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Encounters of the Old, the Man and the Kind

17 October 2010 in Ecuador | No comments

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(Sunday 17th October, in a cloud, sitting in the upstairs dining room of a community project hostel, Quilatoa, Ecuador) After Independence Day in Guayaquil, I took a bus to Riobamba, sitting next to a young man, who even when I told him I was engaged and would be returning to South Africa to plan my wedding whilst my fiance completed his studies, insisted on paying the taxi to my hostel, walking me in and gifting me with an enormous bag of bananas. The next place I wanted to spend a few days was Banos to the north west, but from Riobamba there is a road southeastwards to the jungle town of Macas that goes right through the middle of Sangay National Park and I wanted to see what Ecuadorian cloud forest and rain forest is like. I could have done an organized trip from anywhere here on the tropical side of the country, but they’re not cheap. So instead I took a few very affordable buses and made my own little scenic detour. Unfortunately my camera was dead, so you’ll have to take my word for it – the journey was amazing! Read the rest of this entry »

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Amable Bolivianos from Beni

1 August 2010 in Bolivia | 1 comment

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(10:45, 1 August, taking refuge in our room, San Ignatio de Moxos, Bolivia) I’m definitely not hung-over because the drink on offer last night was Leche de Tigre (Tiger’s Milk), warm milk with spices and near pure alcohol, so I probably managed about 4 Tablespoons over the 8 odd hours we spent in the improvised bar, dancing with a local pregnant woman and her husband and sister. Nevertheless my brain has the distinct feeling of being removed from reality, like that which comes with the morning after. It may have something to do with the fact that there is a live brass band surrounded by drunk dancing men just outside our door in the courtyard of our hostel. Tireless! They have no doubt been playing all night, one of the older guys is asleep, his head hanging forward and his trumpet fallen to the floor beside him. It’s coming down in buckets and the drunk hostel owner’s wet clothes are evidence of the harzards of having a tiled floor. But the rain hasn’t dampened the energies of the few wasted guys trying to convince anyone walking past to join in by cajoling damply into your ear and feeling you up. Read the rest of this entry »

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Perro que no camina, no encuentra hueso – Dog who doesn’t walk, doesn’t find a bone

9 June 2010 in Argentina | 2 comments

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(8:42, Wed 9 May, Bed in dorm at Hostel Roadrunner, Cafayate, Argentina) The last week or so has been all about thinking space and beautiful scenery. My free tour with the Argentinian couple ended at the mirrador of Villa Union, my third time there and again it was astonishing.  I bused overnight to San Miguel del Tucuman, where I did a guided car tour along the Jungas Circuit – a route through the mountains and cloud forest to the wealthy villages along the way. Apparently there was soccer on so it ended up being just me with this sweet, sweet, perpetually smiling 21 year-old English guide halfway through her degree in tourism, and the chauffeur, her father, who reminded her in Spanish what to tell me now and then. It was like a little family day trip with someone else’s family. From Tucuman, I watched the morning sun peeking at my bus from between and over mountains, which was glorious.

What I hadn’t expected was arriving in Tafi del Valle before the sunshine had emptied into the valley. It was so cold! I’m talking ice here, real frozen water! It took me a few hours before my brain had thawed but when I could eventually make up my mind I had an enchanting walk dawdling in the sunlight and enjoying the visual reward granted only to those willing to mission over rocks and slopes to be as high up as reasonably possible. I met a friend from Tucuman, Celine, and we travelled to Cafayate together, stopping for an indulgent 6 or so hours to put down our packs, use the Internet, eat breakfast, sunbathe, chat politics, have a picnic, peruse the gift shop… Oh and of course learn about the geology and anthropology of the area, at Museo Pachamamma in Amaicha. This enormous complex of stone patios conceived by my new favourite artist, Cruz, looks out over the cacti and near-to-nothing-ness of the tiny Amaicha, and is just designed either for a big party or to be lingered in by a pair of travellers reluctant to pick up their backpacks.

