On cancer and carpentry

It'll be clear from the extended absence that we did, in fact, manage to triumph over the missed flight débâcle. It cost Zara dearly, and we're still wondering how she's going to recoup the loss, but it's done, and we've been, so everything else is maggots in the cake. If anyone's interested, I'm posting the details as an edit in the March 17^th entry.

It's good to be back. We've had trauma, we've had tears, we've had booze up to our ears, but the fun that we had has been solace for the bad. All together now...

Looking back, we managed to pack a sizable amount into a very brief 2 weeks. Even the flight down somehow become a fun-fest. Between Zara's ipod and our baby Toshiba, the entertainment was non-stop and decidedly personal. We also started laying in on the alcohol mere minutes after take-off, and never stopped really. Given the stress of the prior 36 hours, we felt a little chemical enhancement was overdue. The cabin crew seemed less convinced, however, and after the 6^th drink, a solicitous caution came our way; "Just thought we'd let you know that we've noticed how much you're drinking, and we're monitoring any further consumption." Thank you, Nanny Air-Stewardess. We set her mind at ease with a grand display of eloquence and sobriety, and continued to drink until we passed out. That showed her!

None the worse for wear, we disembarked in Cape Town to be driven up to Montagu by my sister. She's in the throes of applying for an ancestral visa so she can follow the rest of the emigration out here, and I had some crucial documentation to hand across, viz. my mother's and grandfather's birth certificates. Yes, boys and girls, British citizenship is patrilineal. It makes perfect sense when you consider that it's the woman who gives birth. Oh, wait, it doesn't make sense after all. *sigh*

We arrived in Montagu in one piece, in spite of Lynette's driving. Montagu is a tiny community about 2 hours drive from Cape Town that grew up around a hot spring and stayed there. People used to go there to die in comfort (as Zara would say) but since it was voted South Africa's Best Little Town in 2002, moneyed types have started showing an interest, and have been scooping up property for use as holiday accommodation, and you can see why.


This is then where we spent the next week, doing nothing much except keeping Zara's mom and dad - Wena and Ian - company (and getting drafted to do odd jobs around the house that Wena can't quite manage any more). It was excruciatingly hot that first week, climbing to 37°C on the Tuesday, and much of the noon period was spent panting in the coolest spot we could find. It was Ian's birthday on the Thursday (the 24^th) so we decided to make a full day of it. Breakfast was held at a lovely restaurant on the main drag in Montagu. They have a gorgeous garden section with family-sized trestle tables, one of which we co-opted for the cool morning hours. Following the vast portions of food (and my 2 glasses of dessert wine), we loaded Ian into the car (something Wena can no longer do) and took a drive (and a bottle of pink champagne) over the Tradouw Pass to a gorgeous mountain picnic spot next to a waterfall, a location we tripped across last year and vowed we'd return to. It was already inhabited by a shipping crate's worth of old folk, but we refused to be deterred and garnered ourselves a cool stretch overlooking the stream to polish off the bubbly and piss off the retirees with smutty talk. We headed home afterwards, to be pleasantly surprised that evening by the neighbours dropping by to celebrate Ian's birthday with him. A really good day, come to think of it.


All in all, the parentals are doing as well as can be expected, considering Ian's condition, and we managed to keep the mood light and enjoyable, but there's a clear sense of Ian's deterioration over the last year. This weighed really heavily on Zara, and by the end of the week, she was desperate for a break, so we fuelled up the parentals' truck on the Friday and scooted down the N1 to Cape Town. In spite of an intended 6am departure, Zara managed to get absolutely motherless the night before, and it was a very hung-over spousal unit that eventually retrieved her wallet and headed out of the Montagu time-gate just after 9.

Turns out the brief hiatus was exactly what we needed. We spent the afternoon at Ratanga Junction - the very pretty and desperately bankrupt theme park just outside Cape Town - just being young and irresponsible for a while. Lynette was excellent company for this, as she has an irrepressibly youthful approach to everything, which makes her entertaining and energising to be around. We rode the roller-coasters and whooped and yelled, and rode the water rides and got soaked, and rode the gears and got nauseous, and made damn sure we were the very last people to leave the park.



After a rather horrendous dinner at Cattle Baron in Camps Bay, from which we learned that beef ribs are not to our liking at all, we bid our adieu's to Toby and his Coke and headed back to Lynette's to crash. She has a lovely place on Mouille Point, overlooking the bay from her flat window, and with a clear view of Table Mountain from the corridor balcony out back. Almost a pity she's going to be leaving it, really, but she's dead keen on coming out here, enough to trade the view for a healthy income.

Saturday it was back to Montagu for the 2^nd week of family fun. One of the things that makes Ian's cancer so debilitating is the paralysis from the waist down. He's confined to a wheelchair and, as such, cannot get around to do all he used to. We were very excited, therefore, to have the chance to go on a pontoon trip on the Breede River on the Sunday, as I have the strength to manoeuvre the chair through the most unlikely places. It wasn't the most pleasant or warm day, but it was just immense fun to sit for once with the folks and drink and chat in beautiful surroundings with no chance of distraction.

As I mentioned earlier in the post, Wena had earmarked my time for some handy-work, and the next 2 days, between chilling and BBQing, we put up a shelf for Ian's model passenger liner and re-fitted their bedroom headboard for the smaller mattress. I'm hardly the world's most handy person, but I'm very proud of my efforts. Not that I thought to take any photographic evidence of my accomplishments. Damn!

Happily, we were able to co-ordinate with Jo and Steve to have them swing past Montagu on their way down to Cape Town to spend a few nights and ferry us to our flight on the Friday. We had spice - who had each other - and meat and fire and, on the Thursday, some Route 62 wine-tasting. The cellars in the Robertson area have a remarkably casual attitude to wine-tasters, and will happily keep pouring without charging a cent, on the desperate hope that you'll get so drunk after a while that you'll find yourself with a case of their best Chardonnay in your car and a worn-out credit card in your wallet. The Van Loveren estate went so far as to provide a lovely garden in which to sit and have bottles brought out to you and left at the table for your enjoyment. Needless to say, we enjoyed it immensely.

After farewells on Friday morning, we headed back to the airport via Stellenbosch and a lovely lunch compliments of our gorgeous house-guests. An interminable wait, and even more interminable flight, later, and we're back. Let the sweet mundanity begin. I'm knackered.

PS. We've discovered the secret of photography: it takes 100 snaps to get one good picture. I think we took more snaps in the last 2 weeks than in any other similar period. Ever. So, in the interests of sharing the fruits of this discovery, the remaining worthy contenders: