2 Oceans Half 2010 and other tales of insanity

They don't look like much but I am very fond of them ...

They sit here for a few hours after every long run. They like the view and I think it helps the smell.

I have developed the habit of entering the 2 Oceans Half Marathon (2OHM) early. This is partly because it has become a very popular race and the organisers close the entries when they get to 11,500 for the half, but it is also because I seldom feel properly prepared to run and if I had the option of deciding whether to enter or not closer to the time, I suspect I should often chicken out. This way I know I have paid my hundred bucks or whatever and my Scottish ancestry kicks in - I am going to run that race whatever happens.

I started running in 2006 after my cardiologist crapped me out. I went to see him because I had had a dizzy spell while riding my bicycle up Chapman's Peak Drive early one Saturday morning. A doctor friend of mine referred me after sending me for an ECG and a few blood tests in advance - liver functions, ultra-sensitive CRP, lipogram, etc. The first time I met the cardiologist was the day I walked into his consulting room. I remember it vividly. He was a tall fellow, apparently lacking any fat on his body, a few years older than me. He was sitting at his desk when I entered his office. He greeted me warmly enough and invited me to sit across from him. He had my blood results and folder open in front of him.

His opening gambit was "So, are you proud of these?", motioning to the papers. I mumbled something and turned red, while he went on about my LDL being too high and my HDL too low and the index generated by whatever it was placing me in the "high risk" category. "Any family history of cardiovascular disease?", he asked. "Not really," I said feeling myself on more positive ground, "Dad died of Parkinson's dementia". "Ah," he said, "but that is where you may be wrong - the latest evidence is that many cases of dementia are secondary to cardiovascular problems." I could see I was in for a good pakslae, so resigned myself to the worst, which was not long in coming. He told me to strip down to my underpants and then come back to his office to be weighed and measured. I duly made my appearance, feeling like a warthog caught on the catwalk. He eyed me disapprovingly from across the room and then came across and pointed at my gut. "That, sir, is your problem!" and he stuck his index finger into a roll. "That must go." "How?" I asked. "Training, of course" he said, "I'm not in the slightest worried about your dizzy spell - probably vasovagal from stopping too suddenly - but I am very concerned about your chemistry and general state of fitness!"

Uncomfortable as that first encounter was, I believe I owe a lot to him. That was exactly what I needed at that stage of my life, a good stiff kick in the arse! He told me to try exercise, omega-3's and a few other things to get my HDL up and LDL down. I took the challenge seriously, exercising most  days a week and ensuring my heart rate got to 70% of maximum for age and stayed there for at least 20-30 minutes, but I think my genetics and gender were against me and when I saw him 3 months later my weight and LDL had dropped, I was feeling a lot better, both physically and mentally, but my HDL was still too low. So I started 10mg of Crestor every morning, which I still take, four years later.

That was a rather long prologue, but it does explain how I came to be running my third 2OHM on the 3rd of April this year, what would have been my father's eightieth birthday. Speaking of departed relatives, I should make brief mention of Uncle Dick, my mother's eldest brother. Dick was born in Durban in 1916, I believe, went to Durban Boys' High, served in WW2 as a bomb disposal corporal in North Africa and Italy, and ended up working for Dunlop in Durban as I am not quite sure what for most of his life. He married and had 4 children. In the days when I knew him best, his life seemed to revolve around washing the dishes, tinkering around with old cars and an ageing black labrador-cross, who went by the name of Amin, or 'Min for short (and lived in one of the old cars in the garden). Like me, he started long distance running fairly late in life - his 40's or 50's I think. Unlike me, he ran the Comrades ultra-marathon - the 90km annual race from Pietermaritzburg to Durban or vice versa. Not once but repeatedly. He died about 10 years back but I often think of him when I run.

I had been fairly conscientious about my training for the 2010 2OHM. Probably not enough road running but plenty of gym, swimming and squash. I was confident I was generally fit. Two weeks before the race I ran to the Steenberg Virgin Active gym and back one Saturday morning - the route goes along Boyes' Drive so has plenty of up and down. I have measured it with the car and know it is about 21 km round trip. I did it in about 2h30m with a short (5 minute) break in the middle for a banana and Powerade, so I knew I would be OK in under three hours in the race.

I did my last serious gym workout on the Tuesday before the race. The race website seemed to be big on "tapering" and a friend who is an experienced runner / cyclist told me "nothing more than light walking after Wednesday." Turned out to be good advice, I think.

I didn't go the carbo-loading route, not sure why. I collected my Race numbers and "goodies bag" on Thursday at the Good Hope Centre, verified that my Champion Chip was working, and resisted a strong temptation to buy the latest Polar chronograph for several thousand rands - they really are impressive gizzmo's. On Friday night I tried to go to bed early but had some trouble getting to sleep. I was up at 4 a.m. on Race Day, making last minute preparations.

Numbers fixed to vest with safety pins (forgot to write my medical details and emergency numbers on the back), Champion Chip tied into shoelaces, shorts (should I wear the baggy comfortable ones that make me look like I have just returned from a holiday in Hawaii, or the slinky, shiny proper running shorts which probably look good but get more uncomfortable by the km?), tracksuit top, anti-chaffing stuff, cell phone, wallet, Polar watch and chest strap - all set to go. Had a glass of cold apple juice, swallowed my Crestor and salmon oil capsules (yuck!), kissed barely conscious herself goodbye and left in the dark - it would be at least another two hours before the sun rose.

I listened to Cape Talk on my way in. Seemed to be mostly crazy people phoning in about end times prophesies and the end is nigh. One fellow said we should really avoid living in coastal areas! UCT was buzzing when we arrived. We found parking right up the top of campus, on Ring Road and walked down to the start in Main Road, Newlands - a leisurely walk given that we had half an hour in hand and there is nothing worse than standing around at the start for half an hour waiting for the race to start.

At the bottom of Dean Street there were a couple of large signboards. One said "Only runners beyond this point" and the next said "<= 56km / 21km =>" - very important to get the right one! I was by this stage bursting for a leak but there didn't appear to be any loo's around so a took a "warm up jog" down a side road and found a friendly tree.

By the time I rejoined my fellow runners at the start it was almost time for the countdown. There was some music playing over the PA and when it stopped there was a round of applause. Someone said it had been the national anthem - could have fooled me! Then there was a lot of shouting and cheering, some very loud and some very bad music, and then everyone started to shuffle forward - I concluded the race had started and pressed the button on my Polar watch.

I guess if you are in "A" category, you run the whole race. If you are in "E" category, like us, you walk the first km, then half walk half jog the next two and finally get to run round about where you turn off Main Road/ the M4. This is because they have 11,500 runners trying to run down a road wide enough for 6 cars at some points, scarecely two at others. That is just the nature of the race, and one of the reasons the 2OHM is slower than, for instance, the Safari Half in Wellington, which only has about 5000 and is run in more open surroundings. The temptation is to run on the pavement or the middle traffic island, but in the dark this can be hazardous and I mostly stuck to the middle of the road, taking a gap if one appeared but by and large just going with the flow. I tried not to get irritated with the walkers taking up large swathes of middle road and holding up the runners. I think they should start at the back and stay there. Do they know how ridiculous they look when they waggle their asses like that? Like their last suppository got stuck? (Do they care? I guess not). Each to his own, I suppose, but you wouldn't catch me doing that.