There’s an album on facebook for Tucuman and the Jungas Circuit:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183971&id=504021698

And one for Tafi del Valle:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183972&id=504021698

And another for Amaicha:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183974&id=504021698

We were met by at the bus stop in Cafayate by a guy offering a much cheaper hostel than those we had researched on Celine’s laptop using the museum’s café  wifi and although we learnt that the Internet they promised was broken, the awesome people more than made up for it. We went on the most spectacular hike together to a waterfall in the mountains followed by a free tour and wine tasting as the sun set over autumny vines at one of the local bodegas (vineyards). We’ve spent hours chatting and  joking together in a bit of English, some French and Castellano (the latter sometimes calls for a laugh-along-laugh that’s actually oblivious to its reason – a joke in itself because they love making fun of me for faking my understanding)

Yesterday, however, I spent most of the day speaking Castellano… to myself. It’s a popular thing to bus out into the Quebrada (mountains) north of Cafayate and cycle the 50kms back, stopping to look at all the rock formations. Of course I asked if there was an alternative for the non-cycling inclined like myself. Apparently you take the bus with the cyclists and just walk instead, and when you get tired you flag down a bus heading to Cafayate. So we took the early bus and hopped off at the 50km mark at about 11.30am and whilst some friends set off on their bikes I started walking. Because I was walking I could go off the road and walk through “the nature” as well as seeing the rock formations. And it was beautiful.

Unfortunately, buses back weren’t quite as frequent as it had sounded. After about 6 hours I started getting a little bit tired of my own company. By 6pm when the sun was setting I had already counted to 199 (wasn’t sure about 200) a couple of times to practise my pronounciation and had started making up songs in Spanish about the lack of buses and the exiting sun and arriving cold and singing them to the mountains around me.

(2.30am, Sunday 13 May, writing by torchlight from top bunk above snoring Argentinian) Eventually I accepted I wouldn’t make it round the valley in time to catch the last of the sunshine, so I stopped walking. According to the last sign I’d done a little over 22km. From my rock on the side of the road I could watch the sun over this incredible stripy mountain. I wasn’t really in a hurry and I knew there’d be a bus eventually, but I had plans to meet some friends from Tucuman staying in a different hostel for drinks at 8pm, and I wasn’t really that keen to hang around when it got actually dark for a bus that may come at like 9.30 or something. I had an agreement with God that I’d wait til 7 for the bus before I tried flagging down one of the passing cars, of which a few were still passing every hour, staring confused or bemused by the crazy blonde girl in a cowboy hat sitting on the side of the road as the evening set in.

As 7 o’clock approached so too did a white minibus. But my watch read 6:55 and it was set 5 minutes fast. A test of faith, I thought, I’d let it pass. I had met loads of hitchhikers who had all said it was quite safe, and I had just begun thinking about my tactics and wishing that I’d asked more questions when the minibus pulled up next to me. Through the dust, the same friends I was supposed to meet in just over an hour laughed and waved in the windows. They had seen me walking as they headed out on a tour of the Quebrada earlier that afternoon and had asked the driver if he’d stop and pick me up if they saw me on the way back.

It was a good day with plenty of beautiful thought space and perfectly ended with a ball of dulce de leche ice cream side by side on a double cone with a ball of Torrontes (the regional white wine) sorbet.

The photos from Cafayate are mostly of rocks, but then that was what I was walking to see. Check out the album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183976&id=504021698



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Wine on the Rocks

4 June 2010 in Argentina | 2 comments

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(12:45, Monday 31st May, under grape vine in little garden of Hostel Laguna Brava,Villa Union, Argentina) I was struggling to organize a trip from La Rioja to the national parks I wanted to go to, as a solo traveller, for any less than 500 Argentinian pesos = R1000. I would happily have stuck around in La Rioja and waited for a group, it really was so lovely, but Mondays are slow days (even slower than normal) and I had already taken two nights advantage of Andrew’s generous “Southern hospitality” as he called it, so I thought I’d better move on. I wasn’t keen to miss out on seeing the parks altogether, if I was so close, and it sounded like the best way to find a cheaper option was to bus to nearby Villa Union as early as I could and try to organize from there. If I still couldn’t afford to go that day, I had decided I’d hang around in Villa Union for the day and try catch a night bus to Tucuman.

