Day 24 Bear Country to DC 23.9.2010

After the Maid of the Mist, we travelled onto Bear Country, Pennsylvania. Scott stopped at a gas station for a quick break where I bought a book about the Amish. I started to read it when we got back in the van. Tracy was sitting next to me and was full to the brim with questions about the Amish. I gave Tracy the limited information I knew about the Amish from watching documentaries on Channel 4. Then, like a mother and child, we went through my little book together. Sporadically, we would look out the window in the hope that we would see some Amish people in a buggie or working in the fields.

There were no visible bears in Bear Country last night. They must be on their holidays. After setting up camp, Rachel discovered we were running low on booze. Scott and the lads said they would go to the liquor store to get some. Nicki jumped into the van with them, delighted to have the lads to herself. When they returned, Nicki rushed from the van into her tent in a temper. The lads filed out of the van, red in the face from trying to keep their giggles in. The rest of us were intrigued and asked what had happened.

While in the van, the subject of Nicki’s current boyfriend arose, which apparently she had brought up herself. She proceeded to ask the lads on tour for advice.

“We’ve been going out for 5 months and we have played around with each other but still haven’t had full blown sex! Why do you think that is?”

Now, a girl’s answer to that question would have been something along the lines of “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure he had such strong feelings for you and respects you a lot so he wants to wait for the right time. He probably wants to get to know you as a person first before embarking on the physical side”.

Men are a bit blunter in their answering. Scott’s reply was “Cos he’s gay, he’s a poof!” The other lads started to laugh adding their two cents worth to the discussion.

“Maybe he’s got the clap and has to wait 6 weeks for it to clear up before he dips the nib in ya Nicki!”

Now, in my opinion, she was asking for a gruelling response. She brought up the conversation herself and should have prepared herself for the slagging that would ensue. Instead of taking it on the chin, she stormed off to her tent in tears. Jeong and Jai went to check if she was alright. I don’t think they fully understood what had actually happened because they came back to say Nicki said she was homesick. She was only away from home for a week! The lads were dumbfounded and it was obvious by their expressions that they honestly didn’t mean to upset her. They thought she could take the banter. In true male style, the lads sent all us girls to stop her crying. I was confused

“Why do we have to check on her when you guys were the ones who made her cry?”

The response from Roy was quick, “Because what are we going to say to her? We’ll only make it worse. We’ll get to the tent and not know what to say and look like weirdos! When she’s stopped crying, tell us and we’ll come over”.

After convincing Nicki that men are thick and that the lads didn’t mean to upset her, they are just stupid, we gave the signal to come over. Roy came to the entrance of Nicki’s tent and encouraged her to join the party by enticing her out with a bottle of wine. She came out, face tearstained and the lads all gave her a bear hug and a thump on the back. Drama over, we all got pissed!

This morning, we drove to Washington DC. It is so warm here. I don’t think I will need to sleep in the sleeping bag tonight. And there are bloody mosquitos everywhere! Flippin’ hell! Can’t Barack do something about the pests in DC? He lives on Pennsylvania Avenue! We went to see the White House this evening, all lit up in the dark. My fifth class primary school teacher told me that the White House was designed to look like Aras an Uachtarain, the Irish president’s house in the Phoenix Park in Dublin. That was my interesting fact for the day for Tracy.

I reckon the night time is the best time to see the Washington monument and the war memorials. It’s more emotive than seeing the sights in the day time. The lavishly decorated buildings in Washington DC echo the size, strength, prominence and self-confidence of the United States of America whilst the war memorials stand for the ordinary American whose individual voice isn’t heard but it is these everyday people who have built and defended their great nation. I wrote down a great quote that was on one of the memorials which explains more eloquently what I mean.

“The world will take little note nor long remember what we say here but it can never forget what they did here”.

After exploring the memorials, we went to see good old Abe Lincoln. That is such an awesome statue. I wish there was such a thing as magical fairies and one of them had been on our trip and cast a spell to make Mr Lincoln stand up. Wouldn’t that be great? You’d need a fairly good panoramic lense to get a photo of the two of you together to send to your Mammy.

Day 23 Maid of the Mist 22.9.2010

What an awesome day! We “explored the roar” of Niagara Falls on the “Maid of the mist”. Before we got on the boat, we were given blue plastic ponchos. Looking like extras from the Daft Punk video to “Around the world”, we waited excitedly to get on the vessel.

Niagara Falls is in a Horseshoe shape. The Maid of the mist sailed towards the centre of the falls. The water thundered down so ferociously that we all got absolutely drenched. The ponchos were no help! As water splashed in our eyes, Kobus and I laughed heartily and wobbled from side to side as the boat cruised along under the spray from the falls. Photos we took of each other look like we were in a fish bowl because the lens was covered with droplets.

Other “Maid of the mist” vessels were also discovering the Falls up close. The boats were full of screaming blue smurfs. It was the most touristic sight I had ever seen! I love being a tourist. My feeling is that I am contributing to the economy of the country I am in while not having to do a lot of organising to get from point A to point B. These eejits who ramble on about travelling really get on my tits.

“Yaw, like, you really have to get off the beaten track and get to know the locals to really understand a place. Otherwise you haven’t really travelled!”

What nonsense! Firstly, the reason there is a track that is not beaten is because there is probably feck all on it of any interest, and if there is, maybe the locals want to keep it for themselves which they are entitled to. Secondly, locals have their own day to day business to be getting on with, children to get to school, chores to do; they hardly want to have a philosophical conversation with some pale, spotty gap year student for half an hour. I’m sure if the BBC sent someone with a chequebook and a camera to the town the locals would be very accommodating. Thirdly, what’s wrong with being a normal tourist and doing normal, fun things? Why does every experience in life have to be mind-blowing? Surely that would be too exhausting?

Day 22 Niagara Falls 21.9.2010

Day 22 Niagara Falls 21.9.2010

Oh, my fuckin’ head!!!!! I was as sick as a dog this morning after last night’s drinking. We spent hours in the van today as we headed towards Niagara Falls. I wasn’t much fun on the bus. I made sure I bagged a window seat for the journey. I put my pillow against the window and rested my big fat hungover head against it and went for a nap. When Scott stopped the van for a break and a leg stretch, I woke myself with a loud snort and was mortified when I realised I had drooled all over my pillow. Hopefully no one noticed.

I spent the rest of the trip awake, taking notes of the things I saw as I looked out the window. I saw approximately seven trillion pumpkins along the road, in peoples’ gardens, hanging from lamp-posts, they were everywhere. The Yanks love Halloween! Scott told me it is considered to be the biggest holiday of the year in the States. I’m not sure if he was teasing me or not. The Halloween mania didn’t stop at pumpkins. Witches, ghosts and goblins adorned every shop window and every door of every house. It was freaky! I hate Halloween! Why would anyone want to be scared intentionally? That’s stupid! Maybe I am a bit of a wimp? I never liked ghost stories as a child and I detest horror films. Also, I always thought Halloween was a Celtic festival that recognised the end of the summer. I’m sure I learnt that in school. Now, instead of offering thanks to the pagan gods or whatever the Celts did, we stick our heads in a baby bath full of bobbing apples and try and fish a penny out of a plate of flour with our hands tied behind our backs! Halloween me arse! It’s another commercialised day. I bet Walt Disney invented Halloween and made a mint from it.

