George: Beach the sheep

Uber not about

For our second day in George, we were unsure of what to do apart from being able to get anywhere from our hotel which in its somewhat bucolic setting backing onto a golf course is hardly in the centre of town as the indicator from my hotel booking suggested.

We were excited about going to Victoria Bay Beach and then the Map of Africa viewpoint and as we were informed that Uber had reached George, we presumed the ease of getting about to a fault for even when we tried for an Uber there was no indication that cars that were about 12 minutes away would ever become available for our use.

In the end, we got the hotel reception to call us a taxicab and the driver that doubled as a tour guide availed us of his services for every place we chose to visit. The weather had taken a turn for the worse by the time we left the hotel that we arrived at Victoria Bay Beach with no enthusiasm to get into the water or relax on the beach.

More hype than type

Victoria Bay Beach is essentially a private beach with a security checkpoint and chalets held in families from long ago lined down the beach mostly up for rented accommodation or short stays than as homes. Much as there is a public right of access, there is nothing special about the place and even if we chose to stay there, after two nights with its isolated setting, we’ll probably seek the greater security of proximity to civilisation. If you are a surfer, you might find this place a treat indeed.

Our cab driver then took us to the Map of Africa viewpoint in the aptly named Wilderness, down a long nondescript dirt road to where the confluence of rivers appeared to map out from our observation point the depiction of Southern Africa, it was a hard-sell to suggest this was the map of Africa even at the most extreme stretch of the imagination. I could not find online any aerial view of this to confirm that Africa was mapped out on that terrain. How anyone has for any time gotten away with that scam escapes me, but we now know better.

Sheep may safely graze

Further up the road from this viewpoint was a paragliding site but the white horses (white foamy sea waves) ridden by high winds meant there was no paragliding activity. A sign on the field however caught my attention, “Please Do Not! Chase or Hassle the Sheep.”

We saw no sheep, but that was my highlight of the day as I was left wondering, how do you hassle sheep? Yet, when I think of it as I suggested in my Instagram post on the matter, sheep are intelligent, and for one, Shaun the Sheep is nobody’s fool.

Returning to our hotel, we decided to go for a wander to get a feel of George only to find out that there were no pavements on certain roads suggesting the town is best suited for vehicles. New developments on our way back had roads named after English golf courses. We would return and hire a car to get around. Dinner with Malaka at a restaurant closed an evening of pleasant and warm friendship.

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George: Feathers to the caves

George on our minds

If our trip to George had not been made so rewarding and exciting by our friend Malaka Grant, we might well have been totally unaware of why we were there as this was one trip, we did no research on before travelling. We were keen to see Malaka and she had offered to show us around.

To clear one misconception, the Garden Route is not about gardens or stately homes as one would think if visiting from the United Kingdom, and whilst George is the capital city of that region, the things to do, see, experience are miles away from George, except if you want to go trekking the Outeniqua Mountain range. The Garden Route is essentially a wine route with historically significant monuments, natural features, a cultural heritage, and activities tagged on.

George of a time

According to a cab driver that doubled as our guide George saw modern development when P. W. Botha the penultimate State President of South Africa who represented George in parliament decided a local airport was essential as the roads were poor. He died in Wilderness, near George.

However, for our first full day, we visited the Ostrich Emporium at Oudtshoorn which had a heyday as the ostrich capital of the world at the end of the 19^th Century and early in the 20^th Century before the advent of cars and the world wars led to decline of the industry especially when flamboyant ladies ostrich feather hats could no more be accommodated in covered automobiles.

The highly successful merchants in the trade built feather palaces on the main street of Oudtshoorn but most departed as the trade declined and South Africa aligned itself to right-wing policies.

Caves to behold

On from Oudtshoorn, we drove another 30 kilometres to the foothills of Swartberg mountains where the world heritage site of the Cango Caves presented a spectacle of natural wonder impossible to describe in full as the breath-taking awesomeness left us astonished at what we beheld.