So I tiptoed out of Andrew’s at like 6 this morning and watched the sun rise over some of the most stunning mountain scenery from my bus window. I only reached Villa Union at lunch time, so an afternoon trip wasn’t looking promising. But the tour company had no trouble convincing me to stick around for tomorrow’s much cheaper trip when they told me about the very nice, very reasonable hostel here and that the buses to Tucuman go back through La Rioja anyway – I wouldn’t really have wasted a day. So here I am in the picturesque, mountain-lined, vineyard-ful town of Villa Union, in this wonderful, quaint, little hostel with just four other people – none of whom speak English (sigh, but its definitely better for me, because I have to practise my Castellano). The tour tomorrow sounds incredible and includes a little hike which is why it’s so good to have somewhere to put my bag down and relax for the evening, cook some dinner. I’ll go for a little wander this afternoon which the tour lady recommended for sunset. And you know how I feel about sunsets

(09:10, Friday 4th June, common room of Tucuman Hostel, Tucuman, Argentina) Back in a big city so I’ve got some internet time. The tour to Talampaya was incredible. Unfortunately instead of the friendly, helpful tour lady from the office who spoke perfect English (and French) the guide who took us was a slightly yellow tinged old guy who seemed to be very knowledgable between cigarettes but who wasn’t really interested in speaking English for my benefit. Luckily the Argentinian couple who made up our little three person tour group were what South Americans call “divino”! They spent the whole trail translating to me with actions and charades, despite the fact that they spoke far less English than the guide, and helping me with my Castellano while we chatted earnestly about how beautiful it all was.       Theresa: “Que lindo, no?”      Me: “Si! Muy lindo!”

We had scarcely seen our first red rock construction when Marcello asked what I would be doing the following day. Maybe Valle de la Luna? Or another part of Talampaya? I explained that I would be catching the night bus to Tucuman, because I couldn’t really afford more than one excursion. They insisted that I stay on and go with them on the trip they were planning for the next day. They had a car and were planning to pay a guide anyway, so there’d be no further expense if I joined them and I really needn’t contribute. I know, hey?!

The tour the following afternoon was fantastic! Even Theresa explained to me, in half English, half Spanish, that she had “could feel it much better” because of the “energy of the man” ie. the guide was a vast improvement on the last one. An enthusiastic young local, midway through studying tourism specializing in archeology, who laughed along with us when we tilted our heads, straining to see the imaginary figures in the rock formations of The Valley of Magic. He even scored us a glass of foot-pressed wine in Banda Florida, the nearby village, from one of his bodega neighbours – much more delicious than the cheapo box wine I had taken up to the viewpoint with me the day before.

This is the facebook album for Talampaya and all the little places between:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183968&id=504021698



Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher


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Art and Artigas

21 May 2010 in Uruguay | 4 comments

(09:25, Friday! It’s Friday the 21st! When did that happen?! That’s 3 weeks! Sitting on rain jacket on wet bench, Plaza Constitution, Paysandú, Uruguay) You may have noticed, but my journey has involved a lot of Plazas, Constitutions, Independencias, 18 de Julio and 25 de Mayos. There’s also a lot of Artigas here in Uruguay and right now I have Gomez pointing dramatically at the ground in front of me, sword in hand, with a very sweet little bird on his military cap and what appears to be a big birds’ nest on his right shoulder pad.

I’ve been seeing so many things which obviously have historical or other significance on top of the aesthetic value I attribute to them. Unfortunately museums rarely have English information and my Argentinian and Uruguyan history is patchy at best. And I certainly wouldn’t dare ask for any more information from one of the many many people whose patience I have tested over the last few weeks (all of whom have been great) as I fumble over the  jumble of Spanish and English in my head, the occasional Afrikaans or even Zulu word popping up in earnest…

(20:04, Fri 21 May, Paysandú Bus Terminal, Uru) I have 2 hrs to kill and even I think what I was writing this morning was boring. I’ll summarize: Basically, I checked out in Montevideo and went to the bus station to catch whatever I could in the direction of Argentina. I ended up alone in the huge dorm at the riverside sport-club in relatively wealthy Mercedes, close to the border. I met a young South African lady who informed me that the border crossing I had planned had been closed for years and it was not unusual for people to find that out only when they arrived in the one-horse town I had been heading for. So I bought a ticket for the earliest trip to the next border town northwards, Paysandú, which would give me most of the day there to organize a ticket onwards to Argentina. So I’ve spent an unplanned  day each in the small Uruguayan towns of Mercedes and Paysandú and both have been incredible. Honestly, my heart has been so touched at how nice everyone has been, I feel tears climbing from my chest when I think about it.