We ran past Wynberg Girls' Schools and the first refreshment stop. I wasn't hot or thirsty so just stayed in the middle and ignored the shouts of the helpers offering me Coke or Powerade or water in plastic sachets or paper cups. Then it was the short sharp uphill of Carr Hill Road, the first reminder that this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. Down to Gabriel Road, round the traffic circle and back up the other side - first chance to see the masses ahead and behind, always a bit encouraging or discouraging, depending on how you look at it. Along Constantia Main Road, under the M3 highway, past the Virgin Active Gym where I had done much of my training. Somewhere around there was a 5km marker - 1/4 of the way done.

Then it was a short detour down old Constantia Road as far as Ladies' Mile - to make up the distance, I suppose and give the local worthies somewhere to watch the race from. Again it was down this side of the road and back up the other, with a barrier inbetween, so another chance to see the throngs of runners. I scoured the passing masses unsuccessfully for any family or friends. Back into Constantia Main Road, right into Parish Road at the stone church. Another marker and someone shouting something about "k's". I thought it must be 8km, but the lady beside me said 10km. Halfway there! That was a bonus. And just under an hour elapsed. Might still do a half decent time, I thought.

Got a new spring in my step, which lasted about 100m, until I hit Southern Cross Drive. SCD is legendary amongst 2OHM runners - it comes halfway into the race, lasts about 4km, is mostly fairly gradual but steep in parts, and generally just seems to go on for ever. I put my head down, concentrated on my breathing and checked my pulse every so often. It was running in the 160's, which was fine, and I was feeling OK, so I just kept going, plodding along. Some runners passed me - I noticed they mostly had "20" on their labels, meaning they were aged betwen 20 and 30. Whippersnappers! On the other hand I passed quite a few myself, some of whom also had 20's on their labels! Take that! Some of the walkers appeared to be going almost as fast as the slower joggers, which is a bit discouraging, but I guess that is what happens on hills.

As we neared the top of the hill, and the intersection with Rhodes Drive, we were blasted and rocked first by a mobile disco running off a petrol generator and then by a band of drummers. I am not a fan of loud music, but found it quite welcome as it took my mind off the pain in my legs. We turned the corner, then suddenly the gradient was downhill. Strangely, it was not a huge relief. OK, it was good not to have the constant pain of hauling oneself uphill, but going down one feels obliged to pick up the pace, keep the heart rate up, and it is actually pretty exhausting running fast downhill. Add to this the camber of Rhodes Drive on the bends (of which there are many) and a few hidden and unexpected uphills before one gets to Kirstenbosch, and it turned out not to be the most enjoyable few km.

At the top gate of Kirstenbosch, there were a couple of refreshment stations and lots of music, crowds, physio tents, and the like. This is the fun part of the race - no huge uphills, lots of support, and the prospect of the finishing line somewhere not too far away. It was starting to heat up so I grabbed a few water sachets and squirted them over my head (and my fellow runners, not to mention one or two spectators). A French fellow ran with me for a short while and asked about the Cape Town weather, informing me that it was 9 degrees Celsius in France today. OK. Whatever. Thanks for that.

I seemed to get a second wind on that stretch, passed quite a few athletes and was generally feeling good. I made the Rhodes Drive / M3 intersection just shy of 2h. 2.5km left in 15 minutes to make a 2:15, which for me on this course is a good time. Should be possible. I felt excited - this would be a personal best for this race - last year I only managed 2:37 and 2 years before that 2:20. The guy next to me was saying to his buddy: "No ways we'll make 2:15. Can't do it in 15m!" Come on, I thought, it can't be that tough.

But it is tough - those last few kms up the M3 past the Newlands Forest, over Princess Anne Road and into UCT - it is sheer bloody purgatory. It is not as steep as Southern Cross. The problem is one has given just about everything and there is little left. I just kept my head down, my eye on my pulse, on the clock, on the distance markers. I saw one or two folk I knew in the crowd who shouted encouragement - that helped. Gradually, painfully, the last remaining km slipped by. Eventually the UCT rugby field gate loomed into site. 2:14 and counting. And then the final kick in the teeth: 300m of grass. Difficult to believe but it is really hard running on soft grass after 21km on tar. The legs just don't want to do that extra work. But the clock was ticking and somehow I found a bit of extra energy, enough to pick up the pace and make sure I clocked a 2:15 and not a 2:16 or a 2:17. Is that important? Yes, it is. You have no idea how important it is!

And then, as it began, it was all over. Line crossed, time registered, race finished. I stopped running and felt my legs, back, body, feet protesting - "What on earth are you doing to us?!" I joined one of several queues and got my medal, then another to get a Coke and then yet another to get into the white "runners' tent" where I was given a lovely hot cup of tea and an Ouma rusk by a smiling lady. Never have tea and rusk tasted that good. I sat / flopped / collapsed onto the grass inside the tent and gratefully consumed them, wondering whether I would be able to get up again. They were so good that I had a second cuppa and two more rusks before leaving the tent. The next challenge was the bridge over the race track. Up twenty steps, over the track and down again the other side. No way around. Have they any idea what it feels like to do this after running 21km?!

I met my friends and family, made a few phone calls to assure herself and others that I hadn't succumbed and headed home. Another 2OHM down. Every year I wonder why I do it and every subsequent year I come back to do it again.

36 hours later, as I write this, I am still stiff, a little sore, but not in agony. Last night was difficult, but today has been OK and by tomorrow I expect I shall feel fine, by Tuesday I shall be back in the gym. Isn't the human body remarkably adaptive? Or, perhaps, isn't the human brain remarkably stupid?!

Hope you are happy, Doctor!

Corgies and old ducks

Emma getting the checkout at the vet

Luca as a pup - not very happy

Luca as an adult - entitlement!

Emma as a pup.

Corgies have been described a little dogs with big hearts, big dogs in little dogs' bodies and a whole lot else besides, some of it much less flattering, for example German shepherds with their legs sawn off. Until about 7 years ago they were, to us, simply another breed of dog, beloved of Her Brittanic Majesty, but we had never known or owned one.

Our old Lab x Ridgeback x Bull Terrier was clearly nearing his final days and our little Alberton Pavement Special (APS), likewise. Both had been with us almost since the day we married and I knew that parting would be both hard and bitter. A colleague mentioned that she breeds Corgies and that one of her bitches had just had a litter. She showed me some pictures and I expressed interest in taking a pup. It was to be a surprise birthday present for herself, so it was just the two princesses and I who went around to the breeder's house to inspect the litter. As I recall there were 6 pups, a number of which were already bespoken. We fell in love with a little fellow called "King Kool" (all the pups' names started with K as it was the breeder's 11th Corgie litter) and he was described as a tri-colour with sable markings - evidently a little unusual and quite special. What did I know? - he just looked adorable to me and the princesses approved.