Limestone formations of speleothems crafted over thousands to millions of years discovered and made accessible that the tour guide’s introduction to each chamber happened in the semi-dark until the lights were switched on to reveal more than the senses could take in of the views exposed. On this visit alone, unexpected and unanticipated as we knew nothing of this place until after breakfast, we could be fully satisfied with this trip.

On our return, a mist had descended on the mountain pass reducing visibility to just about 20 metres, the way the weather changes in the Garden Route around George is one that would make for a good conversation with an Englishman, I was up for it. The day was good.

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In the gut of surprise

Knowing by happenstance

Surprise as a function of events in commemoration of something can useful and exhilarating, however, when deployed in situations of long-term consequence, whoever is caught on the edge of it might be left nonplussed.

That is the feeling one would get when you learnt of the pertinent which should have been known aforetime and first-hand rather than through the equivalent of eavesdropping. For to be aware of the consequential through the accident of passing conversation directed elsewhere leaves a mind unprepared for the unexpected, removes agency for anticipation and reaction, and is thus unplanned for, even if with hindsight it is revelatory of other matters in flux.

Knowing nothing now

Inexplicably, the frame and structure of words to broach the subject are scarce as to be absent as rumination over days and nights proffers no respite or direction, like a cousin once said of a typical setting, you are left completely discombobulated, totally mixed up and in the dark.

One cannot act in haste and take a deep breath to be calm and in control of one’s temper and temperament whilst hoping some wisdom eventually prevails. Some things are just beyond explanation, that’s just how some things are.

Steel balls, please

No balls game

Lawn tennis as we used to know it to differentiate it from the original racquet sport of Real tennis that Henry VIII played or the ping-pong game of Table tennis and now commonly referred to as Tennis is a game of balls and quite a few balls have been tested the past few months. I prefer racquet of French provenance and etymology to racket by the corruption of spelling and language used in North America.

Anyway, the issue here is Novak Djokovic, the number 1 ranked male tennis in the world who was granted a medical exemption by Tennis Australia to play in the Australia Open and defend his title. It was a case of no balls for that organisation to have done this when the rules required that all players at the tournament be vaccinated. [The Guardian: Appalling message’: outrage over Novak Djokovic’s medical exemption to play Australian Open]

Big balls boy

Now, Mr Djokovic to the eye is a strapping healthy 34-year-old at the peak of health and his sporting prowess, the burden of proof definitely had to be on him to show why for purely medical reasons he had to be allowed entry to Australia to compete. It appears that is the test that Mr Djokovic failed to convince the Australia Border Force of. [The Guardian: Novak Djokovic’s Australian Open hopes dashed after visa cancelled at airport]

For too long, issues with this Coronavirus pandemic have been politicised and usurped by libertarians pursuing freedom and liberty for the individual at the expense of community, the consequence of which is evident with us, the pandemic is still headline news as we enter the third year of its hold.

Just the balls

Indeed, Mr Djokovic has every right to privacy regarding his medical history, even his vaccination status should be protected for purposes of sheer confidentiality, and all that, he can exercise completely at fully at home. However, the moment you leave home and board a plane to travel abroad, there are limits to your exercise of individual rights within the scope of responsibility to others.

Imagine a scenario where the Australian Open had to be cancelled midway because of the outbreak of COVID-19 amongst any of the participants, players, officials, or teams and it was the unvaccinated or one whose vaccination status is unknown. There is form because the Adria Tour 2020 organised by Novak Djokovic was shutdown because COVID-19 protocols were not followed on the court and amongst spectators with some players and coaches testing positive for COVID-19. This was the risk Tennis Australia was ready to take.

Steel balls, please

Obviously, Novak Djokovic’s team would appeal the decision to cancel his visa and there is a diplomatic fallout about to result between Australia and Serbia, but common sense should prevail and that requires balls, steel balls at that. I believe the Australian Border Force have felt a handful of the balls of Novak Djokovic to traipse into Australia on a medical exemption called it out, we do not need Hawk-Eye to confirm that it was out as out can be.

