Kalk Bay Meanderings

On Saturday we headed down to Kalk Bay for some good old fashioned fish and chips and a wonder along the pier to look at the fishing boats. Here are a few photo's.

 

 

How To Be Alone

This is beautiful!

I say, bring on the Summer!

I feel grumpy! My legs and arms have so many bites that I look as though I have some tropical disease or better still, chicken pox! An hour and a half of being outside in New Hampshire, during the spring, will do that to you and the little critters responsible are none other than the 'black flies" which in South Africa we would refer to as "miggies". At least the South African version can't bite!

On a positive note, yesterday was the first day that I got to see a blue sky in what feels like forever. It was a taste of the glorius summer yet to come.

Last weekend I headed down to Cape Cod to visit a friend. It is an incredibly picturesque area with exquisite vista's and quaint towns. I also paid patronage to the South African Restaurant located in Provincetown. Aptly named "Karoo Kafe" it was a little piece of home. I brought the most expensive boerewors roll ever and enjoyed it alongside a peppermint crisp. Yum!

This weekend I head down to New York City to reconnect with a great friend and show her around the city. Hopefully it isn't the blind leading the blind!

Have you been to Harrisville?

It is Saturday morning in Hillsborough, New Hampshire. I am surrounded by exquisite lakes, forests and mountains that beckon to be explored and climbed. The African in me cautions that such activities on your own are potentially dangerous. Hell, I won’t even run down the abandoned road on my own! Who knows what, but in my mind “who”, lies in wait in the vastness of the unknown. It saddens me that I am so cautious of going places on my own but my meandering thoughts have now sidetracked me from the telling of today’s adventure.

“It’s a great little town with a nice place to eat – kind of like the corner store but healthier” were the words my brother used to spark my attention “but I don’t know how you get there, it’s kind of complicated”. Good thing I discovered the GPS in the cubbyhole of the car I have been using. It is my new favourite toy, especially in this vast country with its spidery network of roads.

Armed with my camera, a couple of dollars and a sense of adventure, I plugged 29 Church Street, Harrisville, NH into the GPS and set off in search of the popular “General Store” which boasts of good coffee, scrumptious home-made food and broadband wireless. Halfway there I realised I had left my computer. I guess I won’t be finishing that journal article this weekend.

On Friday I had to go to Hanover to attend a seminar. Google maps said it would take less than an hour. The GPS decided to take me on a rather scenic route through the backcountry of New Hampshire. It took me an hour and a half. So, I wasn’t surprised when I found myself again navigating the back roads of New Hampshire in search of the mystical Harrisville and its popular cafe.

Harrisville claims to be one of the most photographed towns in New England. I can see why! It has this old age industrial feel to it, complete with picturesque streams, trees, houses and of course a lake. Located in the Monadnock region of southern New Hampshire, it is a wonderful example of a well preserved 19^th century mill town with the sawmill and gristmill being built in 1774.

After an hour of rambling around town with my camera, it was time to go in search of some refreshments. The General store was all I imagined and more. The smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomed me as I stepped into a bustling space filled with an assortment of delicious looking food, interesting people and a menu that is somewhat reminiscent of Olympia Cafe in Cape Town. To my delight, it really was a General store where you could buy basic household necessities and I was immediately transported back to South Africa’s Spaza shops although this would be considered a chic, upmarket version.

I can already envision retreating to Harrisville during the summer when I have a few hours to spare and am looking forward to soaking up the sun on the veranda while sipping iced tea and watching the world go by.

The Magic of Windsor Mountain

Windsor Mountain was strutting around like a proud peacock on Friday afternoon as she greeted me with an exquisite crisp blue sky and dazzling sun that bounced shafts of brilliant light off the frozen lake, in a sparkly extravaganza of Windsor Mountain magic.

As I stepped back onto the deck, with the beaded mobiles still glinting in the sun as they hung from the now leafless crab-apple, I felt as though I had “come home”; the six months spent in South Africa quickly melting away into timelessness. It was at that moment, as I was warmly welcomed back by Jake, Kerry, Stella and Cody (who couldn’t wait to drop his ball at my feet) that I realised why staff and campers return again and again. You see, Windsor Mountain is a little crafty; she seeps bit by bit into your very core - into your soul, if you will, and it’s in the leaving that you realise what a special and enchanting place you have had the good fortune to be a part of. And if you are lucky like me; you get to return for what promises to be an epic summer!

Modern day fairy tales

A Grand Old Lady...

White water rafting through Northern Pennsylvania

Pennsylvania is a riot of burnt oranges, reds and golds during the Fall. Each day was like stepping into an American postcard as these brilliant colours contrasted against a crisp blue sky and emerald green hills. This was the backdrop for our somewhat cold adventure in the heart of rural Pennsylvania. What was supposed to be a gentle meander down the Susquehanna river soon turned into a white water rafting expedition down the Schrader Creek, after a little persuasion from my younger sister who had decided that she wanted an adrenaline fix. So, after a little coercing, we finally convinced our brother, a seasoned kayaker and adventurer to take the two of us down a few rapids.