We also saw a car full of Mormons on the highway. Their badges were visible across three lanes of traffic. Rachel tried to get them to pull over by gesturing out the passenger window. We were all waving and smiling at them, thinking it would be nice for them to get some positive attention. After all, most people ignore them on the street when the Mormons try to talk to them. Our Mormon friends ignored us. That must be a first, being ignored by Mormons?

I noticed one other odd thing today that made me giggle. I took a photo of it because I couldn’t write fast enough. A van passed with a zillion stickers stuck to the back window. The stickers read “Alien hunter”; “Conspiratologist”; “2012 prepare for contact”; “Bigfoot lives”. Not too weird I hear you say. The guy is into science fiction maybe? What made me giggle was that tucked among the X-file type stickers were others that read “easy tai chi”; “thoughts become things”; “a reiki healer drives this vehicle”.

We reached the town of Niagara in the late afternoon. Our campsite was outside the town and had beautiful views of Lake Ontario. Once parked, everyone fell excitedly out of Sheila and raced to the lake’s edge.

“Is that Canada over there?”,asked Tracy.

Squinting and staring like an old lady, I could just about make out the Toronto skyline. Cameras were thrown by the girls to the lads, the girls yelling “Take a pic of us with Canada in the background! Make sure you get Canada in!”

After the photo shoot, we pitched out tents. The weather was clement so it was enjoyable putting the tent up with Kobus. We laughed and giggled at each other as we battled with the tent poles. I’d pick one up and another would fall down. You wouldn’t see it in a silent Charlie Chaplin movie!

For dinner, the lads decided to do a barbeque. The men prepared the meat and congregated around the fire pit like cavemen. They spoke for 15 minutes about how best to arrange the coal for the barbeque. Then, they decided what meat should be cooked first, what meat should be placed where on the grille to ensure even cooking, it was hilarious to watch. Some of us girls sat at a nearby picnic table preparing the salad and bread. Verity and I were teaching Jai, Jeong and Momo the names of the different food on the table in English. Likewise, they taught us the words of the items in their mother tongues. I can honestly say that I can’t remember the Japanese or Korean words for salt, butter, peppers, lettuce and bread but it was funny listening to everyone try and pronounce words in a language that was totally foreign to them.

During our linguistic lesson, I noticed that Nicki and Tracy were sitting on the grass by themselves chatting. I glanced over and saw Tracy gesturing to me with her eyes to come over. I went over and asked what they were talking about.

“Threesomes! Nicki’s talking about threesomes!” yelled Tracy.

Oh my! I thought.

“How did that come up in conversation?” I asked.

“Well”, chirped Nicki, “Tracy was just telling me about her wonderful new boyfriend and I asked her if she had ever considered a threesome?” Nicki gazed at me with a huge moronic grin on her face, waiting for me to reply.

“Well, ummm, I don’t know! Emmm! Well, I would imagine that one’s curiosity about such a, em, task, might make one think they would like have a threesome but when push came to shove, if the moment arrived for me, I don’t think I could do it!”

Oh God! How embarrassing!

“Well, I can tell you Loren that you would be fine. My first time, I had no problem being with another woman and my boyfriend. I really had no problem going down there!”

Tracy spluttered Sprite all over herself. I was gobsmacked. I really didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Scott called us over for food so the conversation was cut short.

After dinner, we cleared up and hopped into Sheila to go see Niagara Falls at night. The Falls weren’t as tall as I had imagined but they were still very impressive. Watching and listening to the water thunder from the falls was amazing. On the US side, we watched the water and took some photographs at Prospect Point Park. It was decided that we would go across the bridge into Canada to view the Falls from Toronto. I was really disappointed to leave Kobus behind in the US. He didn’t have a Canadian visa so he couldn’t come. In jest, I pretended we were being torn apart against our will.

“Goodbye my love! I will think of you every day. One day, you will come to Canada to be with me. We shall make snow angels then retire to our log cabin to listen to Joni Mitchell and eat chowder!”

Kobus looked at Scott who had decided he had seen the Falls from Canada plenty of times and was going to stay behind.

“Scott, let’s go for a pint! Loren, you’re a loony my girl!”

I grinned at his dry wit and trundled across the bridge with everyone else. After passing passport control, where I had been asked by the officer about every stamp in my passport, we ventured along the street, past the Hard Rock Café, a bunch of casinos and a zillion souvenir shops. I decided to get Kobus a souvenir magnet from my hour long trip to Canada. I wanted him to know I had been thinking of him.

Americans told me that the best view of the Falls is from the US whereas Canadians told me it was from their side. Well, in my opinion, they are both wrong. The best view is from the middle of the bridge connecting the US to Canada over the river. I took a nice photo of the Falls with the lights of the CN Tower and the casinos on the right and the contrasting dim lit Prospect Park on the left.

I was nervous going back to the States because I had been interrogated by the Canadian border official. I thought they would be far stricter at the US border. I had nothing to hide but officials make me nervous. After paying 50 cents to get back into the States, yes, you have to pay to walk back into the country, I was greeted by a smiling man who took my passport and welcomed me to America.

“Oh you’re Irish! That’s great!”

“It is!” I said and smiled back at him.

What a lovely man!

Kobus was waiting with Scott. I thought he would have at least made a welcome back sign for me and greeted me with a rose in his teeth but no, I got nothing of the sort. Men!

Day 21 Boston to the Berkshire mountains 20.9.2010

I don’t know what to make of Nicki. I think she might be a giant pain in the backside! The nanosecond I met her I thought “here is the weak link in the group! Here is the itch that can’t be scratched!” She seemed bright and bubbly and up for a good time at first but I get the feeling that she has low self-esteem and tries too hard. I know that sounds harsh but I think I have reason to think this way. Last night, we all stayed at the Hostel International in Boston. Trek America had booked three rooms, one male dorm, one female dorm and one mixed dorm. Because Kobus and I are married, we went into the mixed dorm. Rachel, Tracy and Nicki also stayed in the mixed dorm with us. Jokes were banded about regarding Kobus’ new pimp status as the only male in the room with his bitches. I’m an easy going woman so I found these jokes quite funny, actually I had instigated them. That night, Nicki paraded around the room in her t-shirt and a thong! Kobus nearly spontaneously combusted, “Ja, eh, I’m going to go find the lads”. My mouth was wide open, jaw trailing along the carpet as I turned to avert my eyes. Rachel was also taken aback,

“Jeez Nicki! Isn’t it a bit drafty down there?”

I really like Rachel. She is a 26 year old, porcelain skinned, strawberry blonde haired beauty. Her beauty is somewhat disguised by her boyish and crass behaviour but I liked her the second I met her. I admire her “get on with it / fuck off out of my face you annoying cow” attitude that sprinkles her fun loving, easy going persona.

Tracy and I have also hit it off straight away despite our eight year age gap. I know 8 years isn’t a long time but there is a profound difference between an average 21 year old and an average 29 year old. When I was 21, I was only interested in having fun with my friends and I believed the sun rotated around my own arse. Tracy works in a dispensary in a hospital. Before that she was a holiday rep in Ibiza. She’s really independent and confident for such a young girl. She’s cool. I think she likes me too. Yesterday while we walked the Freedom Trail, she told me that she was going to adopt me as an older sister for the week and ask me questions. She reckons I am the most intelligent person in the group because I was reading the guide book about Boston as we were wandering around. In fairness, she’s probably right about that.

