirt road and there in between some trees and bushes is this very large pagoda, the only official Buddhist pagoda from Cape Town to Cairo…. Quite astonishing, the pagoda was built by a 90 year old Burmese monk and some volunteers. It was unveiled in 2000 and I am sure thousands of people drive past here each month with little knowledge of what stands amongst the trees.


The Frazer’s farm also hosts “The Labyrinth” and a baboon rehabilitation centre.

Back down the valley towards Barrydale and one last stop there at the Country Pumpkin restaurant and farm stall to get some dried fruit and cheese.

Leon told us to go on the Tradouw Pass instead of continuing on the R62 to Cape Town. This mountainous pass bedeck with lush greenery and waterfalls is another one of the many little known detours in South Africa. Tradouw is derived from the Khoisan word, tradau" which means "Way of the Woman". I was very thankful to that master road builder Thomas Bain and his band of convicts who completed this road in 1873. It was closed in the 1900’s and a tarred, safer version was reopened in 1980. We came to the end of the pass and turned right to Suurbrak, a mission station village. As we turned off, I noticed a stream at the bottom of the road and had it not been freezing cold, I would have stopped the car and climbed down the hill and swam…next time.

Suurbrak has a very ornate old church which serves as the central attraction to this close knit, almost exclusively coloured community. We were told of Paradise Organic, a relatively new restaurant run by a former male model from Kimberley. The design of the restaurant does not really fit in with its surroundings, but all the vegetables and fruit grow in the garden, seen through the doors of the restaurant. The owner also is implementing projects with the local community to teach them how to grow food organically. We had a very healthy lunch in the most beautiful setting in the shadow of the mountain and the rain started falling softly. The grey clouds were brewing.

We set off for Swellendam and it poured down. The typical Western Cape weather had finally arrived, we took a detour to Stanford as we were visiting family friends in Onrus. The rain slowed down as we neared Standford but then picked up again and stopped when we hit Onrus and saw our close family friends the Rohloff’s. In a house, overlooking the sea, we had a braai, and caught up.

It was dark and we needed to get to Cape Town, not a nice drive at night, 30 Km’s out from Onrus, a torrential downpour occurred, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst driving experiences I had ever experienced, cars driving at breakneck speeds up your tail, with little space to move, no place to turn around, just hoping that nothing stray enters the road, it was over by the time we hit Sir Lowry’s Pass.

An amazing trip, great to catch up with mom, and wonderful to know that I had seen many places I had not seen before and still refreshing to know that there is so much for me to still see and experience in the beautiful Western Cape province.

I used the following sources to help me research this blog.

http://www.warmwatersbergspa.co.za
http://www.barrydale.co.za
http://www.overberg.co.za


Pics

1) Leon Riley and I outside- The Tradouw in Barrydale
2) Ronnie's Sex Shop
3) The South African Peace Pagoda
4) Tradouw Pass
5) The Garden of Paradise Organic in Suurbrak

Day 2 Prince Albert to Barrydale

I woke up ready to go but the town was sleeping, even the roosters had not begun crowing, I wanted to get Wimbledon results and set off. The day started with a typical boere (farmers) breakfast, lamb boerewors (farmers sausage), tomato, poached eggs and a koppie koffie (cup of coffee). As per the two meals before, I was bloated, but still felt good after such a hearty breakfast.

After a slow, leisurely drive to look at some of the streets we missed the day before we headed into the Swartberg Pass. The pass was opened in 1888, although it is only 27 km’s, it feels much longer. The road was built by one of the greatest road engineers Thomas Bain. Soon after you enter the pass you are left agog by the spectacular views. The fynbos is incredible, we also some klipspringers. The road was very empty. I did this pass a few years ago and would love to have had time to hike through some of the trails, and also had a 4X4 to turn off to “Die Hel” Gamkaskloof. The 57 km’s from the turnoff on the Swartberg Pass take a cool four hours to do as you descend down this zig-zagged shaped road into the valley. Here a small community lived in isolation for many years. I look forward to returning to the pass to visit “Die Hel".