It’s become routine to head to the tourist office in a new town and get the standard map and a run-down of the highlights. At the unlikely looking tourist information in Mercedes was the most incredible charming woman. She sat me down and did her best to explain the significance of each dot on the map – I was normally satisfied with a few circles indicating the best stuff for a gringo tourist to see. She not only offered me the internet in their office to check my mail, she especially organized a car for the afternoon so she could take me to this phenomenal paleontological museum in a castle up the river. She had the curator show us around the collection personally, including a room full of things not on display, and give me a guided tour of the historical venue complete with a view of the river from the watchtower on the roof. We chatted about the tourist industry and their restoration plans as we drove back to the town centre. Then she had the town cathedral opened and all the lights turned on just for me to see – it had been closed when I went that afternoon.

One of her recommendations had been an exhibition of European and Latin American art. When I arrived, again the whole place was unlocked and the lights turned on just for me and the actual art restorer walked me from painting to painting detailing the history, techniques and even the iconography of each. It was without doubt the most indepth conversation I’ve ever had about art and it was in a mash of English, Spanish and gesticulations. He also showed me  the hundreds of pieces lying waiting to be restored in his workroom, or simply stuck away because there’s no space.

This morning I stopped writing because I was bored of my own winge that I don’t know the histories behind most of things I’ve been seeing. I whipped out my map after ignorantly contemplating Gomez’ statue for a while, and a random guy approached me. He said he could see I was a tourist, would I like to know the story behind the statue I’d been staring at? I admit, “Don’t talk to strangers” kept me cautious especially when he offered to accompany me until his appointment at 1pm. But he translated the whole Museo Historico for me and made sure we had a guide at this fantastic cemetery/museum which I would never have organized alone.The guide was so passionate about the place and the three of us had this incredible discussion about the symbolism in the graves and the set up of the cemetery – it was great!

So although my stint in Uruguay has been quite short, the people have all been so patient and nice to little gringa me with my inability to speak Spanish. Mom, I told the women from tourist info that you would be so glad that she had been nice to me and she sent her greetings. I know, so nice hey?!

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Colonial Colonia, Muchos Caliente and Maté to Share

13 May 2010 in Uruguay | No comments

(20:30, 13 May, Hostel Colonial, Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay) I know it’s only my second country, but Uruguayan men are definitely my favourite so far. They’re laid back, friendly, incredibly good-looking and they don’t try to convince you into anything more than good, friendly conversation. Although “No” really does mean “No” in Spanish, Argentinian men only seem to understand when you’re shouting it into the faces.
I wish I had got the name of the traveller from Uruguay that I met in Buenos Aires who convinced me that missing the country altogether would be a huge mistake. But although I’m unlikely to see him, I’m excited to hit Montevideo for the weekend.

Tonight I’m taking it easy in the sleepy town of Colonia. I caught the ferry here from Buenos Aires, arriving in the early early hours of this morning.
I had spent some time looking at the map and deciding how I would get to my hostel. But sitting in the fancy arrivals’ lounge…

(13:40, Thurs 14 May, bench under pink-flowered tree, Plaza Major, Barrio Historico, Colonia) Fell asleep, sorry…Sitting in the fancy arrival’s lounge at the ferry station in Colonia, with all my kit I decided against walking there in the dark and braved the stares of the security guards and the cleaning crew who worked around me and slept against my pack on a bench in the station.

When the sun finally rose, I discarded my hobo impersonation and walked outside only to find that Colonia is so small, my hostel was a few hundred metres away. They let me check in as soon as I arrived so I had few hours sleep before I went sight-seeing. I had specifically chosen Hostel Colonial because they had free bicycles available. What they say about riding a bike is true but I still ended up giving it back after 20 minutes or so. I had decided that the loose seat was bearable and had hopped on again after visiting the first site – the old City Gate. I was just getting my balance in the first few metres when the next thing on the itinerary, went by. Most of the attractions are in the Historical Neighbourhood of Colonia and the place is so small they are generally a couple of steps from one another. From where I am sitting I am basically looking at 8 of the 15-odd things to be seen. It’s a lovely little historical town that was a smuggler’s port to Buenos Aires in its day and is now an attraction for local and international tourists, with decent information and beautifully kept and restored quaint cobbled streets with 18th century blue and white tiled name signs on the stone walls of old Portuguese and Spanish styled homes. I’ve changed some money to Uruguayan pesos so today I’m going to all these gorgeous little museums full of the most incredible things. From the fossilized skeleton of this crazy enormous sloth-like animal called a Lestodon discovered in the area, to beautiful antique porcelain maté cups.