This morning, we all went on the Harvard or “Hahvahd” tour. Bostonian’s can’t pronounce the letter “r”. I assume this is because they are mainly of Irish descent. I was excited about the “Hahvahd” tour. I am a bit of a nerd! My mother said that when I was about six I’d bounce around every time we passed the University in Cork, proclaiming that one day I would go to school there.  So I nearly wet my knickers at the thought of visiting Harvard. Two students called Colin and Martha brought us on the tour. Both donned maroon university t-shirts and straw bashers. Colin stood on a crate at the Porceillian Gate outside the University and told us to do the “primal scream”. It’s not the real Harvard “primal scream” where the students streak through the University before final exams while onlookers shriek at the exposed “franks and beans” that are shrivelling in the midnight air. We kept our clothes on. No wonder taxpayers hate students!

The tour was good fun. It’s obviously scripted. Colin and Martha bounced along the footpath while dramatically and humorously recalling the history of Harvard. I wonder do they ever get sick of telling the same jokes?

When we got to the statue of who I thought was John Harvard, the first benefactor of the university, I ran up to it, instructing Kobus to take a photo of me rubbing his foot. I had seen other tourists do it so I thought I might as well do it too. Colin was soon to make an example of me. Apparently many of the students piss on the shoe of the statue, which may not even be John Harvard since according to Colin the statue’s sculptor didn’t know what he actually looked like. After swiftly removing my hand from the pissy shoe, I scrambled around in my bag looking for hand sanitizer while Rachel and Kobus broke down laughing.

After the Harvard tour, we had a little wander around Boston, stopping at the Cheers bar for a photo and a quick beverage. The people are not very friendly here! I thought when we went into a coffee shop to get a tea and the famous Chocolate chip cookies we would be greeted with at least “hello” and a smile. All we keep getting from people are grunts and funny stares! I’m not impressed! And it’s such a shame because it’s such a beautiful place. There are lovely green areas, lots of museums and old buildings. And there are loads of bookshops! Aesthetically it’s heavenly. Socially, it’s moronic! Kobus and I won’t be living here after our trip I can tell you!

At about 3pm, we all clamboured into Sheila and headed towards the Berkshire mountains in Western Massachusetts for our first night of camping. We pitched our tents in the forest. Our little village of tents was surrounded by tall trees tucked within the mountain ranges. The stars glistened overhead as we made dinner and drank cheap booze to keep warm. It was bloody freezing! I think I had every scrap of clothing on me that I had brought for the trip. Wearing two pairs of woolie gloves, I clutched my plastic cup of warm wine. I reckoned I should just get a little tipsy before bedtime to help me sleep. What a fine idea Loren! After a cup and a half of wine, I was drunk! So was everyone else! When Rachel suggested we go look for bears, Scott’s eyes widened in horror. He tried to persuade us to go to bed but we all laughed at him. Except Jai, she didn’t really understand what was happening so Verity decided to sign language what Rachel had been trying to say. Being a drama student, her impression of a bear growling frightened Jai so much, she shrieked at Jeong and uttered something in Korean before fleeing to her tent. Jeong giggled as she dashed after her while attempting to explain to Jai that she wasn’t in danger.

The rest of us ventured to bed after midnight. Kobus and I had lined our suit cases on the side of the tent that we thought the wind was hitting in order to provide insulation while we slept. I crawled into my sleeping bag. The sleeping bags we had bought were the cheapest in the store so they were no good at keeping out the cold. Another lesson learnt! You get what you pay for! I pulled the hood of my sleeping bag over my head and zipped the bag right up so only my eyes were visible. Perished by the cold, I lay on the ground listening to Kobus snore and fart through the night. I thought morning would never come. As I lay in silence, my imagination started to run wild. What if I needed to wee in the night and a bear came and ate me? I would just have to hold on until morning!

Day 20 Freedom Trail begins - Boston 19.9.2010

Our East coast tour began today. Our first excursion is a camping trip called "The Freedom Trail" tour with a company called Trek America.

The tour began in New Jersey, home of the Guido! I’ve never heard that word before but it’s been banded about since the launch of “Jerseylicious”, “Jersey Shore” and the like. We met our tour leader, Scott Liebermann, a 23 year old, 5 foot five dude with Shirley Temple curls from Baltimore. Scott seems to be having a love affair with life. He studied PR and communications in university, was offered a job in a bank with a starting salary of $35,000 but turned it down to bring the under 30's from around the world on trips around America. Good move I thought. He has his whole life to be grown up and responsible. Now is the time for fun.

At 7 am, we congregated in a conference room in the Hotel Inn Harmon Meadow, New Jersey. The room was filled with backpackers from various places around the globe. I was a little overwhelmed. Lots of the people were recalling tales of their previous foreign adventures and I didn’t have anything to say.

The first couple of minutes, the tales were interesting. But I have to be honest, after a while, I started to get bored! I started a conversation with a girl called Janice from New Zealand. I made the mistake of telling Janice that New Zealand was one of the places on our itinerary. Oh Jesus! The next 20 minutes saw Janice going through the main tourist attractions from the North Island to the South Island in minute detail. I nodded, ummed and ahhed and ooohed, eyes glazed over, hoping the fire alarm would go off so I could escape the geography lesson. Then Scott walked in and I was saved.

"Hey guys! It's early; I'm tired so please forgive me if I'm not making sense. Welcome to Trek America! Could everyone on the Freedom Trail tour come to my side of the room? The rest of you guys are on the 45 day cross country tour with another guide so can you guys go to the other side of the room."

Janice went to the other side of the room! Phew! She started chewing the ear off a girl called Ann I had met at breakfast. I guess over 45 days crossing North America would give her ample time to explain in detail the many countries she had visited!

There were twelve people on the trip. Kobus, me, Verity, a drama student from Liverpool, Rachel from Australia, she was really friendly. She sat next to me while we waited for Scott to organise himself. She asked me how long I was in the States for. When I started to tell her about our trip, I began feeling a little embarrassed, worrying I was going to sound like a spoilt brat but she was really interested and enthusiastic about it. There was Tracy, a 21 year old beauty from Manchester, Nicki, a law student from Birmingham, Jeong, an eccentric Korean girl who wore two different colour dock martin boots, one green, one yellow, Momo, a petit doll-faced Japanese sweet-heart, Jai, she is also Korean. Her English wasn’t very good but I’m sure we will figure out a way of talking to her for the week. We can use sign language. Then, there was Sean, Roy and Eamonn, collectively known as "the lads".

The obligatory "getting to know each other" ritual followed (i.e. "Hi, My name is Loren and I decided to travel because I am a lazy bitch and hate working! And my husband spoils me rotten so when I forcefully suggested we leave our full time, well benefitted jobs and travel for five months, he said yes!” I didn't say that!)

After the formalities, we met Sheila, the A-Team style Ford van with matching trailer that was going to be our mode of transportation for the next seven days. Sheila's antenna was adorned by a rubber cactus called Carl who had pink sunglasses and a red neckerchief.

My leprechaun, Séamus, our cuddly, 15 cm travelling companion had found a friend! I bought Séamus for Kobus when I first started going out with him. I thought a leprechaun with a suction cup sewed to his head would look nice in his car. Kobus hated him from day one! I think it's because he's ginger! Anyway, I decided it would be humorous to bring Séamus on the trip and take photos of him in famous places and post them on Facebook. I was right! He's a hit on Facebook with my friends! Charming little fucker! Anyway, I digress!

