Taste with your Eyes!

Surprise: an emotion that occurs when something breaks our habitual pattern.

On Friday we were indeed surprised and out of our regular routine of downing tools after a busy week ready for pizza in front of the television. We had booked in at Le Quartier Francais for dinner in their Tasting Room and were spending the night. We were joined by Swedish family friends.

The Tasting Room is regarded as one of the best restaurants in SA and we were looking forward to seeing just what it was that made them so great. We were in for an eating experience. The décor is quite funky, punctuated with flashes of bright pink and orange, but with a classic feel. The quote above was set on the table in front of us.

We chose the seven-course, African-inspired tasting menu. Each course was explained as it was set in front of us. Our waiter entertained us with little anecdotes about ingredients like buchu, baobab and biltong. The first serving of corn bread in a pilchards tin, accompanied by butter with caramelised milk solids, caused one of our friends to exclaim, “Taste with your eyes!” and that pretty much set the scene for what was to follow.

We enjoyed course after course of colourful dishes imaginatively presented on boards, different plates, and even a strip of slate. The surprise was definitely in the tasting – beetroot-red crispy looking balls dissolved in our mouths to reveal an unexpectedly soft and creamy centre; a cigar of avocado and shrimp which looked like it was encased in seaweed, splintered when we bit into it.

This was an exercise in mindfulness – we paused between courses to prepare for what was coming, delighted in the presentation, taste and smell of it and discussed the sensations which were being stimulated. We could hardly believe that 5 hours had passed. We had eaten well, but not over-eaten and dinner had been an experience to savour. Well done, chef Margot Janse van Rensburg!

To 120!

When I woke up yesterday morning I wanted to give myself a hug to seal in all the good vibrations. I felt like a child who did not want her birthday to end. As I lay in bed I replayed the events of the night before - I had the best celebration ever – great food, great company and great music.

The occasion was a BIG birthday which deserved to be celebrated.  More than the celebration was the opportunity to thank all the many people who have supported me and kept me sane on the journey through life. Leading up to the event I had spent a lot of time thinking about who would be coming and what they meant in my life. I also wanted them to all connect with each other.

The people gathered there represented every stage of my life from student to mother and wife, and all my varied interests from yoga and meditation to Spanish, children’s rights and writing.  It was quite an international gathering, representing 12 different countries and what a privilege to be able to celebrate with all of them.

The cherry on top of this was that the Delft Band was playing – I am immensely proud of them and of their hard work and perseverance to make something of their lives despite the circumstances they find themselves in. The perfect gifts for me were to have my friends support this project.

I feel like the cat who got all the cream – I walked around I spoke to everyone who was there, and maybe I am imagining it, but the room was buzzing with good energy, accompanied by the jazz rhythms! It was a warm and festive occasion and I look forward to the next years, although perhaps not quite “to 120” – which is a blessing I got from one of my Jewish friends. 

You can't teach them anything....

You can’t protect them from everything, I have realised. I heaved a sigh of relief when my son chose hockey over rugby. Every time I hear about broken forearms and collar bones or horror of horrors, neck injuries and concussion, I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to worry about that. And then he does a 100m sprint and next thing, something “pops” in his hip.

Orthopaedic surgeon, X-rays, MRI scan, ice and physiotherapy later, we now face two months of no sport (any suggestions for channelling the energy of a 15 year old welcome).  He has been on crutches for the last two weeks and I can see him getting fed up. They are a hindrance when he quickly wants to do something or go somewhere.  My reminders about preventing problems later by being patient now, fall on deaf ears.

I suggested to him that sometimes things happen for a reason. “You are probably going to tell me the reason,” he replied. I thought that perhaps the lesson to be learnt is that he should be more flexible, take time to stretch, rather than to be in dogged pursuit of the goal. He rolled his eyes in response. You reach the stage where you can’t teach them anything either. 

420s and Spinnaker Poles

I was just getting my head around words like Hobie, Laser, Dabchick, Oppie and Dragoon, when suddenly I was on the phone trying to find a spinnaker pole. After a few calls (because everything shuts down in Cape Town early December) I finally managed to get hold of one. The woman on the other side of the phone was asking me how I would be collecting it. I opened and shut my mouth a few times not knowing what exactly she was asking me and then risked showing my ignorance by asking, “What exactly do you mean by that?” imagining having to hire a trailer to transport this pole.

All she meant was that she was in Zeekoevlei and that the pole was needed in Hermanus which was a good hour and a half away. That was the least of my worries. Talk about things we do for our kids? I was being “ground crew” to Angelique’s managing role. Our sons, after barely a few months of sailing (a 420), had decided to enter the SA Youth Nationals which was taking place over the first week of the holidays. 

Much to my dismay, I had discovered (via Angelique) that we were expected to accompany them. I had just about caught my breath after matric exams and was facing a very busy silly season week. The last thing I needed was to spend a week away from home. Luckily, Angelique was prepared to stay there with me coming and going when I could. We had realised that this would be a make or break week for them and sailing ...either they were going to be put off or this would be the start of a lifelong love affair.