We made our way to Outshoorn, the capital of the Klein Karoo, however, after possing some ostriches and entering the town, my lust for exploration subsided. I had not visited the town since I was small, but I think it was because the town was too big a town, and I would not do it justice, after a “ kerrie jaffle “ (round, sealed toasted sandwich with curry mince) we got onto the well publicized R62, to be honest, I was very disappointed with the drive from Oudtshoorn to Calitzdorp. Got to Calitzdorp, a lot of people were milling about, I don’t know if it was because it was nearing the weekend, or because of the seasonal unemployment, I fear the latter, this is Port wine and fruit country and many workers only find employment during harvest season.

Calitzdorp at first reminded me of one those thoroughfare towns in the North West, where one just passes through. However, this is the Port wine capital of SA, we visited Boplaas. I am no wine connoisseur, but it was good, and the self described experts next to me concurred. After stocking up on it and some dried fruit, we went looking for St. Marks Church, the supposed 2nd smallest church in the world, we found it, it was small, but I wonder how they can be so sure that there are so smaller churches… The outskirts of the town lends it self to some fine views.

The R62 gets much better from Calitzdorp to Ladismith, and here again, I made a cardinal error when we drove past a sign to Seweweekspoort (Seven Weeks Gorge), I thought our car would not be able to handle it, This 17 km drive is supposed to be in the same league as the Swartberg Pass.

The terrain had become more mountainous and we arrived in Ladismith. The Towerkop (spell head), with a split peak is the defining landmark of the town. This is also a big farming area, but Ladismith is more well known for its cheese. Ladismith, is not a spelling mistake, but named after Sir Harry Smith’s wife Juana Smith, and to prevent confusion with Ladysmith in Natal, the y became an i. I also wondered whether Free State captain and Springbok flanker Juan Smith was named after her?
We wanted to get something to eat, and founded a friendly home run establishment called Kanna Kombuis, run by former Prince Albert residents Kevin and Barbie Ellison. At first Barbie’s over friendly attitude irritated me, but she and her husband are genuinely warm people who like all the other places we had eaten have a real interest in their customers. The venison was great, well accompanied by apricot stew. We then went in search of the Ladismith shul, just before finding the shul, a thin, disheveled lady too advantage of the mid afternoon warmth and proceeded to take off her top and flash me, at first I thought I was imagining this but she just stood there. Strange things happen in small towns.

Like Oudtshoorn, Ladismith had a booming ostrich feather industry and this attracted many Jews, and a synagogue was built. I don’t think there are any Jews left in the town, but the building still stands and is looked after by the municipality. We had left the town when we remembered we had forgotten about the cheese factory and we drove towards Barrydale-the destination for the day. Barrydale lies in a lush valley and one really feels that you are out of the Klein Karoo. The small dorp is not as aesthetically charming at first like Prince Albert, it lacks the order, and some of the planning seems haphazard. We found the Tradouw Guest House, run by Leon Riley and Denis Mclintock. The room was a bit smaller, but the décor was amazing. We walked around Barrydale, it had a much busier feel than Prince Albert, the place grew on me a lot, we stopped off at the Barrydale Hotel, this hotel and indeed the town has a wonderful reputation as a gay friendly place, and it was special to see the overall working farm labourers enjoying a drink next to a gay couple. I later asked Leon how the farmers responded to the influx of gay people who settled in the town and built up businesses, and Leon said that the conservative farmers had no problem with it as it had led to an economic boon in the town.

I soon deferred to Leon on all things to do with the area, where to eat, what to do the next day etc. Leon sent us to A Place In Time, run by Mike and Beverley Loy. We had no sooner made our way through the door which could not be opened from the outside when Mike started speaking to us, and again, there was nothing irksome about it, it was wonderful, in between serving the meals his wife was cooking, Mike would entertain us and tell us stories of the town, and almost address the 3 different tables at once. I had Impala potjiekos (pot food, food prepared on a 3 legged cast iron pot), it was the first time I had Impala and it was excellent, my mother could not finish her Karoo Lamb shank and I assisted her in clearing her plate. For desert I had an Amarula laced crème brule.