That decision should stay, and Mr Djokovic can watch from Serbia his title go to a new champion that follows the rules and is deserving of the honour. For too long, people have used the privilege of wealth, power, or status to claim exemption from the rules and civic responsibility. We need examples to help us put this pandemic behind us, the good examples should be lauded, and the bad examples should never be rewarded. Put that diva on a plane and send him home.

Change that call from ‘New balls, please’ to ‘Steel balls, please’.

En route to the Garden Route

To George to judge

Completely off the beaten track, at least by our own standard, we have strayed away from the ambit of Cape Town to the furthest we have ever been to George, the centre of the famed Garden Route.

Planning for the trip was a bit fraught as we first thought of driving the 5 or so hours from Cape Town, but that would have been Brian alone at the pedals, the gear stick and the steering wheel as I cannot drive and who is to say with his keen sense of direction we are not first in Johannesburg before we get to George? Not worth the risk.

We decided to fly, and the scheduled 50-minute flight lasted just 33 minutes as there are no speeding fines for flying. Though we noticed something quite distressing at the airport, a child for whatever reason was being told by his burly guardian that he would have his bones broken. We maybe should have done something, yet we hope that would not be the child’s lived reality.

What a time ago

George is everything Cape Town is not, quiet, provincial, bucolic and with a definitive colonial feel. The hotel we are staying at backs onto a golf course with the first floor being the first. As you drive in you drive past chalets all with the customary finish of chalk white paint, the windowpanes and doors finished in green.

The veranda of our room and the adjoining ones is deep with a wooden balustrade defining the balcony with a tar-brown coating, the outdoor furniture patterned in cast or wrought iron and painted white. You could feel caught in a time warp with a throwback to the 1950s or earlier.

Before it was dusk, the frogs were croaking, and you can only wonder what else we’ll hear through the night. There is a busy family atmosphere with kids milling around with abandon, not the kind of place we would have chosen with prior knowledge.

Everyone is different

Our neighbour to the left came out with a glass in hand, one leg in prosthetics and after a greeting, we engaged in conversation. His daughter, nice but acting shy might just be so in the presence of strangers. His wife later came out to take in a chair, her right arm in a long sleeve that looked like it was fully tattooed, I had to ask.

Two verandas to the right, a man stepped out to light up, I do wonder how people have not given up smoking in this pandemic. Anyway, the olfactory glands of you know who had caught a whiff of the smoke long before he had taken a puff. Some people would give canines a beating in a sniff test. I am not close by a mile. We retire to hopefully explore this region tomorrow and the day after.

Coronavirus streets up in smoke - LVI

A conflagration in Africa

Fires are destructive and that’s just a given; however, I have many questions and for the many fires I have seen in Africa, there seems to be much to them than an unfortunate accident, especially in official buildings. There was a time I thought finance and accountancy departments in Nigerian public offices seemed to have rather more inflammable materials than any other place, one had to conclude that evidence was tinder seeking any opportunity to be reduced to cinder.

When we attended St. George’s Cathedral yesterday for the Sung Eucharist of the 2^nd Sunday after Christmas, the priest prayed earnestly that the firefighters be able to take control of and quench a fire in one of the buildings of the South African parliament situated in Cape Town. [BBC News: South Africa parliament fire flares up again]

A prayer to quench

South Africa is a country of many capitals, the executive is in Pretoria, the legislature is in Cape Town, the highest office of the civil judiciary is in Bloemfontein and the Constitutional Court is in Johannesburg, the same city that is the commercial capital.

On leaving the church, we could see plumes of smoke that were supposedly from the extractor fans according to a politician, but the fire seemed to be out of control and even flared up again today. Meanwhile, someone has been arrested in connection with the incident for breaking in and possibly being an arsonist, but that is hardly the issue that concerns me.

