From my painting days, I still have the little “model doll” on my table. There is something satisfying in twisting it to different positions every few days. A slow and still dance.
People of Mpumalanga don’t suffer from undue modesty – or how else do you explain a place called ‘God’s Window’. But I have to admit, the views are phenomenal. Along the winding mountain roads are little villages with crafts, great restaurant, whisky and – naturally – curios to all tastes.
One of the places we visited was Pilgrim’s Rest – a little village with number of houses restored to their ‘previous glory’. My favourite spot is the old BP Garage and it’s famous car that has been left to ‘Rust in Peace’.
Sunday was cold. Because we were travelling with Merlin, restaurants did not let us inside, so brunch was a chilly – if tasty – affair. However, a walk to a Bridal Veil waterfall warmed us right up – and made both Merlin and myself comfortably snoozy for the drive back home. Luckily, Stuart is made of stronger stuff.
I’ve been to Mpumalanga three times before, and twice I was unable to see much further than my own hand due to heavy mist, and thus unable to enjoy the famous views from the Panorama Route. The third time I was white water rafting in Blyde River and never got high enough to enjoy the views. Fourth time lucky.
This Friday was a public holiday in South Africa (Youth Day). Both Stuart and I have been so busy we only realised this on Tuesday – and decided it was too late to book a trip somewhere. In the Friday morning we promptly regretted the decision, and book a cottage in Mpumalanga anyway. Only 3h drive away from Joburg, it is a beautiful mountainous area. There is a lot of coal mining in the area, which explains the rail tracks in the middle of nowhere.
Orange glass and Sprite. Happy afternoon.
I love scarfs. What is there not to love? They are colourful, practical, easy-to-carry and always in fashion. I admit, I have a few… dozen… And one or two extra, just in case.
On some days playing guitar can be frustrating to Stuart. On others it seems to sing in his hands. Both ways, it is a passion. Albeit one he doesn’t have as much time as he’d like.
The perfect teacup is big enough to hold with two hands comfortably. Smaller cups can never bring that feel of warmth. And the perfect teacup is yellow.
We had a perfect, peaceful Sunday. We snuggled under a blanket in the terrace with a hot drink and a book – for several hours. And that feeling of peace continued to that elusive heartbeat just before darkness. Blue Moment.