The day arrived for us to fetch him. By this stage it had been decided that his name would be Luca, not King Kool. I remember fetching him on a Sunday afternoon en route back from a church camp at Wortelgat, some 3 hours drive away from Fish Hoek, past Hermanus and Stanford. I brought him home in a borrowed travel-cage, with a half a bag of Pedigree (or was it Hill's? - something expensive, anyway) puppy chunks, his official papers, and a long list of instructions regarding how best to look after a Corgie puppy.

He received a tumultuous welcome from the management committee at home, including herself, who seemed very happy with the new arrival. The lab and the APS were non-plussed. The APS by then was almost blind and not a little senile so she just sat on her bed and snapped furiously whenever Luca was in the vicinity, walking past or whatever. Since she had only two teeth by then and they were not aligned, he was not in any danger. She was too old to initiate play with him and seemed immune to his overtures to come and have a roll on the carpet. The Lab tolerated him, being a Lab and therefore in theory good natured and tolerant, that is until Luca developed a liking for biting and gnawing on his tail about 2 inches from the base. It fitted into his mouth nicely and I can just imagine what those razor sharp needles felt like that close to paradise and the family jewels. The poor old fellow learnt to sing a few new songs in his last days, most of them in the soprano range.

One thing I do remember from those early days was that Luca's ears would not stand up. A Corgie puppy's ears do not stand up at birth, but should by 6 weeks be up and not down. He had one up and one down. I consulted the breeder who told me that what is often down is to tape foam plastic "inners" into the ears for a few weeks until they are right. We couldn't bear the thought of this poor puppy having to go around with fruit box wrapping material in his ears and put it off as long as we could - fortunately they corrected themselves.

The Lab and the APS shuffled off not long after that, from natural causes and we were left with just a boisterous Corgie puppy, or by this stage teenager I suppose. He was a fine looking dog - as he grew his collar darkened into a handsome black border for his snow white bib. Wherever we took him people stopped and fussed and said what a fine fellow he was. We did not, however, take him to puppy classes, socialization classes, obedience classes or any other classes of any description. Kind of like our approach to child rearing - lots of love and the rest sorts itself out. The result was that he was a little tiring on walks, straining at the lead a lot, and we often had to speak about three times before he obeyed the simplest of instructions - again, a bit like the kids.

Luca has developed some endearing habits. He likes to sleep on the floor, particularly the tiled bathroom floor - I guess Corgies "unders" can get quite hot with that thick coat - but before bed and in the morning he enjoys to come up for a cuddle, and his favourite position on the bed has always been sitting crossways across herself's lap, which makes book reading impossible and coffee drinking positively dangerous. He likes to chase a tennis ball and bring it back, but more than that he likes to wrestle you for it with his mouth, growling all the time. He is fiercely protective of herself and the princesses - if I or any other male so much as approach one of them he will attack without hesitation. This is good, but can get a bit much as he sometimes mistakes some loving gesture for aggression.

We have a LazyBoy recliner upstairs in the bedroom. Luca is fascinated with it - every time I sit in it he will run up the stairs regardless of where he is or what he is doing. Then as I kick back he charges in under the footrest to see what is underneath. Of course there never is anything. We have a theory that he thinks the boogie-dog lives there. Lastly, he is absolutely terrified of thunder and lightning, along with most Cape Town dogs. The slightest celestial perturbation and he is transformed from the brave protector of the household to a pathetic dithering wreck. It is often during the wee hours of the morning and he will climb on the bed and try and sit on my or herself's head, get under the blankets - anything to get away from those lights and that noise...

We decided against having him "done" - he was just such an obvious boy that we couldn't bear the thought of turning him into an it. One of the predictable but unfortunate results was that he retained his innate and presumably testosterone-driven aggression, being prepared to take on any dog, however lagre, without hesitation. This got him into trouble once or twice, most memorably when herself took him to the park and a large white Alsatian type simply rushed up to him and grabbed him by the neck. Again, I was away and herself had to sort it out. When I spoke to the breeder a while later she said she thought it has something to do with a Corgie's ears, which stick up and present an invitation to other dogs, as it were. About R1000 of vet's bills later, we still had Luca, but it was kind of touch and go. Added to the damage from the fight was the issue of muzzles and him not being very amenable to having his wound cleaned, drains stitched in or removed and just generally people taking liberties with his personage.

When Luca was about 6 months and again at around a year, we were persuaded by the breeder to take him to a dogshow. Bad move. The requirements were fairly simple - he was supposed to stand still on a table for long enough for the judge to have a good look at him and then he was to walk around the ring on a leash next to or behind his owner. The breeder said we could ensure his cooperation in the latter activity by tempting him with a bite of something which we could give to him when it was over. So herself walked round the ring with a piece of biltong in her hand cajoling Luca to walk nicely. The result resembled a schoolboy walking down the road doing tricks with his yo-yo - this small ball of brown fur on the end of a lead bouncing up and down trying to get at the biltong which he knew was in there somewhere and herself's face turning an ever deeper shade of crimson. No, he didn't win. I recall he came third - out of three. At the next show we let the breeder walk him but the result was not a whole lot better so we decided that shows were not for us and we would be content with simply being Corgie owners rather than Corgie showers.

And then came Emma!

Well, we couldn't bring up Luca as an only dog could we. Clearly he needed company, preferably female. So we went back to the breeder and asked her when the next litter was due - turned out there were pups expected on Christmas Day or thereabouts. Emma's mother is Luca's sister, making Emma his niece, I suppose. We went around in early January and selected our ball of fluff. A few weeks later we brought her home. Or herself and the princesses did - I think I was in East Africa at the time.

From the time she moved in, small as she was, it was clear who wore the pants around the house. She would present her face or shoulder or whatever to him for licking. If he failed to oblige she gave him hell, so he always obliged. If he stopped she gave him hell, so he just carried on. Every time they came to a door there was an argument about who should go through first, which she always won - she would run out yapping furiously with him in hot pursuit, also barking his head off. Five years later nothing has changed.

Emma nearly died in her tender years. She picked up some or other gut infection, had an episode of torrential diarrhoea and copious vomiting and between the time that we left home and about an hour later, went from being a normal puppy to being in extremis. Fortunately our boarder was around, saw her prostrated on the back step, called herself and they together rushed her through to the vet. She came through, but again it was close.

Unfortunately, her veterinary woes were not over. When she was about two years old, she started fitting - just out of the blue, although in retrospect we wondered whether it was perhaps related to some hypoxic episode around the time of the diarrhoea. Again I consulted the breeder who assured me that it wasn't "in the family", that maybe it was something in her diet, or that it might be related to one type of deworming medicine that vets use, which evidently accumulates in the brains of certain breeds of dogs and can cause fitting. Whatever, it happened several times and we had to agree to the vet putting her on an anticonvulsant - phenobarbitone. She was a bit of a zombie until the dose got sorted out, but it stopped the fits. The problem was that it increased her appetite and she started putting on weight. Three years later, despite us trying to restrict her diet and ensure sufficient exercise, she is a bit of a barrel, but we love her dearly and she has a lovely nature when she is not crapping Luca out.