Questions of fire-raising

You can only wonder why the fire took such hold on an important institutional building and the seat of democracy in this country.

For instance, how was there no intrusion detection system in service to alert anyone to unauthorised persons entering the parliament, especially through a window?

One would expect such a building to have closed-circuit television (CCTV) monitoring with recording observed by on-site security personnel who appear to have been caught napping.

A fire was started and there was no smoke detection alert system at the point when it started and then the sprinkler system was not working. The fire services were alerted by people who saw smoke coming out of the building.

Every link has failed

Now, one would expect the parliament building to have a facilities management office that ensures all the elements of security, safety, access, protection, detection, and avoidance were in place and it appears that the whole system of building management failed woefully or there has been some nefarious collusion activity that allowed a series of apparent coincidences to turn into a catastrophe.

I can only wonder what would come out of the investigation for I have a feeling that the arsonist was not acting alone, it all seems to be everything than fortuitous. A chance alignment of the stars for the perfect moment to destroy the parliament by fire? I think not. As for the rekindling of the same fire, after it was apparently put out, may I ask if the pandemic had put the firefighters out of practice?

Much as one wants to give this all the benefit of the doubt, there is a cynical feeling that there is more to this than meets the eye. Fires in Africa are another breed and this calls for a lot more eyes than would suggest an accident instead of a concertedly deliberate criminal enterprise.

For a better year

Perspective is focus

For a long time, I have abandoned the idea of New Year resolutions as they box you into a corner of aspirations that never meet expectations and you are on a downer after that, beating yourself up about the seemingly unattainable pretending to the easily achievable with a large deficit of unnecessary angst and regret.

As I have 10 days from my birthday to the end of the year, I do at times contemplate a few things; an assessment of the year past, much gratitude for how the year has gone and a few thoughts for what I want to do in the year coming.

Emotions cloud space

Recently, there has been too much emotional traffic in that slip of the year, birthday into Christmas, into anniversary, into New Year and all it entails, I have hardly had the quietness of time, mind and space to do anything, I have been on a roll that to attach any significance to any day might well be counterproductive, because you start reckoning and find there is nothing in the reckoner.

There is a process of acculturation that is going on in two hearts, a kind of understanding that a clash of two cultures brings with it considerable baggage weighing down on immediate plans, the lodestar, and the centre of it all is the commitment we have to each other that we are learning to grow in more considered and enduring ways, this is a long-haul business.

Pandemic changed world

What is quite evident from the way the pandemic has strangled opportunity and accessibility is the failure of global leadership to arrest its hold. If only the world had Barack Obama, Angela Merkel and Gordon Brown for this pandemic as we did for the global financial crisis, rather than Donald Trump and Boris Johnson in the United States of America and the United Kingdom, I believe we would have had a better grip of the pandemic and less impact on our lives.

We are where we are now, we need to make the kind of choices that help through the situation so we can eventually take advantage of the circumstances. In my view, the world of work has changed so considerably, remote working is part of the deal and the ability to shift the home to any place on the globe is very much on the cards. In the world of talent and expertise, try as politicians and employers may, the national boundaries and domains would have to diminish in favour of the virtual world. This might even feed into the much-vaunted metaverse construct.

To the better

It is what I hope to exploit better and fully for the next stage of my career which is closely linked to crucial domestic arrangements and other things that would emerge from it. I find I have not done enough of a lot of things that I need to do more of; reading, listening, learning, travelling, exercising even loving, it has been crazy, and I have just pulled through by sheer grace, grit, grunt, grasp – anything that has given me a hold.

What is always a work in progress is the quest for a better me, that never stops and looking at the year ahead, there might just be things that change for that to happen. I cannot seem to switch my mind out of countdown, I guess that is how time works; at one point you think you have a lot of it and then, you have little left. Without promise but holding on to faith, hope, and love, 2022 will be better. I can work with that.