The person sitting next to us ran the café at a place I would return to tomorrow, she sold it to me. I left the restaurant glowing, beaming. It was not just the brilliant food, but it was Mike’s manner, not hearing his wife’s calls or taking a few extra seconds to do his job, wonderful to see.

I dropped my mother off, and set off to explore the Barrydale nightlife. The hotel had closed and the town was still, 15 minutes later I was sitting in the cold lounge reading my book, covered in a thin blanket and thought who comes

______________________________________________________________________________________\

I used information from the following sources

http://www.centralkaroo.co.za/princealbertarea.htm#Swartberg
http://www.patourism.co.za/gamkaskloof.htm
Calitzdorp Publicity Bureau
Ladismith Publicity Bureau

I highly recommend you use all the places we frequented.

Prince Albert

Kambro Guestrooms- Christine and James Van Zyl-+27(0) 23 541 1554

Calitzdorp

Boplaas- +27(0)44 213 3326/7

Ladismith
Kanna Kombuis- Kevin and Barbie Ellison, +27 (0) 28 551 2216 , +27 (0) 82 738 2200 or 1kevinellison@telkomsa.net, 44 Queen Street

Barrydale

Tradouw Guest House-Leon Riley and Denis Mclintock, +27 (0) 28 572 1434, tradouw@intekom.co.za, 46 Van Riebeeck Street
A Place in Time- Mike and Beverley Loy, +27 (0)28 572 1393

Pics

1) Swartberg Pass
2) Near the summit of Swartberg Pass
3) The Ladismith Shul
4)Barrydale Hotel
5) Mike Loy telling his tales in A Place in Time

The R62 between Barrydale and Ladismith is a beautiful drive, but just off the R62 on a dirt gravel road is a gift given to Africa, a gift which is supposed to symbolise the promotion of peace and harmony on every continent on the world. It is quite astonishing to find a pagoda- The South African Peace Pagoda near Barrydale, more well known for its conservative farming community and thriving gay community.

June Roadtrip- Day 1- Cape Town to Prince Albert

This 7 metre tall gold structure is beautiful, but the setting is strange, I don’t think the august, nonagerian Burmese monk Sayadaw U Thila Wunta minded much that the Buddhist population is quite small in South Africa, especially on the R62.

I had done quite a few road trips across the Karoo over the last few years, often with friends, once by myself, I had not driven through the Karoo with my mother since I was an impossible 12 year old passenger. I had driven with her and my brother and his wife a few years ago, but this was different. She drives too slowly, and she claims I drive recklessly, my predictions were dire, from the outset I saw this as a chance to catch up and spend some good family time together, however, just before I left, I wondered how long it would take before the person in the passenger seat would force the driver to turn around.

It had been bitterly cold and there had been an incessant downpour leading up to our departure, so much so that we feared that the beloved Swartberg Pass would be blocked off.

The weather had cleared up and we left mid morning, instead of heading through the impressive Huguenot Tunnel, the alternative Du Toits Kloof Pass was used, a road which is only slightly longer than the tunnel but the breathtaking views make up for that short loss of time. We wanted to get to Matjiesfontein for lunch. It was amazing to see that some of the mountains had attracted snow, testimony to the cold weather experienced the days before, there were many new natural waterfalls flowing down the mountain at the Hex River Valley.

Even, when I was an impossible twelve year old, I would tell you that Matjiesfontein is one of my favourite places in South Africa. The entire village is a national monument. Most people who live their have never left the area and are third and fourth generation. It is wonderful to walk through the shady gardens of the Lord Milner hotel and imagine the courting which went on in days gone by. However it was not only courting which must have gone on here, but also recovering, as the hotel was used as a military hospital during the Anglo Boer War.