Walking with Corgies is hazardous. Not that they are hazardous themselves - they are fairly good walkers. It is the comments one attracts. I don't think a walk goes by without a comment. Young, old, black, white, male, female - everyone has something to say about Corgies. The tragedy is they each think they are both original and funny. The other day an old ballie rode past on his bicycle and said in a loud voice, "You've got the Corgies: where's the Queen?" I said "On holiday." Well, what else do you say? On Saturday we walked to the local mall and as dogs are not allowed in, I waited outside while herself went in to draw money and buy some bread. I had no less than four people remark on the dogs. One was an old lady with a head scarf who looked like she had probably been a Second World War WASP sergeant major. When she spied the dogs she said "Oooh, Corgies. I used to have Corgies!" "Oh," I said, freaing the worst, "did you enjoy them?" "I loved them," she said, "very intelligent!" I agreed - they really are pretty bright most of the time. "Yours are too fat," she went on, "bad for their hearts you know..." I was about to launch into some explanation of Emma's epilepsy treatment and how it really wasn't her fault but the woman was already gone - she climbed into her little car, hooted loudly and irritably at a pedestrian and disappeared. Really must think up a good come-back for that comment - which I hear at least once a week. If I don't I am likely to come out with "... And your mother dressed you funny this morning!" which won't make me popular and may just get me either assaulted or arrested or both.

Numbers 31

One thousand men from every tribe,
Moses sent them on their mission:
"Conquer all, leave nothing standing,
Raze Midian past recognition!"

Fight was fierce and battle glorious,
But no Jew was hurt or missed,
When returned the force victorious
Friends embraced and lovers kissed.

Not a Hebrew dead or ailing,
Yet behind the din of armour,
Shrill, persistent, mournful wailing,
Piercing through the chariots' clamour.

Captive women, boys and girls,
Widowed, orphaned, now enslaved,
Counted with the gold and pearls,
Chained like criminals depraved.

Moses in his fury flared,
"Kill them all: it is your duty!
Only virgins may be spared,
Share them with the other booty."

Havoc then was wreaked tremendous,
Corpses in the dust lay scattered,
Helpless pawns in crime horrendous,
Seems to God they hadn't mattered.

I wrote this in the plane somewhere between Nairobi and Johannesburg. As a poem I expect it is unremarkable, but I would wager that not too much verse has been written at an altitude of 33 000 feet!

Nairobi

The dam near the main gate.

I was struck by the tree with the beautiful pink flowers,

but have no idea what it was.

Likewise this one - there seem to be quite a few of them around.

Erythrina spp. The tree which used to have a non PC (actually illegal) name - in South Africa at any rate. Still one of my favourites, partly because it is often the only flower one sees in winter - this and the weeping boer-bean with the deep red flowers which also blooms in winter (Schotia brachylaena)

The main hall - which houses the dining room and the cafeteria,

the shop and the internet lounge.

My room - P6. Very simple. Quite comfortable.

Much more "me" than room 1407 at the Hilton.

I have visited Nairobi many times, passed through it, attended meetings etc. Not my favourite place in the world, but there are part of it I like. Now I am at a 3 day meeting in the area, but not in Nairobi itself, just outside at a place called Brackenhurst International Conference Centre (http://brackenhurst.com/bicc/index.php?brackeninfoclass=1). More of that anon.

The last blog ended with me getting morose over my beer and peanuts because my better half is 5000km away.

Saturday

Arrive at least 2 hours before departure for an international flight. You get it drummed into your skull by every travel agent, you learn by hard experience. In fact some of them tell you three hours. In Africa it doesn't apply. The reason is that the check in counters generally don't open until about 90 minutes before take off, even for an international flight. Another reason is that the incoming flight is more often than not late. But I guess one cannot take chances. So I was an Antebbe Airport at 8 sharp for my 10h00 flight, KQ411 to Nairobi. Of course I had to wait half an hour in the lobby before being allowed past the scanner and security check. There was a fair queue of folks at the KA counter, the only one open, which I joined. A KA lady in a red uniform came around and gave us baggage tags to affix to our luggage. She looked at mine and said, "Do you have a padlock? You must have a padlock." Now my case is a cheapy from Sears in Gaithersburg, Maryland - it was on a sale. I think we got about 6 suitcases for $40! The skeleton is plastic with a few pieces of metal and the body is canvas. Why would anyone want to put a padlock on that - you could just rip the fabric or the zip if you wanted to get in. I told her I didn't have one - "Oh", she said, "if you give me some money I shall get someone to go and buy you one outside." "Oh no you don't," I thought, "been down this road before". And I have. I told her I would get it wrapped by the plastic guy for $5. She looked sulky and went off to irritate someone else. Duly got it wrapped.

Our plane arrived and we boarded. We took off over the lake and veered left, climbing steeply. The fellow next to me had a bad attitude and seemed intent on spreading himself all over his own seat and mine. The person behind me kept sticking their knees into the back of my seat. Thankfully it was only an hour's flight and by the time they had finished with the endless and rather boring announcements, and served us with soggy chicken pie, bland vanilla cake and a glass of water (I was being good and refused the fruit juice - should have refused the pie and cake as well) we felt the engines pull back as we started our descent and the captain was on the blower telling us to get our acts together for landing.

Made a rather bumpy landing at Nairobi. Small plane so I guess we got chucked around a fair bit by the up-drafts and down-drafts and side-drafts. The only draft they didn't provide was a Castle draught. No problems with passport control and security, and my baggage appeared remarkably quickly, complete with gladwrap. I later discovered that the internal plastic and metal frame had been damaged - what do they do to these things?! So much for Sears sale. 2 down 4 to go. Think I shall purchase an army trommel

The hotel was supposed to pick me up - they had my name and flight number. I scanned the row of waiting drivers on the far side of the barricade a number of times and couldn't see anyone with anything even vaguely resembling my name so wandered down to a kiosk called something about Safari Adventures which I was told could help me. They phoned the hotel, but had no joy, then said they would be glad to take me for $60. I protested that that sounded like a lot of money for a transfer - it normally costs me $26 to get to the Hilton. Ah, I was told, this is outside Nairobi, about 45km away. (The website says 30miles out of Nairobi so I guess that is about right). I phoned my friend who is a Kenyan doctor, and was told $60 was a good price, so agreed and handed over my hard earned bucks.

Maybe the price was good because the car wasn't. It was an ancient Corolla with no air-con and rather worn back seats. The weather was hot and muggy and the traffic abysmal - worse than Kampala if that is possible. We were very soon stuck in a huge "jam" which the driver informed me was because of "all the accidents" - really comforting. Every time we ground to a halt he switched the engine off - I could see the gauge was on reserve so I could see that this was a good idea. The only problem was that switching the engine off automatically popped all the door-locks and switching it on again did not do the reverse. Nairobi is known for thieves and carjackers, and I was sitting with my laptop on my lap, doing some work, so I was a little nervous.