We piled into the van and headed towards Boston. Beantown! Home of the Chocolate Chip Cookie! Site of the Freedom Trail! Origin of American Independence! After checking into our hostel, we sauntered off in the direction of Boston Common, passing an array of designer shops; odd little stores selling art work and rare old books. We passed one store with a sign saying "Chillin' with my gnomies" which made me giggle. We reached Boston Common and what a feast for the senses! Street performers glittered the park, young men playing baseball, converse trainers tied together by their laces and thrown over the branch of a tree, lovers gazing into each other’s eyes while lying tangled in the grass, families walking with their babies in prams, others rowing boats on the lake, religious fanatics preaching that if you did not come from a lineage of Negro, Puerto Rican, Chilean or Aboriginal blood lines you were going to burn in hell! This picture of diversity was framed by the changing leaves of the trees. It was awesome! 

 

Day 16 - 19 Thoughts in transit 15.9 - 18.9.2010

We left Johannesburg on Friday. We bade another tearful goodbye to Sonja and David. It’s always hard to say goodbye to family. We have a farewell system now, the rules of which are adhered to religiously every time we part. We get dropped at the airport door, everyone gets out of the car, a quick cuddle and a goodbye and straight to check in. There is no point in dragging it out, it makes it worse.

Today we fly to New York from Heathrow. I am very excited. I’ve never been to America. The USA – I often wonder if Robert Ripley ever had the idea of taking a picture of the USA from space and housing the photograph in his museum. Imagine an aerial photo of the States! I can see it now – lots of baseball parks, high-rise buildings, corn fields, Muscle Beach, the Grand old Opry and Pamela Anderson jugs, all visible from space.

Kobus and I are sitting in the airport. We are sitting opposite a family, Mum, Dad and three children. Children are annoying in any language. One of the kids is complaining in Spanish that she is too hot to her Mum. She’s repeated it about fifty fuckin’ times! Shut up child! Take off your jumper if you’re too hot! Also, why is her Mum ignoring her? By not responding to her stupid complaint, the rest of us have to endure her whining. I might throw my orange juice bottle at her child if she doesn’t stop complaining.

Oh good, we are boarding soon. I hope that family aren’t sitting near us!

Some time later:

I jinxed us! The complainer and her family are sitting right behind us on the plane and guess what, SHE’S FUCKIN’ HOT! I used to pride myself on being a patient person. Actually, maybe I’m not patient just internally violent. We are surrounded by children and babies. Crying, moaning, asking questions about seatbelt fastening, fidgeting and playing with the tray table! Although, there is a really cute little boy sitting in front of us. He just asked his Mum if he could see her credit card. Now he’s teaching his brother how to understand the safety instructions.

“It’s starting Michael. The plane’s starting. Put your seatbelt on! Put it on now!”

Ha! No, the plane is not starting. It’s being refuelled.

Note to self – When I have kids, their first holiday will be when they are 16! Food is coming soon. Will write later.

Later:

I was having a think about children while munching on my acrid excuse for a dinner. I like children. Really, I do! They are small and cute and have endless creativity and buckets of potential. Children have no fear which I admire. But I don’t think I want a child yet. At the ripe old age of 29 years and 5 months (I hope you noted the sarcasm!) many of my peers believe my womb is craving to be accommodated with the spawn of Kobus. They can fuck off! You should hear some of the shite I have to listen to.

“Oh, but Loren, the risks and complications of being an older mother! You would be silly not to consider them!”

“Do you really want to be old when your children are teenagers?”

I must point out that other people are not so nosey or opinionated. I am merely taking about the select few nincompoops who seem to be overly concerned with the reproductive systems of the newly married women of Western Europe. When the comments first started, I smiled nicely and sang romantically that one day the world would hear the dull thud of baby Venter feet. After a while, my responses became curt, sharp and short. Then, I started to lose my temper. When I started to lose my cool I thought it wise to get some medical information from my 70 year old male GP. What a legend!

“Loren, 35 is a fine age to have your first child. You could have a second when you are 37 if you wish. I assume you don’t want to have a football team my dear girl? The days of large Catholic families are long gone. It’s not a good idea to have a child if you are not ready. Don’t worry my girl! You may ignore the opinions of the medically uneducated.”

So, I took the great Doc’s advice. And here we are! On the way to the States!

Day 15 Clarens - The Jewel of the Free State 15.9.2010

We arrived in Clarens today. It’s a little town in the Free State Province close to the Golden Gate National Park and the Kingdom of Lesotho. On the way we drove through Lesotho and saw a few Basotho people walking on the road. They wore distinctive straw conical-shaped hats on their heads to protect them from the sun. The shape of the hat resembles the mountains is the Kingdom of Lesotho. They are really cool.

Clarens is an idyllic place. It’s a haven for writers, artists, poets, any type of creative creature. The main square is surrounded by boutique stores which sell beautiful furniture, paintings, candles and knick-knacks and books. I was in my element! I have a bit of a book buying problem. A lot of women can’t resist walking into a shoe shop and trying on a pair of shoes they don’t need and subsequently purchasing them. Other women are chocoholics. I can’t walk past a book shop without gasping in excitement and running towards the entrance. Second hand bookstores are my favourite. Finding an old gem that smells like an ancient dusty library book is such a pleasure. I like to pretend that I have found a treasure that is no longer published and one will be a collector’s item. Nerdy eh! There is a really cute bookshop called Bibliophile in Clarens. Much to Kobus disappointment, I found it and spent quite some time rummaging around. I finally settled on a book of fairytales based in Liechtenstein and a novel about a teenage mother.

We stayed in a little bed and breakfast called Rosewood Corner which was run by an elderly retired couple. Their garden was beautifully coloured with every type of fuchsia and rose imaginable. A brood of fat hens called the little garden home, along with a little terrier called Lily. Clarens was the perfect place to relax before we head back to Johannesburg, back to the crazy city.

In a few days we will be heading to America, land of all apples that are big, land of free speech, home of Disney, Sex and the City and the corndog. I can’t wait! It’s going to be brilliant!

Day 14 The fauna of Cape Vidal 14.9.2010

This is our third day in Cape Vidal. Sonja, David, Kobus and I said a tearful goodbye to Rolene and Daddy Venter at Umfolozi and headed to Cape Vidal. Cape Vidal is north east of St. Lucia, situated in the Isimangaliso Park in Kwazulunatal. We are staying in a cute little wooden cabin. It smells a bit musty but it makes me feel nostalgic. The smell reminds me of the holidays I took as a child with my family. We would spend two weeks every summer in a caravan by the beach in Ballyheigue, County Kerry. The caravan smelled of old socks and I, my parents and three younger brothers usually spent the time arguing in the cramped space while the famous Irish rain pelted on the roof, the wind shaking the caravan from side to side. Once the rain had eased, my mother hunted us out into the drizzle when she had enough of our complaining and fighting. We’d whinge and moan, saying it was cruel we had to go outside when the weather was bad. My father would tell us to go play on the beach at the edge of the waves, saying it didn’t matter if it was raining because the sea makes you wet anyway! I guess parents will do anything for a quiet life.

Around our little hut in Cape Vidal are lots of signs which read “Beware of monkeys. Look after your belongings”. I didn’t pay much attention at first, thinking it was the usual over the top health and safety nonsense. We soon learned that monkeys are crafty creatures. We opened the windows in the hut to try to get rid of the musty smell. Approximately seven seconds later two menacing monkeys hopped in the bathroom window, ran to the kitchen and started to gather fruit from the counter top. Kobus roared at them and they scurried away with bananas and mangos in their paws, probably giggling at us silly humans for inviting them in.