The air is cool, and clean here and there is much wide open space, that is the lure of the Karoo, another distinct lure is the ¬kos-¬food. We had lamb curry in the Laird's Arms Bar. The food was really good, as it always is at Matjiesfontein. We walked off our heavy meal and set off for Prince Albert. The drive between Laingsburg and Beaufort West is definitely one of the more straighter and flatter drives in South Africa, quite tedious, so it was good to turn off to Prince Albert, however, here I made an error which will have to corrected the next time I am near the area and that is to visit Oom Lappies-AKA Jan Schoeman, a former Western Cape Tourist Personality of the Year, based by Prince Albert Road, Oom Lappies collects trash from the side of the road and reuses it in creating curios…

This was my second time in Prince Albert, sheltered from the busy highways, the small town is very green and the locals are very friendly, there is a certain easy manner to the way the locals go about their business. After popping into the publicity bureau we checked in at Kambro B+B, run by a second generation local Christina Van Zyl and her husband James. They had lived in Grootfontein in Namibia but were spending most of their time here now. A sundowner walk was in store as it is only by walking through Prince Albert that one gets to see why so many people come here and return. The slow pace, the natural surroundings, the architecture- Karoo, Cape Dutch and Victorian is truly special. We asked the publicity bureau to book us into the Karoo Kombuis, a restaurant we had eaten in over 6 years ago. Alas, there was no reply. We walked past the house cum restaurant and bumped into Theunis, one of the owners, who informed us that only one other couple had pre-booked and that unless they got one more table, we would have to go elsewhere.

There were no more bookings, but our desires to eat there swayed Theunis and after a drink at the quaint Swartberg Hotel we headed for dinner.

Theuns, Michael and Denise (she was not there), all worked at stewards at SAA, but took the package and settled here and opened up this restaurant in their house.

From the moment you walk in you are made to feel at home, Michael addresses you by your name and you get to know him, the other couple came in a few minutes later, and we were introduced by Michael to them, and although we sat at different tables we had soon broken the ice, and like us, they had a passion for dorpe-small towns, and a passion for road trips. We spoke out the best and worst dorpe to travel to and of course the magic of the Karoo etc, but one experiences this magic when you eat in the Karoo Kombuis. The menu is simple and it is practically always the same. Hoender Pasty¬-chicken pie, Bobotie- a Cape Malay dish which is beef mince with an egg topping, and roast lamb. No doubt- I chose all three. It was as good as it was six years, and it was great to be back at my favourite restaurant.

For desert, one had a choice of lemon tart and Cape Malva pudding drenched in custard.

I dropped my mom at Kambro and decided to sample the pre weekend nightlife. After stopping in at the Swartberg Hotel bar, and driving around for a few minutes, I soon found myself snug in bed planning the next day.

___________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.barrydale.co.za/activitiesframe.htm- My info on the pagoda was advanced through this site.

http://www.onserus.co.za/princealbert.htm- This is where I got my info on Oom Lappies.

I highly recommend

Prince Albert
Karoo Kombuis- Theuns Botha- +27 (0) 23 5411110 18 Deurdrift Street-You have to prebook
Kambro Guestrooms- Christine and James Van Zyl-+27(0) 23 541 1554

Pics

1) Matjiesfontein,sitting on the pool wall
2) The Lord Milner Hotel
3) Enjoying the Hoender Pasty, Bobotie and roast lamb
4) Theuns and Michael outside the Karoo Kombuis

Day 4- Fish, Flashy and Football


Brett and Carla and I got off the boat only to get on another one as caught a ferry to Camogli. Camogli was holding it’s annual Sagra del Pesce (Fish Festival). On the ferry were a few South African expats who had been living in the area for a few years. We arrived in Camogli. Camogli means “House of Wives” when the woman used to run the town while their husbands were away at sea.

The fish fry-up is alleged to be the largest fish fry up in the world, this still did not sufficiently prepare myself for the hordes of people in this small town. It was chaotic, and I quickly gave up the idea of being a participant in the biggest fish fry up in the world. There was no respite for the cobbled beach either as it was packed to the rafters. After some good foccacia, we found some jagged rocks to lie on and I had an amazing swim. Our ferry to Portofino was only coming in three hours so we had much time to kill. Camogli had a wonderful market street selling many local specialities. We could not find an empty table but eventually found a great restaurant, where all the food was just brought to us. Anchovies are the speciality here and I soon knew why. By the time we descended to the harbour, the fish fry up had ended.

