Tomatoes!

Bruce invited us to a tomato tasting ceremony at his home.  These were gorgeous, home grown tomatoes, grown from seeds which he ordered from America, different varieties, big, small, deep dark red ones and pinkish ones that looked almost artificial, knobbly ones and smooth round ones. 

Bruce is a perfectionist and the tasting ceremony was beautifully presented with attention to detail - bread and cheese locally made on Imhoff's Gift farm, the tomatoes labelled so that we could try out the different varieties.  There was something about their ripeness and roundness that made one want to savour every aspect of it.  The tomatoes go really well with cheese and spring onions and olive oil, but to experience each one's individual flavour and texture, it was best to taste it on its own.  The names were poetic - Plack Prince, Black Russian, Marglobe - and we feasted on the unusual shades and shapes.  All our senses were involved - it was one of those perfect evenings after a hot day, still, with only the sounds of waves breaking on the beach and people talking and laughing in comfortable togetherness.  The moon was hanging above the horizon before dipping into the Atlantic, a yellow sickle with the faint outlaine of the rest of the bubble visible.

Patrick enjoys his tomatoes fried with a little garlic and herbs in butter, eaten on toast, but Bruce reckons that the subtle flavours get lost when cooked.  I've been using our home grown tomatoes in stews and pasta dishes - they are delicious no matter how you prepare them, and not as acidic as the ones we buy at the shop.  Here are some pictures of our evening.

Heat wave

This has been our third day of temperatures over 30 degrees Celsius, and no southeaster to relieve this.  Despite the cold Atlantic water, hundreds of people went for dip throughout the day.  The plants are looking droopy by the end of the day, except for the indigenous milkwoods with their waxy leaves that retain moisture.  We have a Mediterranean climate, with winter rains, so it's dry here in Cape Town despite all the welcome rain in the rest of the country, where the dams are full.  The drought in Beafort West and George was also broken, to everyone's relief.  For a few weeks motorists from other towns were encouraged to take bottled water to Beaufort West when they drive through (it's situated on the N1 highway from Cape Town to Johannesburg).

There is test cricket on at Newlands between India and South Africa, and I feel so sorry for the poor guys who have to be out on the pitch for hours on end without any shade.  We did well though, and might be able to win the match.

Sunset from the block house

There is a derelict block house on Slangkop mountain, which was built by the British during the Second World War.  It offers a stunning view over the Atlantic, and makes a perfect setting for watching the sun set.  It really looks as if the sun just melts into the sea and one sits for a while, not quite believing that this means that the day is over.  That's where everyone is off to now - Patrick, Sarah and Gabriel, and his sisters Cara and Nuala and Tessa.  There is a little contour path from the road up to the block house, and I like to imagine the soldiers walking up and down, perhaps on their way to the hotel for a drink on their day off.  I wonder whether any of the older residents remember the soldiers in the village.  I'll ask Hester Louw next time I see her - she's 80 and grew up in Hout Bay (the fishing village across Chapman's Bay). 

I made pancakes for them to snack on up there, with some wine and juice, and remember when we went up there with the late Father Smeets, the Catholic priest who married us and who was the prior at the local monastery.  Wine and sunsets and memories...

The attic as it is now

The attic renovation project has really taken hold of me. It is a wonderful space and could be used for a range of purposes, but the idea of making it available as holiday accommodation for people to visit from all over the world so that they can get to experience our beautiful spot in Africa is definitely most appealing. People could choose whether to combine their stay with healing sessions, or good local food or sightseeing, at reasonable rates rather than the ridiculous fees asked by those in the hospitality industry. This is what the attic looks like from the outside at present, but I want these windows replaced by French doors that open up onto a wooden deck.

From the inside, it looks like this - it has been used for storing stuff, such as Timothy's motorbike, and for the cats to live in.

So you can see that lots could be done to improve matters - all I need is a bit of manpower and some capital.

New Year 2011

It's just irresistable - whenever it gets round to the 1st of January, I have this urge to plan and organise. It's like starting a new exercise book at school, all clean pages unblemished by the teachers' disapproving red ink, and you have that feeling of new beginnings.

We woke up to a gentle rain this morning and I dashed out to feed the hens before they could wake the neighbours with their loud demands. It's been dry this summer with warnings of fire threats, so rain was really welcome. The sky has cleared since, and it is now after lunch and the sky is deep blue and there is no wind. The picture is of Longbeach, looking towards the north, with a view of the back of Table Mountain (that flat bit of mountain sticking out).

My greatest desire this year is to renovate our attic space. It is about 11 by 3 metres, and has 3 windows and a toilet, and has been unused for years, but it could be made really beautiful, with a wooden deck and a bathroom and kitchen space, so that it forms a self contained flat. I haven't asked anyone for a cost estimate yet, but it will probably cost about $30 000 to transform this into a cosy apartment. Now I reckoned that if I could find 300 people who could each contribute $100 towards this project, in exchange for a week's stay in the attic once it's been renovated, it would be quite an interesting project. You'd be able to view the progress on the blog site and book your week in advance. That way we would meet new people and you would be able to see a bit of South Africa. Anyone interested?

An Introduction

I live in the south of South Africa, which means that if you looked at a map of Africa, you'd find me on the little willy at the very bottom of the continent. My village is called Kommetjie, which is an Afrikaans word meaning "Little Bowl" and refers to the tidal pool here, where people came for picnics and summer holidays more than a hundred years ago, before there were any houses or even any roads here. It is so far south that there's only about ten kilometres between the west and the east coast of the peninsula, and air conditioned tour buses go past on their way to Cape Point, which is about as far south as you can go, unless you fly or sail of course.

There are only about three thousand people living in Kommetjie and most of us know one another, or else we know of one another, especially when you've been here for the past twenty-eight years, as we have. Most of us like to potter along, some like surfing; some live here and work in Cape Town and are relieved to get back at the end of the day, with a cool breeze in your face and a gin and tonic in your hand. From time to time developers drool when they see the white beach and clear water, with a view of Table Mountain's backside, and they come up with plans of boutique hotels or supermarkets, but they usually meet with a lot of resistance from us, because most of us came here to get away from all those things.

I live with Patrick, who's my husband, and Gabriel, the last of my offspring. Lily is supposed to be Gabriel's dog, but we have a close bond, seeing that we spend a lot of time together while he is at school and Patrick at work. The cats usually keep to the attic because they dislike Lily intensely. There are four of them, with Lisa being the oldest and almost toothless, so we have to feed her separately on soft stuff. Aristotle is the youngest and the fattest and the only male. There is also my mom, in her flat which used to be the old garage. She is eighty-seven and very thin but fiercely independent. She grows flowers in pots and wages her own private war against snails and bugs that eat the tomatoes and green beans.

Now the thing about village life is that it appears to be quiet and boring to outsiders who just glance at it, but there is always something interesting once you pause for long enough. This is what this blog site is about - giving you a glimpse at what life is like here.