That was not the only run in we had with the fauna of the area. Yesterday evening we decided to have a barbeque, or “Braai” as the South Africans call it. The braai was at the back of the hut, surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Sonja and I sat on the veranda and watched the lads as they prepared the meat. The coals were glowing, waiting invitingly for the meat to be charred by their warmth. We had laid the table nicely, the salad was prepared, wine was chilling in a plastic bucket we had filled with ice. Each of us anticipated that we should be enjoying our chow in about fifteen minutes. I salivated as I watched Kobus put the meat on the braai. No sooner had he arranged our steaks neatly on the grill, we heard a rustling sound in the bushes. Instead of investigating the source of the noise, David and Kobus raced up the wooden steps to the veranda like two little girls who had just seen a mouse! I looked at Sonja in disgust. The size of these two eejits and they are afraid of a noise? For feck sake!

We peered over the railing of the veranda. Six bushpigs were snorting and wandering around the braai. Bushpigs are like warthogs but their tails don’t stick up when they run. After oohing and aahing at the bush pigs and taking some pictures with my digital camera, the novelty of the pigs invasion had worn off. Our feast was surrounded and would quickly be burnt to a cinder if we didn’t get rid of these imposters. We discussed what strategy we should use to get rid of our sharp tusked, tufty eared, uninvited guests.

“Shall I shine the torch at them and start screaming?” suggested Sonja.

The rest of us nodded. Why not? None of us knew what to do so it was worth a try.

Sonja waved the torch around like a raver at a techno gig and whooped at the top of her voice. Six sets of beady eyes stared at her. The pigs seemed to shrug and take no notice. They continued to scratch around in the dirt around the braai. They looked at us every so often and then turned away. I reckon they were all laughing at us, thinking we were real thickos!

David and Kobus tried running up and down the steps while making ape noises. That didn’t work! We fired a couple of pairs of shoes in their direction. That didn’t work! I threw a jug of water in their direction. They scampered away for about five seconds but once the threat of getting wet had disappeared, the pigs returned. The chance of a rare piece of steak for dinner had definitely vanished!

We had been beaten! We had to wait until the piggies got bored of our company and wandered off. Kobus quickly ran to rescue our dinner from the braai and scampered up to the veranda. Four pieces of smoking, leathery meat were placed on the table.

“Have we enough milk for a bowl of cornflakes each for dinner?” I asked.

Day 12, 13 and 14 Cape Vidal 12 - 14.9.2010

After spending three days at Umfolozi, we made our way to Cape Vidal. We stayed in a charming log cabin by the beach. While strolling on the beach I watched a man who was looking out at the expansive Indian Ocean. Later that day, I sat on my bed and watched the monkeys playing in the trees. I wrote the stranger a little poem.

What are you thinking of Man on the Rock?

Are you sad, frustrated, bored, pensive, peaceful?

Do you look to the sea for an answer?

Or are you thankful?

Or are you just being?

Are you tired of words, suggestions, opinions?

Does the breeze toss the dusty cobwebbed tribulations across the Indian ocean where they will dissolve and become untraceable?

Am I doing more thinking than you?

Should I find my own Cape Vidal rock from which to counsel my fragile self?

Maybe I'm not brave enough for that yet,

To rid my mind of words, of feelings, of anxious thoughts and kooky ideas.

My security blankets of suffocation.

To draw a blank is a brave thing.

Day 10 and 11 Bushwalk 9.9 and 10.9.2010

Umfolozi Game park at 6am. Kobus’ Dad bellowed through our bedroom door, "Dogballs and Loren, time to get up! Zwane is taking us for a bush walk at 6.30!".

Kobus was already awake, sitting on the toilet, probably in a meditative state, slowly pushing the contents of his bowels out. Kobus’ turd dumping was almost ritualistic! Every morning at sparrow fart o' clock, Kobus trudges to the toilet, sits for twenty minutes in the squat position, makes a few faint groans, flushes, washes his hands, then comes to the bedroom saying "I'd give it a couple of minutes my love." I am not a lark, nor am I an owl. I am a chronic sleeper, so I used the excuse that if I ventured to the bathroom, I may collapse or dry wretch, it was best I napped for another ten minutes.

There was no napping for ten minutes on this morning. Kobus was on a mission to get me out of bed early for our hike. "Lovie, rise and shine, we need to be ready and I want us to have a cup of tea and a rusk before we go so you don't feel faint or get a migraine on the walk." I groaned under the duvet cover while secretly smiling to myself. My husband is such a considerate person. I get chronic migraines so he is very aware of my need to snack regularly, drink regularly and get to bed at the same time every night. It's the little things that count heh.

I stuck a foot out of the duvet to test the temperature, which was stupid because we were in Africa. The mornings are not roasting hot but they are certainly not freezing in September.

I decided on my rising strategy. Best thing to do is rip the covers off and just get up, just get up! GET UP LOREN YA LAZY BITCH! Did I really need to see the animals so early?

I saw them the last time I was in SA? I might just sleep for the morning, I thought. I began to hear my father's voice in my head! "Well Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint Joseph! You went all the way to Africa to look at the inside of your fuckin' eyelids! Get outta that bed before I belt ya!" Feck off Dada! Then I heard my mother's placid voice in my head, "Loren, if you don't get up and go on this walk, you'll regret it. Imagine all the stories Kobus will have about the animals he saw and you will be sorry you didn't go!" My parents were right. I got up.

Zwane, the tracker, told us not to wear white or red for fear of being attacked by an animal so I dug out my navy tracksuit pants which I have been wearing since departure from Jersey and a blue longsleeved t-shirt. Ablutions over, I smattered factor 50 sunscreen on my milky white face, grabbed my sunglasses and followed Kobus to the kitchen. Sonja and David were already there, making tea for everyone. "Hi, did you sleep nicely?" Sonja asked excitedly. Sonja is one of the friendliest, most enthusiastic, insanely wonderful people I have ever met.

We have a lot in common. We are both sensitive and never got passed adolescence in our minds. Not the moody, cantankerous era of puberty, the part before that when you wander through life as a raging idealist and search for purpose.

"Yes, I had a lovely sleep thanks. I was awoken by the cries of Daddy Venter! Hark, here he comes now!" In the distance we heard Daddy Venter call Kobus’ mother, "Rolene! C'mon! We’re going to see some norks and some puffsy wuffsies! Where is my nork stick! OOOH! Hahhhaaaaa!"  Here’s a quick translation! Norks means snakes and puffsy wuffsies are a particular type of snake called a Puffadder. The Venter’s like to make up words!

Kobus’ father is a character, to say the least. He is tall, has a roundy belly, a shock of white hair and a white beard. I think his eyebrows are white but we are not 100% sure because he shaves them off with his clippers! If you have an image of Santa Claus in shorts with a South African accent, you know have a good idea of what he looks like.

When I first met Kobus’ father, I thought he had a form of Tourette's. He rarely swears but he often makes random noises at inopportune moments. These deep bellowing outbursts are hilarious and no amount of description could ever do them justice. His colourful descriptions would make the most dreary person pee themselves. For example, when scared that an elephant was going to knock down our camp in the middle of the night, he said he was "poephol knap", meaning clenched arsehole. He's a loonbag!

Daddy Venter and Rolene share a very nerdy hobbie with their son-in-law, David. They are avid bird-watchers! Through the whole 3 day trip in Umfolozi, we regularly heard "David, what's that bird?, David, come here please?" He has the patience of a saint and the bird knowledge of a young David Attenborough. A natural ornithologist.

Zwane came to collect us with another tracker called Bergie. Both had rifles in tow. I was getting very excited! I had been on safari before in a game vehicle. I'd never been on a bush walk! This was real Indiana Jones stuff! Trekking through the bush quietly! Trying to stay alert for fear of being eaten by a lion or trampled by a herd of angry buffalo! Oh, the adrenalin!

We began the walk, single file. The order of march was Zwane, David, Sonja, Me, Kobus, Rolene, Daddy Venter, Bergie. The rule was that we snapped our fingers or clicked our tongue if we wanted to ask a question.

For the first 20 minutes, Zwane pointed out the plethora of poos that were scattered in the bush. Did you know that hyena poo is bright white because they eat the bones of the carcass they are scavaging! And black rhino poo is grassy because, well, they eat grass! I was beginning to think that all I was going to see was faeces when someone snapped their fingers! It was Bergie. Bergie's black rugged face demanded respect.

He was only about 5 foot seven but he had an intense stare. I was a bit intimidated by him. After clicking his fingers, he pointed towards the dry river bed. My eyesight isn't the best so all I could see were blobs.

Someone handed me the binoculars. Holy hell! There were a bunch of vulcers and hyenas munching on the carcass of a dead buffalo! It was insane! The binos were passed round to everyone in the group. While we marvelled at the feast in front of us, a strange noise was being investigated by Zwane from a nearby patch of dry grass. Zwane was older than Bergie. I estimated Bergie was in his early thirties and Zwane in his fifties. Zwane lead the walk and was the medula, the elder. It was obvious that Bergie had more information than Zwane on the flora and fauna of the land (or maybe he was just a better communicator) but in respect to his elder, he rarely divulged information. Zwane looked like a cartoon character. Attention was taken from his roundy pot belly by his wiry, greying moustache that curled up at the ends, like the Colonel's moustache in the KFC adverts.

"Come! Listen! Mongoose!" We shuffled over to the noise. I can hardly describe it. It was a sort of reverberation from the belly. The mongoose seemed to suggest, "get away from my pad! I might be small but I will fuck you up if you don't piss off outta here, right?!?"

The examination of more dried faecal matter ensued through the arid, thorny bush. One or two flowers popped their dehydrated heads from their buds but it seemed they wouldn't last long in the African heat. Zwane said the rains were late coming which is why the river beds are bone dry. It was good for us as it made it easier to spot animals but I wished for the rains to come so the flowers could bloom and dance in the African breeze. The animals seemed fine!  Although, maybe they would like a drop more water and a little swim.

Our next animal encounter was an auditory affair. Zwane and Kobus stopped abruptly in their tracks. "Did you hear that?" "Oh Jesus!" Zwane signalled to us to stay still. I hadn't a clue what was going on. Kobus was starting to sweat and I think he may have pooed his pants but I am only speculating. "Hear what?", I naively asked my pooey arsed husband. "I think I heard a roar, like a lion's roar or another cat. I hope Zwane takes us out of her soon.

This is not good for my nerves, or my underpants!". I tried to console Kobus but I secretly hoped we would see a lion, from afar of course. I wouldn't have been pleased if one came bounding towards me. I doubt I would have been able to scuttle up a tree. David and Kobus had their eyes fixed on Zwane, waiting for a signal or some shred of information. Daddy Venter had vanished up his own bumhole, afraid of being eaten, Rolene was looking at birds through the binos, oblivious to what was going on. Sonja was busting for a wee because she was four months preganant. I'd imagine if a lion appeared at that moment, she would have ripped its head off. There is no way a lion can compete with a hormonal preggie belly who needs to urinate. I was looking around, thinking, "I'm a bit bored now. The lions are probably having a lie down. Can we  move on?" At this stage, I was seriously contemplating asking Rolene how many species of bird she had spotted this morning in order to pass the time!

After what seemed like nine years, Zwane steered us to safety, towards a large black rhino. I could hear another squelch in Kobus's brookies. Camera at the ready, I took some pics of the rhino as it munched the parched grass. It was amazing to be so close to such a beautiful animal. The rhino was about 50 m away from us, Sonja had spotted him through a patch of thorn trees. First, it just looked like a big rock, but when the rock started to move, we all gazed in wonder at this divine creature.

After the rhino, we saw even more poo, a rotting carcass of a giraffe and a tree stump that the rhinos use to scratch the ticks off their skin. Then, we made our way back to base for breakfast. Breakfast was finished at 10.30.

I retied to bed for a nap after eating, as did everyone else. The bush was tiring! And the silence that surrounded us meant that I was easily lulled into a peaceful sleep.

Day 9 Isandlwana 8.9.2010

We hopped into the car today and left the Drakensburg behind. We were heading towards a game park called Umfolozi. On the way we decided to travel to Isandlwana, an isolated hill southeast of Rorke’s Drift, northwest of Durban. On January 22, 1879, this lonely hill was to bear witness to the Battle of Isandlwana where the Zulu impi’s (warriors) defeated the British forces in the Anglo-Zulu War.

Lead by Cetshwayo, the Zulu army surrounded the British forces and wiped them out using Zulu War tactics carrying the notorious assegai (spear) and iklwa (short stabbing blade). The Zulu’s were skilled and fearless warriors. Shaka Zulu had been the Zulu leader from 1816 to 1828. During this time, he revolutionalised the Zulu military, introducing new tactics such as the Horns of the Buffalo. This tactic was used by the impi’s at the Battle of Isandlwana. Originally used by the Zulu’s to hunt animals, the army formation split their forces into four elements, each representing a part of the buffalo. The chest of the buffalo engaged the enemy head on, the horns on either side surrounded the enemy, the loins held back as they were older, experienced warriors and were only called upon if absolutely necessary.

I walked around part of the expansive valley where this battle had taken place. Maybe it was my imagination but the spirits of the slain warriors seemed to be whirling around in the crisp air over the grassland. I could see for miles. The hills where the impi would have ambushed the British surrounded the one-time battlefield. My imagination was fuelled with adrenalin as I tried to imagine the war cries and thunder of feet as the warriors raced towards their target.

Scattered throughout the valley were piles of rocks painted white. Here lay the bodies of the dead British soldiers. Weeks after the battle, the surviving soldiers returned to bury their dead. They returned to Isandlwana, greeted by the site of disembowelled men. The Zulu warriors disembowelled the soldiers they killed in order to release the soul of the dead soldier. I wonder if the British knew of this tradition? I doubt it. They probably thought the action was barbaric. It must have been fairly scary.

I walked towards a group of headstones that commemorated the dead British soldiers. One read “In memory of James Adrian Blaikie, eldest son of the late Anthony Adrian Blaikie, formerly of -----, a volunteer trooper in the Natal Carbineers. Killed here in battle 22^nd January 1879. Aged 19 years. I felt sad, thinking that such a young person had died so tragically. I also thought about the thousands of impi’s who would have been killed on the same day who would remain nameless. A bronze memorial stood at the entrance to the field commemorating the Zulu’s who had died at the Battle of Isandlwana. I wondered about all the young men’s families from both sides and how their lives must have been torn apart at the loss of a brother, son, father. My heart felt heavy as we head towards the car to continue our journey.

Kobus’ dad had given us a CD by a historian called David Rattray and told us it was worth a listen to. We put the CD on. David Rattray’s smooth and passionate voice took us on an emotive audio tour of different aspects of the Anglo-Zulu War. At first I thought that listening to more historical facts about battles would lower my mood even more, but to be honest, it had the opposite effect. Rattray’s love for South African history and his passion for reconciliation among the differing groups of people in South Africa was the perfect soundtrack as I gazed out the car window, taking in the idyllic African landscape, framed by the burning glow of the setting sun.