The pan was still full of oil and the whole area smelt of used cooking oil, after a brief siesta on the harbour I went for another dip before we headed to Portofino.

This must be one of the most exclusive spots in Italy. A walk around Castello Brown will show you some of the many stars who have stayed here over the years, Elizabeth Taylor, Truman Capote, Winston Churchill to name but a few. There was a sailing competition on the run. I walked up to Castello Brown and quickly understood why this was a destination of choice for the silver spooned and jet set stars. With wonderful views of the harbour and the seas I saw why this place was so attractive. On the balcony, sat a man looking very much like Tom Wolfe, maybe it was him, gathering inspiration for his next novel.

I walked down and through the village and noticed a gaping difference, between those like me who were passers by and those who were holidaying here. The stars of the silver screen might no longer call this their number one destination, but the very rich are not going to be leaving here anytime soon.

We caught the ferry back to Genoa, and soon we in a world very different to that of Portofino, we were walking to the Ferraris Stadium in a shoddy part of the city. I could not leave Italy without watching football. It was Brett’s first ever live football game. FC Genoa are chasing promotion to the Serie A, and are second on the log, they took on Triestina. This huge stadium was about 75% full, behind the goals the stadium was packed. The atmosphere was unbelievable. Even though Sampdoria is the more famous team of the city, many Genovese support this club from cradle to grave.

The security in and out of the stadium was something I had not ever experienced at a sporting event, but it was well worth it. The home side won 3-2 and look like they will be in the Serie A next year.

I had a great time reconnecting with my brother and look forward to doing it again, I saw almost everything I aspired to see in Liguria, and am glad I can say I have been there, but I am happy that he is based in France now….

-------------------------

Lonely Planet was used to plan the trip to Camogli and Portofino

Pic 1: The queue for fish in Camogli
Pic 2: Tom Wolfe lookalike at Castello Brown
Pic 3: Standing on Castello Brown
Pic 4: Football FC Genoa vs Triestina

Day 3- Cinque Terre

I did not sleep well. It must have been my disappointment at Genoa’s night spots, but I knew that this day was going to be brilliant. Brett and I missed the 08:30 train and had to wait an hour for the next train. After some great cappuccino’s and Sicilian orange juice we boarded the train to Cinque Terre. This is the most famous sight in Liguria. It was my first venture on public transport in Italy. The trains are very different to England, the folks are much more friendly and chatty. I met two very friendly US exchange students who had come up from Milan for the day. I also got to speak to an Italian boy about sports heroes.

Cinque Terre is a UNESCO World Heritage site. 5 villages are delicately placed along this very steep coastline. Farmers need ingenuity, resilience and a deep love of the land to want to continue farming here. The terraced vineyards seem as if they could fall off the mountain at any time.

We started at Riomaggiore, the village was teeming with tourists and we headed off, I was immediately struck by the sheer beauty of the coastline. The walk from Riomaggiore to the next village Manarola took about twenty minutes, up to now the walk was a Sunday stroll. Manarola is the hub of vinoculture in Cinque Terre, you descend into narrow alleyways and are soon surrounded by buildings dating from the 14th century. The walk from Manarola to Corniglia took about 1 hour. Besides the amazing scenery and views, it was great to catch up properly with Brett and also talk about the days on the farm. Corniglia is the one village which is not on the sea, but it leaves you pondering that it could soon slip into the sea. Having that in mind, Brett and I went for a restaurant as far as possible from the cliff. With the park and the sea behind us, I tucked into two different big servings of Pesto on pasta, I definitely overdid it, however, there was no time to sit and wait around and take a siesta.

The walk from Cornglia to Vernazza was tougher, but also quieter than the paths walked thus far. It was also good to walk with trees and forest on both sides of you. The descent to Vernazza was dramatic, bigger than the previous two villages, Vernazza had a minute harbour, it reminded me a bit of the old harbour in Hermanus, Western Cape. The water was not that clean but that was not going to deter me from swimming in the Mediterranean. There were a lot of Americans on the trail and in the sea, and while many people have a negative perception of Americans and especially their tourists, the walkers were very friendly. Later on we would bump into a delightful couple from Montana who would spend twenty minutes indulging us about their state.