After what seemed like aeons, we got through whatever it was and headed north west on the Naivasha / Nakuru road. My driver didn't seem entirely sure where he was going, which worried me. He drove too fast on the open bits of road, which were not of the best quality to begin with, to make up for the parts where we crawled along because of speed humps, heavy traffic or potholes. We went past places with names like Muthaiga, Ndenderu, Ruaka, and my favourite, Banana Hill. I even saw a notice for the Banana Church but was too slow to take a picture. Must try and get it on my way home. A while later we got to Tigoni, asked some locals (for the third time) for directions, and found the turnoff to Brackenhurst. A short tarred road took us down into a valley and up the other side and then through the gates of the complex.

I tipped the driver - quite a good tip since I was short of change. One of those decisions which I later did not regret, since I also left my Blackberry on his back seat. I am not sure whether it had anything to do with it and whether he would have returned it anyway, but he brought it back. I was so relieved I gave him a bear hug, much to the amusement of the receptionist. They were kind enough to let me eat lunch despite it being 2 o'clock. I had a latte and chicken half sandwich. Well if this is a half sandwich, I am glad I only ordered a half. These Christians eat well!

Spent the afternoon working on some papers and the like - no internet access in the room and then went for a run. There are marked 2.5km and 1km trails through the woodland adjacent to the complex. I did the 2.5km route but did not enjoy the long grass and overhanging branches - I have lived in Africa long enough to be scared of snakes, so rather than run a second lap reverted to the road and ran to the main gate and back, about 3km. I am aware of the upcoming 2 Oceans Half Marathon - not more than 3 weeks away, and the dreaded Southern Cross Drive.

Back at the center there were various Christian groups having meetings - some lusty singing in English from the chapel, but some even lustier singing in kiSwahili (I presume) from the staff quarters up behind the tennis courts. I enjoyed listening to it - there was some pretty good keyboard and bass work from the one group, but didn't feel any urge to join - enough of that back home.

Dinner was simple but filling. Could do without all the fried stuff - they even fried the broccoli (it said so). The other groups were sitting around chatting rather loudly about the saved and the unsaved and their efforts to tilt the balance. OK - less cynicism. They mean well.

Had a short walk around the complex before bed. I found the Baptist seminary library, which seemed very well and lovingly organised, but the books were largely rather old and the most recent journal I could find was 2007. I guess theology does not change that fast so it is less likely to be out of date. But it would have been nice to see at least a few books and journals which didn't look like David Livingstone had personally perused them during his travels. I guess it is all funds related - these things are so expensive.

I did a bit more work and then hit the bed, a large foam mattress (you can feel it) double bed. Put the laptop next to me with the volume down and Windows Media Player on random mode and drifted off to a miscellany of classical and pop. I awoke in the wee hours surprisingly cold and had to get under the blanket rather than just the coverlet.

Sunday

Slept till 8 a.m.!! This is unheard of, mainly because at home the dogs wake when their bladders and bowels begin to twitch, which is often around 5, and the parrot starts calling for his staff to attend his needs around sunrise. It was bright sunlight outside. I looked at the information sheet on the back of the door and discovered that I had missed breakfast. Ah well, less fried whatever. I opened the door and was surprised at the gust of cool air reminding me that we are up in the hills here, not down at the coast or the lake.

I decided to have another run, it being such a beautiful morning. Switched on the geyser (it takes at least half an hour to heat) and got into my gear. I headed out down the road past the small dam to the main gate and then turned right up the long (very long) hill towards Limuru, which I could see in the distance. I passed locals clearly on their way to church and some clearly not on their way to church. I tried to wave rather than say anything on account of not knowing much kiSwahili (or maybe they speak Kikuyu here) and because I was short of breath. An old man waved back and said "Mzee!" which I seem to remember is something like the Zulu "Numzana" meaning, "Sir". I felt good. The kids were mostly shy but a few managed a delighted "Zungu, Zungu" (white person) and one shouted "Hello How are You!" more as a statement than as a greeting or a question I think. Along the side of the main road I noticed that folks had marked out individual mini-plots, fertilised with large quantities of cattle dung, and were growing what looked like spinach as well as other crops. I've seen that in Mpumalanga, near the Kruger Park - there it was maize. Made me think - wouldn't last a second in or near Cape Town - those plants would be gone the minute they became edible, probably before. Maybe Kenyans take the biblical injunction seriously about not reaping what you did not sow!

I passed turnoffs to numerous schools, "universities" (??), farms, the local hospital, a Save our Trees project, lots of community development stuff, a Catholic Monastery, an Anglican church ... but by and large the road was pretty open and afforded lovely views over the tea farms and countryside. I had to keep my ears open for taxi's overtaking behind me (the road was wide enough for 2 vehicles but nothing more) and my eyes open for vehicles approaching me from the front. I didn't give much for my chances should I be run over. All in all it was a very pleasant run though - just over an hour and I guess about 8km. Nothing too strenuous.

After a shower and change I headed for the cafeteria, found a nice table in the corner of the veranda overlooking a lush lawn, plugged the laptop in and did some work while sipping on a latte. That kept me busy for a couple of hours. Then I headed for the shop where I purchased some internet time (200KSh for 12 hours - that is less than R1 an hour - amazing) and bought a lovely (I think so anyway) Kenyan coarse cotton shirt with blue, black and white stripes. The shop attendant made admiring noises. That cost 550 Ksh, about R55. There are fancier ones with exquisite embroidery for about 700, 800 and 900 KSh - will have to see how much money I have at the end of the week.

Lunch was "Jamaican chicken" - not sure what that is - does it contain marijuana? - and baby marrows (fried again, unfortunately), with soup and rolls. Washed down with cold water. As I said nothing elaborate but very filling and fairly wholesome.

Then it was back to the laptop to catch up on emails and admin, but with the added pleasure of listening to some very fine singing from Wakefield Cathedral, King's College Cambridge and some polyphonal choir singing on "The Choir"with Aled Jones, all courtesy of BBC 3 on broadband. Isn't technology wonderful! Unfortunately couldn't get a good take on "Pipedreams" which is another favorite from American Public Radio - 2 hours of pipe organ music from around the world, updated weekly. The BBC site has a low bandwidth version which is useful for places like this.

Went for a walk down the road to the main gate and back and took some pictures. The sun was just setting and there was a nip in the air but the incline prevented any possibility of chill. Saw some birds - malachite sunbird, black eyed bulbul. This morning I heard a Piet-my-vrou. Some nice trees, some of which I knew but many of which I didn't. Erythrina spp - beautiful orange flowers, tulip tree, likewise, forest fever tree, hibiscus down next to the dam, euphorbia - but many were new.

Dinner was fried fish again. I don't think the mixed vegetables were fried but I may be wrong. The chips definitely were. The salad was a little sad. But why complain - it was tasty and edible.

