Run/Walk for Life

If this little flower can hold on for the spring , so can I!

Ah! Dare I say it? Spring is here at last! It is no longer pitch dark when I get up in the morning and today the temperature hovered around 20 degrees for most of the day. The bright sunshine made me feel like a dance around a Maypole or some such northern hemisphere practice.

A combination of winter, travelling, being sick, no yoga, and no walking, has left me feeling sluggish, fed up and unhealthy. So I have cut my hair (a woman always means business when she cuts her hair) and I have just been checking out Run/Walk for Life. I really need to up my cardio-vascular exercise, for my health and weight. I hate the gym, I have tried boot camp and walking by myself is not getting the desired result. So drastic situations call for drastic measures…

Actually, it looks more than manageable and not quite so drastic…the program is well-monitored and formulated to progress gradually.  So far, the people I have met seem pleasant and supportive. After two sessions I have learned to walk using my arms (felt those muscles the next day!) and have managed to get the pulse racing. I enjoy walking and being outside; I feel like I am in training for long forest walks...

Run/Walk for Life is Proudly South African and is endorsed by the Heart Foundation of South Africa. What’s more, the program is run right here in the neighbourhood. So come on summer! I am ready to go!

You may also like: Spring has Sprung and To Carbo-load or Not  and Couch Potatoes and Olympic Glory 

Stockholm - Venice of the North

“It is not a city at all. It is ridiculous to think of itself as a city. It is simply a rather large village, set in the middle of some forest and some lakes. You wonder what it thinks it is doing there, looking so important.” 

          

I love this quote by Ingmar Bergmar talking about Stockholm.  It really does have the feel of a village, a really old village. The old buildings sit side by side with tall skyscrapers. It is not unusual to see people fishing over a bridge into the clear, fresh water in the middle of the city. I remember last time looking for the city hall,  sure that I would readily find it – except all the buildings look like city halls (or churches and palaces).

This was my third visit to Stockholm.  The first time we stayed in Gamla Stan or the “old city” and dined in the same restaurant, Den Gyldene Freden (The Golden Peace) – est. 1722, where the Nobel Prize for Literature was being decided upstairs. The committee members looked as if they had been around for as long as the restaurant!

Stockholm is one of the most beautiful cities that I have been to. It is set on 14 islands (hence the name, Venice of the North) and the water adds a certain charm. Cobble-stoned roads invite you to explore history minutes away from broad, busy modern roads. Parks with trees and benches are dotted all over the city.

This time a friend and I walked through the very Bohemian area of Sodermalm. Shops open late here  - 1030 or 1100 - which was a good excuse to duck into a coffee shop, Frantzen’s. On the counter was a yummy display of home-baked goodies. The cinnamon buns exuded a spicy aroma that was hard to resist and certainly lived up to the promise. In fact it must have been the best cinnamon bun I have ever eaten – slightly crisp around the edges, soft and filled with spices in the whorls.

Fortified we set off – in and out of art galleries, home-ware and clothing shops. The wares on sale were typically Swedish – linen and wood, glass and terracotta – natural and simple. Clothing was finished off with edges of lace and embroidery. We dodged dads out with their toddlers in prams. The Swedish have generous maternity leave of up to 18 months and paternity leave, too. So the mums take the first stretch and do the breastfeeding, etc and then go back to work and the dads take over for a while.

My favourite shop was grandly called the Tea Centre of Stockholm. Entering was like stepping into another world. Dark wood counters were stacked almost to ceiling height with row upon row of tea canisters, many accompanied by glass jars with samples to smell before you made your choice. Electric light glimmered on the polished surfaces and the exotic smells of tea from Morocco, Sri Lanka, India and other far off places, filled the air.

And then the owner made an appearance looking exactly like I would have imagined. Sleeked back hair, round, wire-rimmed spectacles and attired in a dark pants and waistcoat over a white shirt and tie, his skin almost as dark as the woodwork. He was from Sri Lanka and was an expert on teas; although I had to resist getting into a fight about the benefits of Rooibos (he was of the firm opinion that it had none!). We settled for a special blend named after the area in a quaint tin with images of the palace and city hall. The sale was rung up on an old-fashioned cash register. We stepped out into the sunshine with our purchase. Right opposite was a church with tiny graveyard dwarfed by tall bare trees. But in the middle was a little tree bravely heralding spring, all decked out with white blossoms.

Each time I have been to Sweden it has been either spring or autumn. The temperature is around 10-15 degrees, the air crisp and fresh. I love that the sun shines brightly and the sky is as blue as an African sky. Autumn feels like the locals are running around trying to make the best of the good weather and spring feels like the city has woken up from a long sleep and re-discovering itself.

We ended our morning with lunch at Le Gondolen restaurant which boasts grand views of the city. On the way home I could not help leaning out of the car window and taking yet another picture of the trees in bloom.

Changing Seasons

From where I sit at my desk I can see the squirrel at the bottom of the garden scurrying around all morning collecting sustenance for the winter that he probably feels coming in his bones. On my walk this morning leaves rustled across the path in front of me and crunched under my feet. Tall oak trees leaned into each other as if bracing themselves for the loss of their scorched, end-of summer leaves. There is a nip in the air, the nights have become longer almost without our noticing it. But like a teenager with too much choice, the Cape Town weather seems to have not quite made up its mind. Yesterday the temperature was a scorching 28 degrees in spite of forecasts of an approaching cold front. And as anyone who lives here knows, the weather can be relied on to swing wildly from one extreme to the other for pretty much of the year.

That's why, on my first trip to Sweden, I marvelled at the clear distinction between seasons: leaving you in no doubt where you are and what to expect. This was early April and the locals were excited at the advent of spring. I have been to in January (-25 deg), Mauritius in December +(36 deg) and even Madrid in springtime (sunny mild days) – but this was the first time that I had been so far north and experienced the change of season so dramatically.

We stepped out in 2 degree, bright sunshine and clear blue sky - “A good day for a funeral!” as a British friend remarked. My African self was warmly wrapped up in a winter coat and boots. Bright yellow daffodils bravely pushed their faces up out of the cold, hard earth, heralding the spring.

daffodils in Mariefred - April 2008

This time when I go, I am looking forward to the bonfire held on the last day of April. All the leaves are gathered and set alight – bidding the winter farewell once and for all and making way for warmer weather. It occurs to me that we may be more affected by the weather than we think. As a Swedish friend has observed to me recently: the Swedish way is to gather all the information so that plans can be made;  in South Africa we tend to wait and see what happens.