We left the busy harbour and ascended for the final walk to Monterosso. I thought my games of touch had made me into a relatively fit specimen, but this ascent was tough, I huffed and puffed my way up the path, and I wondered how some of the badly dressed hikers and very unfit walkers would handle this. I felt my Pesto splurge repeating on me but I knew I could not turn around. The views and the surroundings were all the motivation I needed, and I did not come to Cinque Terre-“5 lands” to walk 4 of them….

The descent to Monterosso was wonderful, a great way to finish something I would recommend to everyone.

Tired, but immensely satisfied I boarded the train back, I had to concede that maybe my older brother is fitter than me…

Brett’s wife, Carla is a very talented woman, especially when it comes to cooking, and even though I had two massive plates of Pesto I was not disappointed to be faced with Pesto again for dinner.

I walked around the Porto Antico, attended a Senegalese musical gathering. Very good to see the locals and the immigrants mingling so well, I was tired. I mingled well with my pillow.

-------------------

The Lonely Planet Guide to Italy helped me refresh my memory of the walk.

Pic 1: Brett and I with the village of Manarola in the background
Pic 2: After lunch in Corniglia- Look out for the terraced vineyards behind us
Pic 3: Vernazza below, look at the delicate carving out of the harbour.

Day 2- Getting To Know Genoa

After a good two cups of coffee, I went off like an eager child at their first day of school. The first stop was to get the “Card Musei”, a museum card which is great value for money. Via Garibaldi is a car free road and probably Genoa’s finest road. It has been added to the UNESCO Heritage List. This is where the crème de la crème of Genovese society used to live. All the palaces on the road had a great selection of local and Flemish painters. While I took my time to admire the frescoes of the Pallazzo Rosso (Red Palace) the real highlight of the Rosso was to get access to the rooftop where I had a great view of the city, the Pallazzo Bianco (White Palace) was much larger. To be honest, I don’t have a learned eye for art, and while I took cognizance of the mastery of these painters, my concentration soon waned.

The Palazzo Doria-Tursi houses a museum to the genius of Genoa, Niccolo Paganini, Paganini was a wildly gifted violinist. The main item on display is his famous violin called “Canone” which gets played once a year.

It is very easy to miss the other two palaces, both are now utilized by private companies, but Pallazzo Lomellino has a beautiful courtyard which I am sure is used by every bride and groom for their wedding pictures. My last area of exploration on this amazing road was the Palazzo Spinola.

I then did a very steep walk up to the Castello D’Albertis, Captain Enrico D’Albertis was one extraordinary adventurer and collector and his castle houses many of the treasurers he brought back. The Museo Delle Culture Del Mondo (Museum of World Cultures) is also housed here, and while it is not over laden with exhibits, it still feels quite sparse but is impressive none the less. The best thing about the castle are the gorgeous views from where the statue of Christopher Columbus is.

After having some delicious Italian ice cream, I proceeded to get blissfully lost as I set out to find the Palazzo Reale, This allowed me to see the areas where probably very few tourists have been and get a better understanding of the city. I finally found Reale. This palace was opulent and way too big, it is hard to believe that a palace of this size was used by one family. I soon noticed that there was a recurring theme in Italian museums, that you get followed everywhere, I don’t think it is that they don’t trust you, I just think they don’t want you to get lost, it got quite overbearing.

Just when I thought I needed a break from palaces and art, I visited the Galleria Nazionale (National Gallery), this was another palace owned by the Spinola family.

I needed time to relax, so off I went to the marina to spend some time with my brother on the yacht, after an hour of relaxing I realised that my museum card was going to expire, so I pushed my brother and I to the new Galata Museo del Mare, the entrance fee is quite expensive, but any boat buff or maritime maven would go dilly in this new museum.

I had seen all but everything I wanted to see in city, I was not that excited about the idea of going to the Acquario (aquarium) and being elbowed by little kids.

We went for a big carnivorous dinner which involved a lot of good Italian wine and Italian beer. After the meal, I wanted to go and explore the night spots, the prostitutes must have outnumbered the open pubs by about 10 to 1 and I found a pub recommended by my guidebook-Quattro Canti. The pub was as lively as an old age home after ten in the evening.