Maté is this great thing, a really authentically South American pastime. So it was so amazing to see these very European cups, displayed amongst the Portuguese vases and Spanish bullfighting costumes, were used by the wealthy to do something so distinctly un-European. Like we go for coffee socially or meet for tea, South Americans have maté. At any time of day you will see them with a little gourd of herbs with a metal spoon/straw, which they top up with hot water from a flask or kettle. The thing I like so much about it is that when you meet for maté you don’t each have your own; one maté is made and topped with water as it’s passed around. I tried to explain the warm fuzzy feeling this communal ritual idea gave me to the Argentinian who was telling me how it works, and he suggested that whilst it was a lovely sentiment, it wasn’t something most people thought about when having maté and perhaps I was reading into it a bit much.

(14:30, 14 May, Plaza Major, Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay) I can just hear Edith Piaf drifting from a nearby café. I’m surrounded by this stunning flock of squawking green and yellow birds – they look a bit like cockatoos – who are hopping around in the branches above me, showering me in big pink flowers. I have one or two more museums to see and then I think I’ll head up to the beaches a little way away to enjoy the sunny afternoon. My bus to Montevideo leaves just before midnight so I’ll hit the city for the weekend. While it’s only 1.5 million people, nothing like Buenos Aires, the lovely little Colonia del Sacramento has been a wonderful change of pace.

Heading back to the urban, there are a couple of lessons I learnt in Buenos Aires. Whilst the subway system’s routes are labelled A, B, C etc and the stations are marked on the street with a round coloured sign of the letter, heading for a round blue E sign won’t help you, no matter how many times you do it. E stands for estacionamiento, and since you are looking for the subway, a car park is unlikely to be useful to you.

Also an abbreviation: when filling your water bottle at a basin, avoid the tap marked C. The one you are looking for has an F for frego, or cold. C, I think is for caliente and you will undoubtedly melt your bottle because the geysers here are all set way too high.
Speaking of which, the clouds are edging in and I’m keen to maximize the warmth in Colonia.

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The sounds, the language, the smell

4 May 2010 in Argentina | 7 comments

(6pm, 4 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) A friend asked the other day if I´ve gotten used to the sounds, the language, the smell. As you may know, some cities smell. Cape Town for instance, while undoubtedly beautiful, smells. Of fish and industry. But there are things that will make any city smell, like stepping in dog poo. It´s not that Buenos Aires smells, its that the streets of Buenos Aires have crazy crazy amounts of dog poo that is easily stepped in. It seems everyone owns a dog and walks it along the sidewalk to do its business, the evidence appearing in concentrations between one every 10 metres, to one a metre. So yes, despite my diligence, I have experienced the smell of Buenos Aires at least once.

The language. In theory I can speak basic Spanish, ´introductory level´. In practise, when someone speaks to me I freak out and struggle to even tell them in Spanish that I don´t speak much Spanish. I even said Dankie to the receptionist at the Art Museum today. And thus the soundtrack to my walks in the streets is still Michel Thomas, language instructor to the stars.

(12.15pm, 5 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) I moved to a different hostel yesterday. Not because I didn´t like the one I was in. En contrario, I seriously recommend it and will definitely stay there when I come back to the city to fly home. The dorm I was in had its own en suite bathroom, and there were extra showers and toilets just outside our door. The cleaning staff never stopped – they even made the beds – and all for 36 pesos a night (about R64). Plus the people were really awesome. We had a big jam on my last night for the barman´s birthday.

The new place actually works out cheaper because I get my fifth night free and its also a great spot so far. Much bigger and a lot more English speakers – even an American guy who was born in South Africa. I went out with him and his mates last night, my first official night on the town. Verdict: clubbing in Buenos Aires is much like clubbing anywhere in South Africa. Loud, fun, some good songs, some bad, smoky… I didn´t really feel very glam in my hiking shoes, but what can you do.