It was not an easy week. There were two days of howling winds and one day of sailing had to be cancelled, but our sons battled on.  It was on one of those bad-weather days (when most competitors had opted out) that they had capsized the boat and lost the pole. At the end of the week, sporting sunburn and minor injuries, they came in 12^th out of 14 boats in their section. Tired, but proud, they declared: “At least we didn’t come last!” So it looks like we’ll soon be pencilling in the dates for next year’s race...

Tea with Madiba

“Let the beautiful ladies step forward,” he says as we quietly enter the room behind my husband. It breaks the ice a little. I had been so looking forward to this but too scared to jinx it by getting excited or even telling too many people. Right up to the last minute I had thought it was not going to happen. What if he wasn’t feeling well? One hears so many different stories. But yes, we were being ushered in to see Madiba, and my daughter and I were the beautiful ladies he was talking about.

There he was, the most famous grandpa in the world. He was having a good day and was happy to receive visitors. He was sitting up with a blanket around his knees, catching up with the newspapers. (Was that the Afrikaans newspaper I spied on his lap?)

We had travelled through green countryside under rainy skies past villages with vegetable patches and goats and sheep outside their little thatched huts. It was like we were travelling back in time. We had passed through busy towns like Butterworth, where people snaked around the corner waiting to withdraw their hard-earned money from the cash machines for Christmas. And then for the best Christmas present ever...tea with Madiba.

What a journey from Mvezo/Qunu to Johannesburg, to Robben Island and the world, from herd boy to President.  And now back in Qunu. Last year after being very sick he decided that it was time to go home. Home is Qunu, the village in the Eastern Cape where he grew up, right next door to Mvezo the very rural village where he was born. It’s a peaceful place, and after almost 93 years, he deserves it.

I was a little sad to see him so “old”. In my mind he is eternal, like a shining beacon to all of us, and to the world. But right next door is a little baby who long after Madiba is gone will be chief of the Thembu. When Madiba plays with him as he does every day he must think of the future and delight in the possibilities.

Everyone wants to know what it was like, what he said – but it was more about just being there. It was like sitting down with our grandpa who was worried about why it was taking so long for us to be served our tea and whether the table was close enough to my husband, and smiling to himself when he saw how much my son had grown since the last time he had seen him. And he is still very charming...

Heavenly Massage

I am drifting off far away. Thoughts of a to-do list enter my mind and then float away as if they are getting the message: “do not disturb”. Something heavenly is happening on my forehead – it feels like someone is very gently stroking my hair, soothing my forehead and inviting me into a state of pure bliss.

Before that my body had been rhythmically stroked with warm oil by two pairs of hands, working in perfect synchronisation. Then I had been covered with a towel and a mask placed over my eyes.  A steady stream of warm oil was slowly trickled over my forehead and allowed to run through my hair.

I was being treated to an Abhydara massage, a combination of Abhyanga and Shirodhara. The treatments are part of Ayurvedic treatment. Ayurveda is the 5 000 year-old Indian holistic healing system which literally means “the science of life”. Body, mind and soul are treated to bring about a state of health and wellbeing.

Ayurveda encompasses diet, yoga, meditation and breathing. And then there is the massage...Abhyanga and Shirodhara are just two of the techniques. Abhyanga is designed to release toxins and improve circulation and is done by two people working in together on your body, covering it from toe to head. Shirodhara involves the pouring of a continuous stream of oil on the forehead. It is useful for insomnia, anxiety. It induces a feeling of deep relaxation.

The treatment had started with a short prayer, my feet were bathed and then my head and neck massaged before I was laid down onto the bed for the full body massage. At the end of the treatment, I was invited to “take steam”. This was followed by a shower using a mixture made with chickpea flour to absorb some of the oil. As I patted my skin dry, I felt like I had been massaged inside and out.  

Afterwards, I was left alone to sip my ginger tea and bask in the afterglow of the treatment. I could get used to this...

Keeping the Perspective

In many ways matric exams are the most important academic exams that students will write, determining their future study and job options. But I do agree with my friend, Mary, from Canada, who commented on the overwhelming importance matric exams seem to have in SA. She said that all around the world children write final school exams, they pass or they fail, and life goes on.

Here the whole country seems to be geared towards it – you can’t switch on the radio or open the newspaper without hearing or reading about the impending exams. The daily newspaper features interviews with learners about how they found each examination paper. There are advice columns in the newspaper about how to cope with stress, including suicide help lines. No one should have to want to kill themselves because of an exam.

A few weeks later the results get published in the newspapers and the whole country knows not only whether you passed or not, but how well you did. And then the post-mortems start - the comparisons and the laying of blame.  The next year it starts up all over again.

I found myself getting caught up in the hype. “Has she ever failed an exam?” asked Mary. The answer is no. And it is no for most of them. So why all the angst?

This year the matrics could go to their schools the day before the newspapers published the results, to see how they did before the whole country sees it. Hopefully this will be the start of changes to take some of the pressure off the matriculants. While school exams are hard, life exams can be harder. Let’s keep the perspective.