--------------------

I again used my Lonely Planet as a resource tool to write this blog.

Pic 1: Pallazo Lomellino
Pic 2: View from Castello D'Albertis. The marina on the left is where the yacht is.
Pic 3: Galata Museo Del Mare

Trip to Liguria May 2007


My first trip to Italy also saw my first foray into Stansted Airport. I had got up very early that morning, and it was not nice to have gang of 8 goons standing next to me and speaking loudly, especially when their collective IQ was probably lower than the cost in Pounds of my air ticket…

Lets just say that Genoa is not about love at first sight. Leaving the airport one is quickly reminded that this has always been a city

The Port Antico (Ancient Port) has many people milling about, and first impressions will tell you that while Genoa might not be the first port of call for foreigners, this is most definitely the city of choice your young Italian bambino’s. I saw plenty of school groups queuing up for the Acquario (aquarium), the most ticketed site in the city, and also going up Il Bigo, this ultra modern ridiculously unimpressive contraption which lifts you up in the air for a birds eye view of the Port.

Genoa has quite a few of these modern tourist attractions, because in 1992 and in 2004 the city underwent a major facelift, this is because 1992 was the 500th anniversary of the city’s favourite son Christopher Columbus’s voyage to America, and in 2004 Genoa was the European City of Culture.

I went to Genoa to see my brother Brett, who I had not seen in 20 months, he was based on a yacht in one of the marina’s in the old port. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have ever ventured to Genoa. Before I went to Genoa I was seriously concerned that I would never have enough time to see all of the sights in Genoa, so I set off to explore the religious sights of Genoa.

The good thing about Genoa is that almost everything is in walking distance and soon I was in the old town and at the massive Cattedrale Di San Lorenzo, this building almost seemed out of place amongst the tight and narrow alleyways of this part of the town. It was originally consecrated in 1118, but the major developments were done in the 16th century. While traditional places of Christian worship might be battling to get bums on seats, for the middle of a work day, this cathedral was very full, the bishop was like a celebrity, the choir opened for him and he spoke, after he spoke, the accordion was played and he went around blessing everyone. There was even a television crew there to film this episode. Tucked away in the church is a large bomb which thankfully failed to explode when it hit the church.

I also went to the Chiesa Del Gesu`, just as beautiful but more peaceful, I walked in and there was a woman bending down at the confessional, and another lone woman kneeling down, hands together praying. This was built in 1597 and is the main seat of the Jesuit order in Genoa. The church does not only attract those wanting some solitude and prayer but also art aficionados. The church hosts two Rubens paintings.

The unofficial heart of Genoa is the Piazza De Ferrari, this is where the Palazzo (palace) Ducale is, where the once very mighty city used to be ruled from, the main theatre, the old stock exchange etc. After a quick stroll around here, I headed off to a remnant of the old city walls which used to defend the city from attack. The Porta Soprana might have been restored but it still gives one an idea of the threats the city used to face.

Walking down from the Porta Soprana, I noticed some political posters and one man looked strikingly similar to the face on the poster. Salvatore Cosma was running for some senior position in the city, probably Mayor, a friendly genial man, but our lack of ability to converse with one another prevented me from giving him tips to win the election.

Ethiopia might be where coffee originates but the Italians run the Ethiopians very close when it comes to coffee, I don’t think my body was ready for the sudden surge of intakes of macchiato, cappuccino and caffe latte’s. The Genovese are master barista’s and every cup was brilliant.

Each region in Italy has its culinary speciality, the Ligurians are famous for their focaccia and pesto, so that is what I had for dinner on my first night there, quite wonderful, and of course I had to tuck into my brother and his wife’s pizzas.

I got up at 04:00 and wanted an early night as I had a lot to see the next morning.

--------------------------

I checked information with my Lonely Planet guide to Italy

Pic 1: Outside the Cattedrale Di San Lorenzo
Pic 2: Inside Chiesa Del Giesu
Pic 3: My love affair with Pesto Genovese begins...