My Funny Valentine

Like minced beef, I forced myself into my new contouring spandex figure-hugging petticoat and sexy, lacy, red bra, a birthday gift from Precious when I was a size smaller but had no need of support, as we were camping in a rooftop tent in Xai-Xai, Mozambique, a decade ago! On Saturday evening, my red dress was a tad tight and had to be smoothed over my “hips,” and my décolletage revealed much to be desired! The minute I pushed my No. 7s into my stilettos, I started wobbling and walked like a Geisha with bound feet. This did not augur well.

(listen to the video I've inserted, it'll get you into the mood for love and maybe you'll fall in love a little bit too)

But I get ahead of myself; this happened after a day of exploring Cape Town on the Red hop-on, hop-off bus, which is perfect for sightseeing. From a menu of choices, we chose the blue route around the Cape Peninsula. We collected our tickets from the vibrant ticket office in Long Street.   The vivacious lady at the counter greeted us enthusiastically, making sure we understood the rules: “No ticket, no go!”   It was the perfect day for traveling in the open-top double-decker bus, and I was amazed by the driver’s skill at negotiating tight corners, winding lanes, and steep declines along our route.

We alighted at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, strolled around, admired the exhibition in the hall, walked the skywalk named “Boomslang,” and got close to the treetops. The gardens are a joy, with families enjoying picnics on the lawns, feeding Egyptian Geese with chicks or Helmeted Guinea fowl, playing games, napping, or reading. The Sunbirds were plentiful, and I could even identify some myself, making the experience more personal and inspiring.

It was time for wine tasting, so off we went to Groot Constantia. Being in the vicinity of Kloofnek Road was like turning back the clock; the Chapman’s Peak restaurant must be the only establishment in the country still sporting its 1974 regalia, from the unkempt, overgrown garden to the servers who were young men back in the day.  

The dining room looks as it did at a Valentine’s Ball in the ’60s, dark and uninviting, in black and red, with thin paper serviettes! Precious regaled me with stories of his matric dinner in 1966, which was held there, telling me how the girls got “tipsy” drinking the non-alcoholic champagne his Dad had donated for the occasion!

 Fat chance of that happening today! We both enjoyed a light lunch: crispy fish and chips for him and calamari prepared classically, with a light, crispy batter. I couldn’t eat the limp, slightly warm “side salad”; it really looked like garnishing recycled from plate to plate.  

The bus journey gave us a glimpse of Cape Town as a tourist would experience it, and I must confess, Bantry Bay and Clifton’s 4th Beach, with the huge white yachts moored in the cove, did impress.  

I was in awe of the magnificent mansions with their fabulous views and almost envied the couples on the promenade walking their groomed pooches on long leashes. Our last stop was the Waterfront to have a cup of coffee at Melissa’s before we hopped on for the last time. The friendly driver stopped a short distance from the Mount Nelson, just a hop and skip from our Guesthouse.

I highly recommend this attraction, as it will orient a new visitor to Cape Town and, for returning visitors, provide a reminder of long-forgotten spots and a good idea of what’s new. The ongoing commentary is very informative, educational, and topical; even the African-inspired music played in between commentaries is good, and tourists can choose from the 16-language commentary.  

Of course, I didn’t take any notice of the warnings regarding the ruthless African sun and only noticed my charred forehead when I was applying my make-up later that evening. Fortunately, Precious got many compliments for his multi-coloured patchwork hat from Thailand, and his pate was spared. I do have the motorbike-and-sidecar tour on my bucket list, so we’ll be back.

Saturday evening was party time, and we celebrated in style at the home of a very dear friend. That’s where I got my carpet burns. In a very unladylike manner, I missed a step and went down like a ton of bricks, clutching my flute of bubbles, the silver cutlery, Precious’ very sharp knife, which I’d just used to carve the fillet, and my vintage plate.

I saved my dinner, broke the flute, and prevented serious damage to my arteries. I landed on my knees and fortunately not flat on my face, saving my front teeth, thank goodness.   That was my cue to kick off the heels and do some drumming and Karaoke when the fantastic five-piece band took a break.  

Precious joined us on the dance floor, hence his buggered knees. We left shortly after the witching hour, my Beloved as sober as a Judge!

There’s no mercy for the wicked, and I was awoken before I’d had all my beauty sleep, giving us ample time to visit Rose Street in the Bo Kaap, where we photographed the colourful Malay cottages, a sight to behold. This re-fuelled my desire to paint our cottage a bright liquorice-all-sorts colour.

Residents are very tolerant of tourists and carry on with their day-to-day lives without being fazed at all. Boys were playing “ice hockey” and cricket in the streets; men were washing their motorcars, and busy housewives were delivering treats to neighbours.

Our last stop was the Holocaust Museum in the Company Gardens. There’s a vegetable garden now replicating the original Company gardens of Jan van Riebeeck, a reminder of the much larger gardens at Babylonstoren in Paarl, but that’s a trip for another day. Once again, I was impressed by the numerous families from all walks of life who enjoy what’s on offer. I was reminded of taking my boys to the Museum, the Planetarium, looking at the bronze soldier on horseback, and feeding the pigeons. How time flies.  

All South Africans should visit the Holocaust Museum at least once in their lifetime, a reminder to us all of man’s inhumanity, greed and capacity to hate and murder. I’m glad I went and admire the men and women who devote their time and energy so lovingly to educating us.

“Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions.” ― Primo Levi

And I always remember these words: “For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.” ― Elie Wiesel.

Imagine being so anonymous that “They'll never know we were here.” ― Danny M. Cohen, Train.

Sundays are the best days to visit and spend time with friends and family. It was impossible to get a reservation at many of my favourite restaurants, but fortunately, we were able to book a table at La Petite Ferme at the foot of the Franschhoek Pass. I was delighted as our 14h00 appointment allowed us enough time to end our visit to the Company Gardens at the Tea Room before heading in that direction.

We love La Petite Ferme for its beautiful views of the valley, friendly staff, delectable menu, stunning desserts, and our favourite, Morena Cuveé Catherine Methode Cap Classic.  Due to the high demand for outdoor seating, we were seated inside, which was fine since we could open the windows for a cool breeze. Our selection was the Duck Liver Pate and Fishcakes for starters. Both were excellent. The mild curry sauce served with the fishcakes was delectable; I could easily have run my finger around the bowl to clean it up.   My main course was the slow-roasted leg of Lamb wrapped in Aubergine with baba ghanoush, prepared the Syrian way.   The other was roast Springbok, beautifully prepared with just the right rich Jus. I had the poached stone fruits with an Italian Meringue, perfection on a plate.  

The perfect location and breathtaking views prompted a lively conversation about our Democracy and the horrific events at SONA2015, our Overlander, land redistribution, and politicians, which led to our decision to return to Mana Pools in Zimbabwe, which is going to be the Ace of Spades in our deck of cards.

La Petite Ferme,

I snatched a quick 40 winks in the car on the way home. What an amazing experience we had. We are truly blessed to live in the most beautiful, complicated, multi-faceted, mixed-up place in the world.

On the off chance we happened upon a movie called The Kid, the harrowing account of Kevin Lewis, a severely abused boy living a horrific life with his dysfunctional family, who thankfully, overcomes his circumstances to become a well-known crime writer. 8/10

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