Monday

Uganda - 1

The rondawel with the rats

Crossing the line

The Beer garden at the hotel

Kampala City Hall

Marabou storks own the place

A view of Kampala

Entebbe and Masaka, Uganda

Wednesday

There is something about Uganda which I love. Maybe it is the fact that when you land at Entebbe you come in over the Lake. Maybe it is the lush greenness of everything. Maybe it is the people who are as warm as the climate. I just know that when I land at Entebbe, even as I hand over my 50 bucks for the visa, I feel welcome. The hotel staff remembered me – after only staying here for 2 nights last year, one of a crowd of about eight.

Anyway, here I am at the Airport Executive Hotel in Entebbe. I would call it more of a motel really – single story, small breakfast room, beer garden. Reminds me of the Rode Inn in Flagstaff and costs about the same - $60 a night for bed and breakfast. Hope the company realises how much I am saving them by not staying at the Sheraton! I like this place partly because of the proximity to the airport – about 5 minutes drive. Kampala traffic is legendary and one doesn’t want to get stuck in it when one is on the way to the airport. I prefer to fight it the day before.

I am a reasonably good packer but do sometimes forget things – this time I forgot my running shorts and sleep shorts. What to do. I asked at reception. They said I could buy them at the local supermarket, but since it was after dark, suggested I take a “boy” as company. Well the “boy” turned out to be a man called Joseph, but whatever, we walked down to the local shop and asked about shorts. We were shown a selection of Boxer shorts at the back of the shop, all made in China. They weren’t badly made and the price was good (7000 Ugandan shillings, which is about R28) but the Large looked like it would be tight on a 12 year old, so I had to rummage through until we found XXXXL and then I bought both of those available. Surprisingly comfortable.

Thursday

Today I had a meeting with a colleague in Masaka which (I thought) is about an hour’s drive south of Entebbe. Turns out the only half-decent road is through Kampala so I might as well have stayed there. I was collected at 7 sharp by a driver in an official vehicle, a 4 x 4. His name was Charles and he was a thoroughly good fellow. We picked up a second party in Kampala and then headed south. Or was it south west – I am not sure. The road wound through villages. The area around Lake Vic is so populated that there aren’t really any areas which are not inhabited except for the marshes / swamps. I spotted a few kingfishers, marabou storks and a cluster of forest fever trees (Acanthocleista Grandiflora) which surprised me, but maybe this is where they thrive. Have only seen them in the Kruger Park and Kirstenbosch. In parts the road was badly potholed. In others there were construction works and we slowed to a crawl. I was informed afterwards that this is one of the roads with the highest death rates in the country. In one of the marshy parts they had a digger lifting out great mouthfuls of mud and dumping them in waiting trucks. Just beyond its reach I saw a thick black wire lying exposed in the reeds. What is that I asked. Oh that is the fibre optic cable connecting Rwanda and Kenya replied our driver. Scary!

On the way home we stopped at a coffee house which is right on the equator. Food, drink and artwork is sold in aid of AIDS orphans. I ordered an iced latte and my traveling companion a cappuccino. Plus two wraps. Nothing remarkable about the food. But I am including the incident because the building was a very large "rondawel" - round house with a peaked, thatched roof, no ceiling. While we were placing our order there was a fairly loud "thunk" from just behind us and we looked round to see that a large rat which must have been climbing in the rafters and lost its footing, had fallen out and landed on the floor. Probably about 20 feet. Remarkably, it ran off, none the worse. As if that wasn't enough, another rat fell out of the rafters a short distance away. We hurried out to the veranda before any more fell, hoping that none would fall in our lunch in the meantime. Bizarre.

Not as bizarre but getting there was the display at the exact place where the equator crosses the road. A large concrete circle with N and S marked. Good for photo's. OK, fine. But just next to it, three basins on tripods. The one on the equator indicating that water placed therein would drain straight down the hole without swirling. The one on the north (about 5m north of the equator) indicating that water would swirl one way and the one on the south indicating it would swirl the other way. Bollocks. Can't believe it. Not at 5m. Am I wrong?

I have heard that at the equator the sun always rises at exactly 6 and sets at 6. Not true - today it set around 6.30 and time zones mess up that theory anyway. One thing about equatorial areas that does appear to be true is that there is very little twilight – very soon after the sun sets it is dark.

I got back to the hotel around 5 so decided to go for a run (in my Boxers!). Entebbe is hilly and our hotel is halfway up a hill. The fancier houses and better areas are on the tops of the hills. So it made sense to run uphill rather than downhill. The road led up to the presidential palace. I know from visiting capital cities around Africa that one doesn’t want to look too interested in such buildings or one is likely to be taken in for questioning. So I ran around it doing my best to look uninterested, past the Lake Victoria Hotel and came to the golf club, down the centre of which I spied a good looking dirt road running towards the lake. There was a notice warning visitors to beware golfballs but I could only see two golfers and they appeared to be discussing politics rather than teeing up to drive off. As the road descended between the fairways I noticed what looked like plumes of white/yellow smoke ahead. Getting closer I realised they were clouds of gnats. They completely blocked the road. I had no other option than to turn back or run through them. I chose the latter and soon regretted it. I had gnats in my hair, gnats in my eyes, gnats in my mouth, gnats in my groin ... it didn’t matter whether I put my head down or not – they just got into every orifice. The road led to a water intake plant on the lakeshore which was fenced and gated – I checked out the view and then turned and headed home as it was starting to get dark. More gnats. Clearly they weren't worried about the dark. I ran past a church and heard a choir rehearsing. A family was sitting around a small fire in a yard in front of their shack, sharing the evening meal. A preacher roadshow was blaring out over loudspeakers closer to home. I took a quick shower and went to sit in the beergarden to read and reply to my emails. When a waitress appeared I ordered vegetable curry and chapatti, fruit salad and a Nile beer. The last of the sunset was disappearing in the west and I could see and hear the big planes coming and going at the airport. There were mosquitoes aplenty but they seemed more interested in the light of my computer screen than in biting my ankles. Next door at the Pentecostal church the midweek service was in full swing with much singing, praying and preaching. Life felt fairly good, even with the heap of work I knew would keep me up till midnight.

Friday

Today it was Kampala. As I have said, Kampala traffic is infamous – I had been warned that getting into the middle of town would take one and a half hours at least possibly more, this despite it only being around 35km. It is reasonably free flowing until you reach the final five km but then ... gridlock. So I arranged for the taxi to pick me up at 8 since my meeting was at ten. Couldn’t face the sausage and egg again so just had some toast and jam with a cup of coffee for breakfast. Taxi duly arrived early. The driver informed me that his name was Bonny (!) and that the trip would cost UGX 100 000 return. Sounds bad, but works out to around R350 or $50 which is a lot less than it would have cost in South Africa. On the other hand, in Cape Town I guess the window would have wound down and the aircon may have worked and the seat belt may not have been broken. Not that any of that really worried me. I was relieved that someone else was taking responsibility for my getting there on time. I sat in the back and went through some documents on the laptop until my eyes were crossing and I was feeling dizzy, then closed it down and sat back to observe Kampala. You know after a while one third world city looks pretty much like another. Same broken roads, same emaciated dogs and depressed looking cattle, same dirty sidewalks with informal traders plying their cheap Chinese wares, same ramshackle houses and shops, same unroadworthy, (how could any vehicle not be worthy of these roads?!) diesel exhaust spewing vehicles weaving in and out of the traffic stream, same motorcycles with one driver and one, two, three passengers seated somewhere behind, same cavalcades of politicians riding by while we wait and sweat in the African sunshine, same half finished apartment blocks and hotels waiting for an injection of finance (in Arusha there is one which has been waiting 10 years) and, yes, the same smell of, well, whatever. Eventually you just think it is the way things are and always have been. Occasionally I will think “I wonder what this looked like before the Europeans came, or during the colonial period” but usually I just think, “OMG, I can’t believe people endure this day in day out, year in year out...” but clearly they do.