Day 8 Hiking in the Drakensburg 7.9.2010

Kobus rose early this morning. 6am! At sparrow fart hour, he was boiling the kettle to make tea and coffee for the hikers, himself, me, Sonja and David. Kobus woke me gently by turning on the bedside light and whispering tenderly in my ear.

“My darling, I’ve made you a cup of tea. Would you like a rusk?”  I smiled dreamily at him and nodded.

Hmmm! This is the life! Woken by a lovely man with a cup of tea and this morning we are going for a hike in the Drakensburg. Brilliant!

After my tea and rusk, I got up, dressed quickly, carried out the morning ablutions and went to the kitchen to help Kobus pack our rucksack for the walk. I watched Kobus as he rooted around in the kitchen cupboards looking for rations for our hike. He lined up our supplies neatly on the counter top; two bottles of isotonic lucozade, two bottles of water, two bananas, a packet of digestive biscuits, toilet roll and glucose satchets that he found in the rucksack that had been left over from the half marathon we had run back in June.

“Jesus Kobus! Are we going to war or what? We’re only going for a walk!”

“Loren, it’s better to be over prepared! Now, go and get some plasters and antiseptic wipes from the first aid box!”

Once organised, we set off to the hiking trails in the Drakensburg mountains, the Dragon Mountains. The Zulus call the range uKhahlamba, Barrier of Spears. The basalt capped mountains are the highest in South Africa and stunningly beautiful. We chose a nice 9km hike that didn’t have too many steep hills. The dew caressed grassland fluttered in the morning breeze. The horizon was smothered in a grey heavy mist. This is how I had imagined the forest in “Alice and Wonderland”, wonderfully beautiful yet spooky. The mountains were wrapped in intrigue and mystery.

We trekked happily along the trail, chatting and laughing, occasionally taking photographs of the babbling brooks, the camouflaged maroon ferns and the ice white aloes and colourful flowers. Cobwebs sparkled on the ground over spider-holes, making the soil twinkle periodically.   

After our walk, we drove back to the house and had lunch. An afternoon nap was definitely in order! I sank into the bed and grinned happily, embraced in the softness of the duvet. What a lovely morning, I thought, as drifted to sleep.

That night, we all enjoyed a curry in front of the fire. I listened to my parents-in-law recall stories of Kobus’ and Sonja’s childhood. It was a special moment. I glanced at Kobus who was grinning contently. We are lucky to have such a nice family.

Day 7 Observations 6.9.2010

We arrived in Eskcourt this morning after driving from Lythwood Lodge, dropped the rental car off and Sonja and David came to collect us to bring us to our rented house in the Drakensburg where we are staying for the next few days. Kobus’ parents are also here. The house we are staying in is humongous! It's quite a quirky place. It's located in the middle of nowhere, yet there is a bakery about 2km from the house which caters for the hotels and businesses in the Drakensburg area. The house is two storeys and each window is covered with burglar bars. I don't know why because unless one of the bakers up the road is a thief, no-one is going to break in! There is nothing worth taking in the house. For example, the microwave is about the size of a modern day oven. It must have been one of the first microwaves ever invented! The house is owned by three families who rent the house out when they are not holidaying in the area. There are lots of photos of the families from 1996 onwards which show the children on their bicycles, the families sitting together at the dinner table and enjoying their vacations. Although the furniture probably dates back to the Boer War, there is a very homely atmosphere in the house. The antiquated furnishings are a hodge podge of items that must have come from each of the families homes, probably the reject items that have been replaced by contemporary, stylish, matching items. There is evidence of the types of indoor activities the families partook in, I assume in the winter or when it was raining. Board games and an interesting selection of books are housed in a cabinet in the narrow passage way on the second floor.

A perfect place for the Venter family and inlaws to get together and enjoy each others’ company. We arrived at the house, had lunch, had a little nap as Kobus and I were knackered after Caleb and Kara's wedding.

I was feeling reflective in the evening and made the following observations:

Observation 1:

I notice that my writing style changes depending on my mood, location, what I have been reading, how much activity I have done in the day etc. Do I need to find the perfect set of conditions in order to be a good writer alongside some creative writing talent? How will I know if I am any good at writing? Jesus! What if I never find something I am good at?!? What will I do then? I only aspire to being a writer. I love to tell stories and I love words. What will I do if I am shite! Will I have a purpose onto myself? I already have purpose onto others. I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, a friend. When I had a job I served a purpose (small as it was) to an employer. But what about me? Difficult question to answer! Selfish question?

Observation 2:

Kobus’ family life is calmly regimental. Every evening, the Venter family decide what to do the next morning, what time to rise from bed, who will shower in the morning or evening, who will bathe. We have lunch together around the table and it's the same food nine times out of ten; bread rolls, ham, selection of cheeses, crackers, pickled cucumbers, sweet chilli sauce, Mrs. Balls chutney, fig jam, vienna sausages and a beverage of choice. So this evening when the discussion about what to bring for a picnic on tomorrow's excursion in the Drakensburg, I was perplexed! We never stray from the lunch shopping list! Maybe there is an outdoor picnic list!

Day 6 Caleb and Kara's wedding 5.9.2010

Kobus is a Jew for a day. No really, he is! He's the best man at Caleb's wedding and is wearing a Yamika. He looks great. I have heard the Best Man speech now about six or seven times and I have to say, it's a gem! He's a witty man is my Kobus!

Caleb has called by and is full of nervous excitement. He had a bright yellow t-shirt on which echos the happiness and fun that we are all going to witness today. Paul, their friend who is conducting the ceremony, just called to our room to get Kobus and Caleb. I reckon that the bros are going to discuss proceedings!

Caleb and Kara were legally married on Thursday. We were honoured to witness their marriage, along with Kara's Auntie and Uncle.

They had a civil ceremony by a Catholic priest called Father Pearse in the sacresty of the church. The words were simple and honest and filled with commitment. As usual, my tear ducts were on overdrive so I had to swallow hard. The room was simply decorated, just a table, a filing cabinet and a few chairs which we sat on. The sun streamed through the window and shone on Caleb and Kara. Maybe their guardian angels also bore witness to their promise? Father Pearse was a very pious man. I liked him. I wouldn't say that I totally agree with everything the Church preaches but I think this man transcends the rules of the Church and sees everyone as being the same. His words were very poignant and his advice to Kara and Caleb was honest and truthful. It was a special marriage I have witness. Just love and promise. The most important elements.

The wedding on Sunday started after three in the afternoon on the lawns of Lythwood Lodge. The heavens beamed their rays of joyous sunlight onto the heads and shoulders of the congregation and the jittery, smiley husband to be. Caleb and his buds waited patiently for the woman of the moment  to arrive with her entourage. I watched Caleb and I realised that Kobus must have also been a mixture of emotions on our wedding day. He always says that he didn't really relax until the speeches were over.

I guess us girls plan our dream day from the age of four and the excitement quenches any serious nerves or unruly bowel movements. Men are different. They never think they will get married until they are in their late thirties when they have achieved world domination, have a large investment portfolio and have shagged at least one girl from each race! Hence nerves pervade when they are the centre of attention, dressed in a suit looking respectable, clean shaven and overflowing with love. Poor fuckers hah! Seriously, I'd rather be a girl than a boy any day. As a girl, it's acceptable to babble about love and cutsy wutsy fluffy feelings, the feelings that make us glad to be alive, when you find that one person who is your best friend, the person who you have the greatest arguments with and two seconds later you are closer to them than ever before. If a man declares those types of thoughts to his buddies, they call him a fruit! No wonder the nerves get to them. The emotional bucket is full. There is nowhere for the love to go except through their sweat glands, bowel and finally, their eyeballs.