The reason for the change of hostel was to move to a different area of the city. I am now in the barrio of Palermo (barrio being a neighbourhood, like a big suburb) and it is truly beautiful. San Telmo and the Microcentro, where I have spent most of my time so far, was a beautiful area of old buildings,

(14:34, 10 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) Sorry, had to do something so stopped mid-sentence the last time. Will finish this post soon.

(20:50, Mon 11 May, lobby of Tango Backpackers, Palermo, Buenos Aires) I’ve been putting off finishing this post because I know I’m gonna struggle to explain what Palermo is like. Green spaces at every corner and so many incredible sculptures and monuments that eventually it overcomes you and you start to forget that they are so extraordinary. Palermo has the Rose Garden (another world!), the Zoo, the Eva Peron Museum, but it also has the nightlife. The streets are dotted with bars and restaurants and people taxi from all over the city to join in the party. Basically its amazing and whilst I was sad to leave Tango City in San Telmo, I’m so glad I moved to a new side of town.

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Tick tick

13 April 2010 in Getting Ready, Uncategorized | No comments

I’m a bit embarrassed that so many of you actually went to my old blog – I didn’t think people really followed facebook suggestions – because all anyone now knows about is my shoe dilemna. But this is my(new)space thanks to my brother Adi and his computer skills. It too is still very basic, but I’m learning as I go so it should improve.

Your shoe advice was all appreciated, thank you kindly. In the end I didn’t go for traditional boots or for amphibian feet, but I bought a fabulous pair of waterproof Saloman hiking shoes, in a very sensible dark colour. They have the suggested ankle support and tough toes, plus every inch of them has a separate patent: contragrip, orthofit insoles, sensifit…So they must be good! I took them with me to Kenton for Easter and wowed the other beach-strolling people with their remarkable versatility and elegance. But really they are very comfortable and I’m sure I’ll get use to the sight of myself in such athletic looking footwear after a little while. The girl advice from cousins and sister-in-law is that they’re not bad looking at all and should def be worn with secret socks – the ones with the little cushion for your achilles tendon to prevent blisters.

Our annual retreat to visit family in the Eastern Cape was very relaxed, as usual and involved much walking, and other holiday pastimes like playing scrabble and puzzle-building. I had to take work with me. I have had a job for the last few months and am employed until I leave. I work for one of my old Geog lecturers as a research assistant by compiling data to compare the 1990′s hotel industry in South Africa with that of 2010. But I managed to do quite a lot of reading and even learnt some Spanish.

A friend of mine, Dimitri Selibas, very kindly lent me some books on South and Central America to read. I have been raving to everyone about the Rough Guides’ First-Time Latin America. It isn’t really a guidebook, it’s designed to be read before you leave and has been so full of practical advice on getting ready, from suggestions about what to stock up on before you leave because it can be difficult to get hold of, to tips on handling culture shock and how to save money. I did disregard the list they included of what to pack – it was obviously written by the male author:
2 tshirts, one long, one short
2 shirts, one long, one short
2 pairs of socks, one warm, one cool…

But I’ve read the book from cover to cover and I really recommend it to anyone.

I also got started on my Spanish. Along with the books, Dim lent me a cd of beginners Spanish with this awesome guy Michel Thomas. Apparently the language teacher to the rich and famous, he has a unique style of teaching that requires no writing or active memorization – just repetition. I haven’t gone very far because I needed to finish up with the books, so my vocabulary is limited and a bit unusual. I can say things like: “Is it important for you?” “Why is it important for me?” and “I want it but I don’t need in right now.” All of which have already been tried whilst out on the town, to my friends’ amusement.

Things are busy, and wonderful, and exciting and overwhelming. We had breakfast for my birthday on Sunday, which was lovely and most of my presents were in aid of my trip. I’ll have to put together a record of sponsors and thank yous to post sometime soon. But my list of things to buy and do seems to be longer than ever, and life definitely hasn’t slowed down just for me to get myself ready. The agenda is hectic and time seems to be ticking down much faster than I can tick things off!

It is my graduation this Thurs and I do my drivers test on Friday morning – so celebrating will have to be postponed. My calendar is gradually filling up with birthdays, appointments and innoculations and I can see my days for folding and refolding and packing and repacking quickly disappearing.

But things are awesome! Thank all so much for your concern, advice and prayers thus far – please keep them coming :)

Should be having a farewell at Emmarentia Dam on 27th April (Freedom Day – how appropriate) so keep it open if you can!

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