Halving The Panties Gets You Nowhere

That’s what He-Who-Will-Be-Obeyed says as I pack. “Whether one packs for one week or one month, the quantities stay the same,” I mutter under my breath. This reminds me to pack smartly to avoid overloading.

I’ll take half the undies. I’ve already cut down the shorts and nighties and tossed the one black number back into the wardrobe. Anyway, mozzies love black, so I’ll wear white! “We’re going to Kruger, for Pete’s sake,” I hear him mutter.

What I realise is that, even though I must think of every eventuality and pack accordingly, my luggage is a lot. I was never one for puzzles, and every time the old Cruiser gets packed, I stand in wonderment as everything gets plugged in perfectly.

Nothing matches about our luggage: it’s a vintage picnic basket, plastic bags, and suitcases in various colours, shapes, and sizes. Boxes of wine and a fair selection of other edibles.

I’ve just finished a few photographs from our time on the Mekong River in Vietnam, a truly special place—a place with a tremendous sense of history, of war and, at last, peace. As we floated down the river, I wasn’t surprised that any invading army would have a futile battle on its hands.

I’ll include a few photographs that capture the river’s serenity and history so you can get a glimpse of this remarkable place.

This week, Cape Town burned; hectare upon hectare went up in smoke. The heat was unimaginable, and the smoke, soot, and licking flames were a testament to hell. I salute every firefighter and female firefighter; they did a sterling job for hours and days, selflessly and relentlessly fighting what must’ve felt like a mission impossible.

Capetonians came together and helped in every way they could, supporting, encouraging, and lending a helping hand. We were unified. Soon we’ll see the devastated earth come alive as soft, healing drops of rain fall, temperatures drop, and the earth cools.

It will be green again. Fynbos needs to burn so that new life can spring forth and seeds can germinate. Our thoughts go to the families who lost their homes and possessions; how devastated they must be.

I hear my beloved calling me. I must run. This time, I RUN. Pre-travel nerves run high. I remember the ‘mood’ from childhood. There’s no time for silly buggers. Next time I write, it’ll be all about our upcoming trip to Johannesburg and the Kruger National Park, where we’ll be staying at Pretoriuskop (pensioner’s discount). I’m starting a new blanket, too, and we’ll be listening to “The Invention of Wings” by Sue Monk Kidd.

The dreaded moment of truth: will it all fit? To top it all off, we have two Canadians (6’2”) in winter woollens and enormous suitcases who also need a space! I’m tired of hearing my Dad’s voice: “He who travels light travels far”!

I wish my sweet child and her ‘trouman’, partner in crime, a safe journey as they board their plane. I’ll raise my glass to their safe travels and hope they have smooth landings in Johannesburg. It’s comforting to think that our travel times are so similar, coming from the New World, sharing this journey in spirit.