O P o t B

Nothing can prepare you for it.  No photograph, no book, nothing.  Not even the monuments that lay claim to being the precursor to this.  None can prepare you for its majesty.  It is as if all others built before have been built, to iron out the imperfections, so that this could come to being. Entering from the Western gate, the red sandstone, so familiar from other places rise up to approximately six meters.  The gate, a large wooden door shaped like an arch, split down the middle and hinged onto the pillars of sandstone that support an arch, above that pillars supporting white domes.  Entering the first court yard, the expansive gardens bordered by red sandstone walls that support buildings and are bisected by the East, West and Northern Gates, the paradoxical sense of intimacy and open spaces fills my heart.  To the South the main entrance, with its twenty two domes one for each year of construction. Walking through the main entrance is like drawing a curtain before the main per

A two lane thoroughfare that has turned into a six lane freeway jam packed with motor vehicles, motor bikes, scooters, tuk tuks, a cauldron of chaos as cars turn and squeeze their way through the traffic.  Taxi's and tuk tuks, eager to get their fares to their destination as quickly as possible are by far the most aggressive, in the hope of securing a return fare. Buildings in various states of repair and disrepair, recently painted or bearing the signs of damp and the damages caused by damp, line the streets. Newly constructed buildings with a network of bamboo scaffolding reaching to the heavens dot the landscape, modern in design and stick out like sore thumbs between makeshift shacks and older buildings.  Stores squeeze into every nook and cranny and any unclaimed land is home to shacks and teaming with those eking a living from a city that never sleeps.  Vendors selling street food, tea, cigarettes and various other wares occupy the excessive spaces on the sidewalks.  A sh

There is a heavy wind blowing.  Clouds, pregnant with rain, covers Sir Lowry's Pass in contrast to the sunny skies of Cape Town.  I follow the winding road up to the top and pierce through clouds which stretch as far as the eye can see.  Fine drizzle veils the scene as wipers try their hardest to keep the water off the windscreen.  I am on the last but final leg of my journey to Port Elizabeth. It has been a long time since I visited the family in P.E. and I look forward to renewing my family ties.  The road is wet and the vegetation rich, green and lush.  It is hard to believe that there are water shortages in the area but I suppose although it is wet, it is so, in the wrong places. Traffic along this scenic route, affectionately known as the Garden Route, is quite heavy as the multitudes of holiday makers make their way to the various destinations along this stretch of the country. The Garden of Eden, The Big Tree, The Elephant Park etc.  There is much to see and do, but not

I am happy and sad at the same time.  Happy, because I had strengthened the bond that binds us and sad because I had had to leave home for the next stage of my journey, and it is never easy to take leave from the love and warmth of home, but go I must. Back on the paved road I head towards Springbok and after refueling the car, on towards Cape Town.  The road winding its way through the mountains.  Kamieskroon, Garies, Verhynsdorp, Klawer, Clan William, Citrusdal, Piketberg and Moorreesburg, towns seemingly forgotten along the way, before the familiar Malmesbury and Cape Town. A distance of some six hundred kilometres. Mouille Point, Cape Town.  A fresh wind blows across the parking lot.  The smell of the ocean assaults my senses.  The apartment is modern and tastefully furnished but it is the balcony which becomes my haven.  An early morning cup of coffee overlooking the most stunning of beach fronts is very hard to beat. A trip to Franschoek with its quaint streets and famous r