Kara and her bridemaids arrived at the top of a little hill about 50 m from the wedding congregation. It was so romantic to watch her take the long dreamy walk towards her husband. Kara was met by her Mum and her brother, Barry at the back of the congregation who walked her up the aisle. Kara's Mum Joni is a brave and inspiring woman. She had an accident a few years ago and is in a wheelchair, well, actually, she has a nifty scooter she zips around in, very cool. I don't know Kara's family but I was tearful watching them give Kara away. They seem to be a family full of love, passion and heart. I'm sure her Dad was with them while she floated elegantly towards Caleb to the song "All you need is love!" Maybe her Dad, John and George were all watching together from heaven, humming to the tune. It's a nice thought anyway.

Caleb and Kara's ceremony had some memorable Jewish traditions included, the choppa, breaking of the glass (which was a 60 watt light bulb! That made me chuckle!) It was brilliant! Paul was the Master of first ceremonies and did a fantastic job. But of course he did. This is the man who, in his own words, "does not reward mediocrity" so he was going to pull off a flawless performance. Honestly, he said that once about a waiter in a café we were in. I nearly died of embarrassment!

The vows are always my favourite bit of any wedding. Caleb and Kara were encapsulated in their own bubble, promising to stand by each other for the rest of their lives. Even though we were there to watch, Caleb and Kara were probably in their own world.

That's what I think anyway because all couples have their own magical love land that they live in, where you have your own made up words and gestures that only each other can decipher. This land lives in each others eyes and there are only two on the guest list.

After the ceremony, the couple cut the cheese! Yes, the chesse. A beautiful creation of different wheels of cheese instead of cake. Great idea!

After the photos, we were called for dinner. Kobus was starting to sweat like crazy.

After the starter was served, speeches began. Caleb's friend, Walter was the MC. Very articulate bloke. Quite hot too! He introduced Kara's Uncle Derek who gave a brilliant speech about Kara and showed some pics of Kara when she was a child through to an adult. He was so proud of her and obviously loves her very much.

Walter got up to speak again and mentioned a story about Caleb called "The Basket". This was a Uni tradition where the second years would kidnap a first year, strip him, put him in a basket and dump him at the top of a hill. All the girls would be told to line the road at the entrance to the dorms and the naked guy would have to run past them all, being taunted and cheered. Kobus’ face dropped, "Fuck, that's in my speech too! Shit!". I told Kobus not to worry. Walter only mentioned it, you can still include it in your speech. Now, it was Kobus' turn to speak. I watched him trudge to the microphone. I wish I could have swallowed his nerves for him. I knew he would pull it out of the bag though.

This is one thing I love about Kobus. He made out to everyone that his speech was short, mediocre, nothing special. When he finally delivered his speech, peals of laughter resonated through the room. People were impressed. I was proud of my man!

Good man yourself Kobi Bear! That's my boy! Paul turned to me and expressed his delight at Kobus’ speech. "He was good!!!" "Of course he fucking was!", I replied, smiling like a Cheshire Cat!

Kobus plonked into his seat, asking about 500 times how he did. He was grinning so he knew he did good!

Dinner was delectable and the company at our table was second to none. As usual, I got lots of attention because I am Irish. Saffers love the Paddies. At leaast my nationality has some use, even if the country is swimming in a toilet bowl full of turds at the moment! Bloody recession!

After dinner, the Horrah dancing began! What a spectacle! It was insanely wonderful. Men skipping with table cloths, Men throwing each other into other men, women dancing around men who were spinning on their backs on the ground! Caleb and Kara were hoisted into the air on two chairs! Marvellous! I must make some more Jewish friends and invite myself to their weddings.

Dancing and drinking "John Deeres" (cane and cream soda - ick!) and a few whiskey sours with friends ensured a good time was had. Kobus’ friends are such nice people. I feel like they are my friends now too. I don't feel like my relationship with them is as Kobus’ wife. They are very special people.

After the wedding, Caleb endeavoured to pile the drunken guests into the bus to get them home. What a task! One guy had collected the spare bottles of wine and a party was starting in the bus, music blaring, people dancing on the seats, outside the bus in the car park. Utter carnage!

We retired to the bar once the other reprobates had been locked into the bus and driven away. A sing song ensued, along with a few more beverages.

What a great day! What wonderful memories!

Day 5 What is poverty? 4.9.2010

The other day, before reaching Lythwood Lodge, we passed a little village along the way. The houses were tiny little shacks, no more than five feet apart from each other. Some were built from brick with tiny windows and a corrugated iron roof. Others had corrugated iron walls and roof. The roof was held down by some odd bricks placed here and there. I felt guilty as we passed the village in our nice rental car on the way to see our friends at a lovely lodge in the woods. I watched out the window and saw four young boys run up the dirt track. It looked like they were chasing some chickens. I gazed out the window as these beautiful young children when one of them, he was about five years old, stuck his middle finger up me!

“Jesus Kobus, did you see him? Stop the car! The feckin’ pup!”

“See what? What you talking about?”

“That little boy just gave us the bird!”

Well, Kobus didn’t stop the car, he just laughed!

This incident lead me to thinking about what poverty is in the eyes of a Westerner. I had watched those little boys run on a dirt road with no shoes on. The houses in their village probably don’t have running water. They are probably boiling hot in the daytime African sun. I had painted a picture of desperation and hopelessness. But then a little boy gave me the finger! And I think I probably deserved it! I don’t know what it’s like to live in his village, I have only ever lived in County Cork and St Helier, Jersey. Is it patronising for me to think that the people I saw working in the fields, the woman on the road carrying a suitcase on her head and a baby on her back, the shoeless boys who chased the chickens were suffering because in my eyes they are poor? I’ve never asked them! I am merely assuming. At home, we are bombarded by images of Africa which conjure up other images in our minds of sickness, suffering, death, ignorance, racial prejudice, HIV, rape, and all sorts of heinous things. But aren’t those things in every country? Isn’t poverty and suffering relative to what is going on in a society? Yes, there are basic things that everyone needs. Maslow’s hierarchy outlines those for us (us Westerners!). And yes, we in Europe are much more fortunate that other people in other continents. I am not disputing that for a second. But I couldn’t help but wonder today if I was not totally understanding what poverty meant and what poverty is because I live in a little bubble in my own world with my lovely husband, my nice job, my nice car and my nice plans to travel around the world and write my thoughts on my Travelietop. Part of me felt guilty for being so fortunate.  Another part of me felt that I would not swap my life for anyone elses, not for someone who lived in a little hut in the Natal midlands and also not with a wealthy South African businessman living in Johannesburg. I think I must learn to look beyond what is right in front of my face and question what I perceive a certain reality to be. I have always wanted to help people but I’m not really sure how to do it. I know I am a good listener, I guess that’s helpful. I give money to charity every month from my salary. Surely that’s helpful? In the greater scheme of things, my little bit is a drop in the ocean. But it is all I can do. I can listen and I can give. The funny thing is that most people I listen to are the greatest complainers and they have a lot of material items and have a comfortable lifestyle. The money that goes to the Red Cross is probably going to people who get on with their lives and are mentally much stronger than the “haves”. Humans are incomprehensible! I’m confused!