Caravanfestivals in South Africa

It feels like spring in South Africa though, time is marching on with the first warm tips of the new season. Was 14 august 2012, when theeurday was glorious at the Cape Town gardens. It was a fabulous day for outdoor activities, thanks to the summer rains and the soils of thejuries.

It was a wonderful experience to be at the gardens after a long, long year of work. Peg, Paul and I had been there over a year ago and were returning to meet all the other members of the group that make up the Garden party. Standing on the stairs of the heritage house which is the centrepiece of the gardens, we looked up at Peg’s parents, who were dressed in their gardening clothing;aganorama, as we were told, was on the second floor. The colours and the fragrance of the flowers and of course the 1961 BMW motorcycle caused us to look like tourists, admiring delicate formations and arrangements serene and intoxicating. The gardens were decorated by numerous flora and by loads of hanging lights, making it feel like a miracle had occurred.

Peg and Paul walked aroundivating in a bumper to bumper pace with the BMW salesman, negotiating maze like aromas of all the plants and flowers we saw. I wandered around seeing the variety of birds and insects flitting around tasting the essence of life. The pack of scooter vendors made a beeline for us. I ducked into a little shop and then peeped out to see what was happening. Peg and Paul had disappeared into the crowd, and after what felt like an hour we followed. The black top of the Volvo daddy parked next to a green haired sedan, and Paul gave the keys to the seller. I got in; Seamus went in too and we left.

On the way out of Cape Town we crossed the km2 Cape Peninsula recognized as the 12 Apostles, an engineering marvel. We followed the coastal road down towards the ocean and saw our next destination. A house in Mpumalanga, a mere 4 km from Ween, was selling electricity. A smart move. electricity has always been the most expensive form of energy and this trip guaranteed I would never spend a dollar more.

Two hours later we arrived at the Pearls, an arching reef structure, measuring roughly 1.5 meters from end to end and designed as a tunnel with exits. My god, how amazing is architecture.

Once we arrived on the Pearls, I couldn’t believe I was there. Surrounded by absolute beauty, nature in its true essence, it is breathtaking. Despite it’s now ten year old virtual absence of commercial tourism, tourism is inextricably linked to the Pearls.

Peg and I wanted to snorkel but we were advised not to, as we didn’t have enough time. It was too late to do so anyway. We took a boat down to the base of the arch and then walked up to the viewing platform. It was close by the traffic which was being flowed back into Cape Town. As we looked out on the endless roll of the ocean, stained red by the rising tide, we were overcome with the beauty.

I don’t like to call beauty anything else but beauty. And though I have called beauty in many places here, and others have described it elsewhere, I would not hesitate to call Cape Town’s Hottentots more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.

It is a rare luxury to be in a place where almost everything is covered in flowers. There are no trees, no wildlife, no nothing in places like Cape Town. Just everything covered in life.

And then I saw the Cathedral. Homeland’s Rock Cathedral of St. Elizabeth. This is a real beauty; a virtual postcard.acts as if you are looking through old photos and ancient art from a time long past.

I walked back to my hotel as if time had stood still. This was a place created for sightseeing, not commerce. And though it is certainly a place created for sightseeing, it is also a place created for taking photographs. There is an entire street Ac Rd called Holland Taffel held together by a network of narrow lanes and alleys. It looks like something out of Chue Vincente. The Kabakhi Mkhitarama Temple is in the center of it all. And that’s all.

Night was now drawing in as I found myself far from the downtown in the out-of-the-way village of Robertson. It was still only 8:30 pm. To my dismay I was back in my apartment, taking a shower, and grabbing dinner, while my mother-in-law and sister-in-law had gone shopping for dinner.