The day before, while in search of the abandoned town of Quinn, we found the perfect river and so the next morning we packed up Scott’s fluid Kayak, an antique aluminium canoe, borrowed from his father-in-law, a paddle and an old wooden oar and headed west, back to the glittering Schrader Creek with its promise of adrenaline pumping rapids. At Scott’s insistence we grudgingly donned some thermals, a North Face rain jacket and life vest. We didn’t believe it would be THAT cold but Scott knew better! Having paddled numerous expeditions in foreign countries he was taking no chances and insisted that we each wear a helmet. And so, equipped with one oar and one paddle, in a silver antique canoe, wearing bicycle helmets and make-shift gear to keep the cold water at bay, we launched our canoe into the surprisingly fast flowing current and set off on our adventure. Scott hovered near us, like a little bee, in his yellow Fluid Kayak, guiding us down the first run of rapids. Once successfully at the bottom we grinned widely, congratulating ourselves at not tipping the canoe into what we now realised was icy cold water!

Our confidence high, we tackled the second run. We hit a rock, almost toppling what we were now realising to be a rather unsteady boat that was difficult to manoeuvre and steer, due to its length and lack of balance in fast flowing water. I gingerly plunged my foot into the cold, white water and pushed us off the rock only to find ourselves stuck against another rock a few metres down river. We frantically “hugged the rock”, leaning towards it to prevent the canoe tipping, but the current was strong and the boat awkward. Within seconds we found ourselves gasping for breath as we were plunged into the icy water of the Schrader creek. Recovering from our initial shock, we quickly found a rock to stand on, only to realise that the boat was down river and the only way off the rock was to get back into the angry current and swim for the shore. We gingerly lowered ourselves back into the water, this time submerged up to our necks, and floated downstream to the boat and shoreline. Drenched, my toes begun to lose feelingas they turned a pretty shade of blue. Laughing, we climbed back into our boat and headed onwards.

I’d like to say that we learnt our lesson the first time we tipped but if the truth be told, we fell out at least 6 times. On one occasion we managed to wrap the canoe around a rock and helplessly watched as it filled with water. Scott quickly paddled up river and set up a safety line explaining that if we didn’t get the boat out soon it would be destroyed by the force of the water. With the three of us pulling and heaving we eventually managed to free the boat. Exhausted from both the cold and from the physicality of lifting our heavy boat free, we sat down and contemplated our options. Options? What options? We were committed to reaching the take out point since we were now deep in a gorge and if we had wanted to walk out it would have been with a heavy boat up a cliff face. Reluctantly we realised that our only option was to continue down the river and put our trust in Scott as he guided us through the rapids. On our last rapid we both thought we were going to die as our boat headed straight for a large rock that loomed above us! At the last minute I managed to turn the thing and steer it clear. At that point we paddled straight for shore and climbed out, telling Scott that we would carry the canoe. Tired and bruised, Katie and I argued as we heaved the boat out of the water and manoeuvred it through a dense forest of trees in search of the road. I kept laughing as I imagined someone coming across us: two girls walking through the forest, dressed in tights, life jackets and bicycle helmets with a silver canoe, upside down and balanced on their shoulders so that it looked as though the canoe had suddenly grown legs and was walking through the forest. The more I laughed the more annoyed Katie became, which only made me laugh some more. Finally, we stepped onto the gravel road, wet, tired and oh so pleased to climb into dry clothes and head home for a warm bath and some hot food.

Second photo by Scott Martin
(www.scottmartinimages.com)

Honey Pizza

I have spent the morning working on a paper that I started a year ago! This is undoubtably a new record in the art of procrastination. The good news is that I have almost finished a complete draft. However, my mind often wonders after a few hours of intense concentration on all things scientific and today I found myself in the kitchen, having abandoned my laptop and graphs showing the effect of fire on grass species, trying out this delicious pizza recipe. My camera battery was flat but believe me when I say this...it is delicious!

Dough
250ml lukewarm water
1T honey
1T instant yeast
2.5 cups flour

Mix the water, honey and yeast in a bowl and allow to stand for 5 minutes. Add the flour and mix until you get a dough - you may need to add a little more flour. Cover with clingwrap and allow to stand in a warm spot for about an hour. Remove the dough from the bowl, punch it down and stretch it out onto a dish.

Toppings
Garnish with your favourite pizza toppings and bake at 250 degrees celcius for 10 minutes or until the base is crisp.

Hint: Try this pizza with a drizzle of olive oil and crushed garlic, cherry tomatoes (halved), yellow pepper and some feta cheese (instead of regular chees) crumbled over the top. Garnish with fresh basil leaves and serve.

Enjoy!

These are a few of my favourite things...

New Orleans can only be described as an eclectic city where art, music and cultures merge and blend to form something unique and exciting. From vodoo shops to the Mississippi to venetian masks and aligator heads, you wonder the streets captivated and enthralled. While exploring the French Quarter I came across an artist who had created an enchanting collection of artworks that I instantly fell in love with. My favourite painting is "The Circus" but feel free to browse Dan Fuller's website (http://artistdan-fuller.com) for more dreamlike artworks and perhaps even purchase your very own.