My meetings went well and before I knew it it was time to hit the “jam” again and head back to Entebbe. I didn’t time it but I think it took about 45 minutes just to get out of town, and then about 30 minutes to get home. What the hell, I was in no hurry. Back in my room I checked the TV – ah yes, just like yesterday, only one channel. Yesterday it was the Chinese channel, today it is the Ugandan. Do I care? Not really. I complained yesterday and they obligingly switched it to CNN, which meant the entire hotel had to watch CNN! It is little things like that. I think the blades in the ceiling fan are mounted upside down so all the air gets blown upwards to the ceiling. You can’t (or dare not) drink the tap water but they give you only one bottle of water for 3 days. OK I can buy more, but I shouldn’t have to. And no pool! Whinge, whinge, whinge. I took a cold shower, changed into casuals and headed for the beer garden. Ordered a Club Pilsener – the waiter recommended it and assured me it was made by the same company as make Nile. Amd ja, it wasn’t bad. Down in the village the preacher was going at it hammer and tongs, mostly in Luganda but with the occasional bit of English chucked in for good measure. Actually it sounded like a dual act – when the one stopped for breath the other took over. Exhausting – and that was just to listen to. At the same time they seemed to be having a revival meeting in the church next door. My battery died just before sunset and I thought it wise to go in and avoid the mozzies for a while anyway. I managed to get BBC3 on broadband (!) and listened to a service from King’s College, Cambridge while the battery recharged. By the time I went back to the garden it was dark. I settled myself next to the light (have to see the keyboard) and ordered a soda and the tilapia fillet. I learned on a previous trip, don’t order the whole fish. For one thing it is huge and for another, they mean whole fish when they say whole fish and I don’t appreciate my meal watching me eat it. Unfortunately the fillet turned out to be at the opposite extreme. 3 rather miniscule cutlets (not fillets) with a huge pile of French fries and a sad little salad on the side. Oh and some lime slices. OK, it will do.

The music seems to be a mix of Ugandan rap and country. They played Chris de Burgh’s Lady in Red which reminded me that Friday night is my usual and only night alone with herself, which made me sad, so I sent her an sms telling her to splash out and have her hair highlighted. Then they played something that sounded like Kenny Rogers with words to the effect of “Love doesn’t live here anymore” and I just about cracked up.

Hiking Silvermine, Muizenberg and Kalk Bay 4

Agapanthus

Mimetes Valley with False Bay and Simonstown in the distance

We thought this tree and boulder had character

Sunrise over False Bay and the Hottentots Holland Mountains

Some bright spark (one of the three primary glutei) suggested that we should try and make an earlier start today. Actually it was a sensible idea because the forecast for the day's weather was 35 Celsius. So I dutifully woke at 4.30, having made and packed my sandwiches and juice the night before, got my stuff together and headed out. I parked the car at Dalebrook tidal pool, in Kalk Bay, having been informed that the walk would end there.

I walked through Kalk Bay, St James and Muizenberg in the dark with my backpack. That may sound scary to South African city dwellers but it was along the Main Road, which is well lit, and even at 5.30 am on a Saturday there was a fair amount of traffic, including the odd demented cyclist practicing for the Argus in 3 weeks' time. I greeted the night guards on duty at the roadworks, manning the traffic lights at the one-lane section. I admired the string of really beautiful houses in the vicinity of Rhodes Cottage - most built around the turn of the last century although of course "Het Posthuys" is a lot older. I stopped to look at the progress made on the renovation of the old and somewhat infamous "Cape Sands" apartment block in Muizenberg, now renamed "Les Magnifique" or something equally pretentious and selling for from just under a million rand a pop for a one bedrrom apartment. Ah well, I guess it will look good when they finish and it was a bit of an eyesore. I wonder what happened to the hundreds of mostly expatriate African families who were living there. The old motorbike shop is now a second hand furniture emporium. There are two hairdressers right next to each other - who needs two hairdressers in a row - I don't even need one! Before long I was at Albertyn Road where I met the other glutei: maximi and minimi alike. As it turned out half the group had not gotten the message about the early start so we only left at 6.30 anyway.

Usually I stick with the old farts, but Sir Lawrence was in full volume mode already at 6.30 a.m. and I needed some solitude to help me wake up gently so thought I would walk with the young bucks. One fellow in particular seems to think it is a race - last week he made it from Boyes to the cross-path in 30 minutes. I had also brought my chest strap/heart rate monitor with me because I wanted to get a handle on what sort of exercise hiking offers one. I hit the start button just after we left Boyes up the path to Peck's Valley. I stood aside for him, muttering something like "Wouldn't want to hold you back" and we started our ascent. That first 5 minutes up what must be a 45 degree slope kills any conversation. Soon after, he drew aside to tie his shoelace, or so he said and I passed him saying that I just needed to keep on plodding and would see him shortly. He got further and further behind and soon it became clear that he wasn't able to keep up. When he finally did catch up he said something about having had a bad week and not having been able to train. Score one for the old farts! I made it in just under 30 minutes and was not even out of breath. So the interesting part: when I run my heart rate generally climbs to between 150 and 160, if it is a decent run with a few hills, and averages somewhere in the 130's. My Polar watch tells me all these things. In the climb up Peck's it maxed at 138 and averaged in the 120's. Well that isn't too shabby. That's more than 70% of my predicted maximum HR (174) and I kept it up for 30 minutes - tick off exercise session for the day, cardiologist happy.

We had a longish wait at Breakfast Rock (there is no breakfast rock, but there is a very nice rock at the top of Peck's where you can stop for breakfast). It was almost perfectly quiet, specially before the others arrived, only the odd chirrup of a sunbird going about its business, and the distant surge of the sea. Then it was over to the wireless station, down the road to junction pool up Mimetes Valley to Nellie's and down the diagonal path towards Ou Kraal. The youngsters had charged on ahead, so we let them, but instead of going to Ou Kraal, we took a left at a cairn and followed the hillside path which took us North, back towards Bailie's Kloof. It is a hidden treasure, clearly less used, taking you through a secluded smallish valley before bringing you into the top of Bailie's and the start of a rather steep descent. There seem to be two paths down Bailie's - the one we were not on is like a very long stone staircase and looks well used. Ours was more of a zigzag over to the right, but was clearly also a proper path. It wound around and under crags and small cliffs and then presented us with the option of left back to the main Bailie's path or right traversing over to the right under the cliff face, through indigenous forest and coming down St James Ravine. We chose the latter and were glad we had. More shade for a start. No uphill once we got to Boyes for a another. And finally just a very pleasant wooded path.

Then it was a relaxed walk down Boyes, cutting through St James down a long, steep flight of stairs, I forget which, different one to last time (not Jacob's Ladder). Again I marveled at the stunning old houses to right and left. They seem to have avoided being "improved" a la Atlantic seaboard style (all concrete, chrome and glass) - most retain considerable charm and seem well looked after. Just wish we could afford one! And then the customary dip in the tidal pool, which was already pretty full at 10.30. Home by 11 for a beer with an old friend who just happened to have dropped in. What else are Saturdays for?

Hiking Silvermine, Muizenberg and Kalk Bay 3

From Muizenberg Peak looking NW to Constantiaberg, Constantia Nek. You can see the back of Grootkop particularly well.

From Muizenberg Peak looking south to Kalk Bay Mountain, Elsie's Peak, Simonstown and Simonstown Mountain and in the distance, Cape Point.

From Muizenberg Peak looking East across False Bay to the Hottentots' Holland Mountains and, on the end, Hangklip.

The steep path from the top of Peck's Valley to Muizenberg Peak.

Haven't yet found the name of this in my flower book. Looks like a Protea. Very pretty.

These two shots are of Muizenberg, with False Bay behind and to the right, taken from various heights up the Peck's Valley ascent. The play of the light on the water was just beautiful.

This last one was taken by Sir Lawrence Olivier, with his very fancy 10 MPix Canon. But he was kind enough to shrink the size of it before emailing to me. Sunrise over Sandvlei.

More of the same I am afraid. I don't get tired of doing it but maybe the reading becomes a bit repetitive. But what can I say - another superb hike, and we were down for lunch.

6.30 start as usual from False Bay Station in Muizenberg. I got there a little early so had a walk around the block - Milner, Holland, Cromer, Albertyn. There are some really lovely old houses in that part of the suburb and I liked the feel of the place. Muizenberg has the probably undeserved reputation in the Southern Peninsula for crime and drug dealing, and there certainly were more high walls and electric fences than I have perhaps noticed elsewhere, but I didn't feel unsafe walking around and my gut feel was good. I think that part of the suburb dates back about 100 years so the houses are pretty substantial, solid and conventionally styled, though some have been renovated.

We were 7 when we started but one of the youngster's knee was giving trouble so he turned back which left 3 young bucks and 3 old farts - the usual compliment for the Tri-Glutei. Followed the usual route up to Boyes Drive and then up Peck's Valley. For some reason today was deemed Afrikaans Day and everyone was to speak Afrikaans. Which was fine by me as I didn't really feel like talking much. Consensus was that we made better time today but it felt about the same as usual to me - the "endless stone steps" were no less endless. We had our usual "sit down and catch your breath whilst pretending to look at the view" at the four-way junction next to the first military radio station, then turned right and headed up to Muizenberg Peak (507m). It was a fairly steep incline so conversation diminished somewhat though it did not entirely disappear - Sir Lawrence still had enough breath to regale us with a perfectly awful song whose details I cannot now recall, but I know it was awful. There are two peaks, about 200m apart, about the same height. The northern one has a trig beacon. It is worth clambering to the southern one as well as the views over Muizenberg itself are spectacular.

Sir Lawrence read some Afrikaans poetry by Elizabeth Eybers about a bus ride ("Busrit in die aand") and My Learned Colleague, the lawyer, read two poems by Eugene Marais, one in Afrikaans ("Waar Tebes in die Stil Woestyn") and one in English (can't remember the title or find it on the internet). I preferred the one in Afrikaans but I liked both and made a mental note to read some of his poetry. Also a mental note to bring some of my favourites with me next time.

When we had rested, eaten and drunk, we continued along the path towards Higher Steenberg Peak and then back down to the Wireless station, down to Junction Pool, left and up to Nellie's Pool where we again stopped for refreshment, and then South down a loose gravel path with a gentle gradient which took us through a lot of mimetes and pincushion bushes (not in flower but pretty nonetheless) to Ou Kraal, Weary Willy's and down into Kalk Bay. We headed for the Dalebrook Tidal Pool for the by now traditional dip - it was as exquisitely refreshing and welcome as ever - and then had to run back to Kalk Bay Station to buy our tickets and catch, just in time, the 11.14 train to False Bay, where my car waited for me. All in all another excellent hike.

"Waar Tebes in die Stil Woestyn" - Eugene Marais

Daar sou ek vrede weer besef
Waar Tebes in die stil woestyn
Sy magtig' rotswerk hoog verhef
En Mara in die sand verdwyn;

Waar smôrens van die hoogste krans
Die berghaan draaiend opwaarts spoed
Om uit die gloeiend' hemeltrans
Met groot geroep die son te groet;

Waar treurig nog die wolfgehuil
Weerklankend in die klowe dwaal,
En grootwild om die syferkuil
Soos skadu's in 'n stofwolk maal;

En huiswaarts brommend sluip die tier,
Sy donker moordplek pas verlaat,
Wanneer die eerste grou lumier
Met slepend' mis die veld beslaat.

O Land van al ons liefde, daar
Sou ek aanbiddend weer
Die kloppe van U hart gewaar,
U moederlike skoonheid eer.

Sou ek een guns nog hier verdien,
- Nog een gebed omhoog verhoord -
Geen mensepraal sou ek wou sien,
Die glorie van geen vreemde oord.
My bede sou net dit verkry: -
Laat weer U eensaamheid my daar
Vir laas met roerend' mag berei
U groter stilte te aanvaar.

Laat uitlok deur geen suil of steen
'n Enkel sug of woord van haat;
Met al U vrede om my heen
Sal nagt'liks uit die hemelstraat
Sag neerskyn op my laaste huis
Die vonkelend' sterrebeeld van U kruis.

Elk' ydel vrees sal daar verdwyn;
Daar sou ek vrede weer besef
Waar Tebes in die stil woestyn
Sy magtig' rotswerk hoog verhef.

Busrit in die Aand - Elisabeth Eybers

Elk langs sy yl weerkaatsing in die ruit,
sit hulle suf, met monde moeg gesluit,
die werkers van die stad wat huis toe gaan.

Skaduwee-skimme gly verby...Dis laat,
en lang ligvaandels wapper oor die straat
soos oor ‘n dam die blinkpad na die maan.

Ons ploeg deur stormsee met ons kaperskuit:
die stuurman voor, die passasiers die buit
wat ons as slawe huis toe bring vanaand...

Die vaartuig waggel afdraand, om die draai
met skril gekners en skommelende swaai,
en hyg en skok en snork en swoeg opdraand,

terwyl ons, soos twee kinders opgetoë,
mekaar toelag met glinsterende oë...
Asof hul jammerlik hul lot kan raai,

sit hulle suf, met monde moeg gesluit,
elk langs sy yl weerkaatsing in die ruit,
die werkers van die stad wat huis toe gaan.