Hiking Beyond Cape Town by Nina du Plessis and Willie Olivier

I will start by saying that I pretty much grew up in and around Cape Town's mountain hiking trails. My parents were both avid hikers, and from a young age I was dragged up all manner of places – some of them rather daunting, like the infamous hike around the Hout Bay Sentinel (not for the faint of heart). So as someone who still enjoys the occasional excursion, a book like Hiking Beyond Cape Town by Nina du Plessis and Willie Olivier is pretty much a keeper.

This slim volume offers a range of options that will broaden horizons, and is both informative, with beautiful photos, plus also an overview of what to expect in terms of fauna and flora of the Cape region (so I'm guessing this will also make a nifty gift to enthusiastic out-of-town friends who'd like several reasons for return visits).

The book is divided by region, with popular hikes in the Northern Suburbs, the Helderberg, Overberg, the Winelands, and also further afield to locations such as Waenhuiskrans, Cogmanskloof Trail, and others. The authors give practical advice on what to pack and how to plan for your excursions, which is useful to those who're not au fait with hiking in the Cape mountains.

Each hike is accompanied by an informative information panel for location, parking availability, highlights, elevation, grade, distance/duration, the best times for a visit, important information, and availability of maps, permits, and entry times, as well as facilities/amenities, and any other activities that are on offer. The authors then give their own experiences in getting there and what they know of the area, so that by the time you're on the hike, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect, with a little background information to boot. What I especially like is that they give information for which trails are dog-friendly. Of course etiquette dictates that you keep Fido on a lead whenever you are in a wild area, as you don't want to have him bounding off chasing any wildlife.

For me this is a particularly valuable book because of late, I've felt that my old haunts are now so overcrowded with trail runners and cyclists, that it's nigh on impossible to enjoy the mountains like I used to when I was a wee sprite. And while this book is not exhaustive, it's a good starting point for those who perhaps are not an experienced hiker, while also giving insights to other areas that are off the beaten track for those of us who're accustomed to the familiar. 

This book may be small, but it's also chock full of wonderful photos to whet the appetite, and is a gateway to encouraging folks to get out and appreciate all the wonder and beauty of the Cape Floral Kingdom.

Quick ID Guide: Wild Flowers of the Cape Peninsula by Hugh Clarke and Corinne Merry

The Cape Floral Kingdom is considered a hotspot in terms of biodiversity, and many truly special species can be found in the Cape Peninsula. The City of Cape Town is unusual, in that it has a National Park running right through its heart, and for many Capetonians it's as simple as a ten- to fifteen-minute drive to get close to nature. Observant nature-lovers are bound to see any number of floral beauties, no matter the time of year, and in this Quick ID Guide: Wild Flowers of the Cape Peninsula, authors Hugh Clarke and Corinne Merry sketch out an introduction to the most commonly encountered blooms.

Wild Flowers of the Cape Peninsula not only serves as a guide to the different species, but also provides simple maps that assist with the planning of your hiking trip and offers an introduction to the floral beauties of the region that is useful to those who are new to putting a name to a flower and more seasoned nature-lovers alike.

I've found the way the book is laid out to be quite useful too – flowers are not arranged by the season, as I would have expected, but rather by their colours, with photos that display their defining characteristics. Further information includes the flowering season, height, descriptions, leaves, distribution and habitat. Pointers on how to find particular flowers is also offered, along with helpfully colour-coded walking routes and advice on how to explore safely and sensibly – especially if you are considering an ascent of Table Mountain.

This slim volume will easily slip into your backpack, and it's most certainly a book I'll be referring to the next time I head out into the veld. As a Capetonian who's done a fair bit of hiking, it's been wonderful to be reminded how much beauty exists right on my doorstep.

On water security, and attitude

I had a long conversation with my mom yesterday, and of course the topic of water came up with Cape Town's current water crisis. My mom grew up during WWII. Her father was a farmer in Hout Bay on the farm Kronendal. They grew veggies, like carrots, tomatoes, cabbages and such. It wasn't an easy life, and from a young age, she was expected to work the same as the adults – both during harvest time and domestic chores. As the daughter of the household, it was expected of her to do her share of the housework, which included doing laundry, and as she grew older, and her mom went back to work as a nurse, my mom took on even more of the work.

Her father didn't want her to finish school. He didn't see the point of a woman getting an education. After all, he didn't get a matric and he was doing just fine. But my mom fought to get her matric. On top of her household work, she worked in the store that my grand-aunt ran. And then she still had to make time to study, and she eventually obtained her teaching certificate. This is her attitude, which I understand today has greatly influenced how I approach my life.

My mom had to fetch water from a tap outside. This water came from a spring high up on the mountain (so it was untreated). The Hout Bay farming community was very strict about how they maintained that catchment area, as this precious water served several households in the valley. No one was allowed to build or farm in the catchment area. They only got municipal water when my mom was 12. Water that was treated and piped in from Cape Town. So, my mom knows all about how to make do without piped water.

I think of all my fellow South Africans who, in this day and age, STILL don't have access to basic water and sanitation, and I understand implicitly that I, as a member of a privileged middle class, have had it easy. And as they say, 'n boer maak 'n plan (a farmer makes a plan). I am fortunate in that I do have the resources available to make this time a little easier, and where I can, I will reach out to others in my community who are not so fortunate (be it that they might need someone to fetch water for them, or find ways in which I, as an able-bodied adult, may assist them).

I'm not saying it's right that our government has failed us in terms of water security. You are allowed to be angry and afraid, because we're entering a time of great uncertainty. But use those emotions as fuel to affect change around you. We need to change our attitudes to water. It is a scarce resource in a drought-stricken country. We need to cherish our natural water resources – respect them for they are fragile and precious. We need to look around us for opportunities, such as rainwater harvesting. We need to examine our use of waste water, and where we ourselves may be wasting water unnecessarily.

Whether you believe in a god or not, is not the point. It's easy to sink to our knees and pray, but it takes hard work and courage to get to our feet and help each other. I'd like to think that if there is some sort of god, it would prefer to see its children taking responsibility for their own welfare. That is why we have free will, no? Blaming idiot politicians is easy. We have all the proof that they fucked up, and that some of them are blaming us for wasting water, as if that will absolve them of the fact that they didn't take action sooner. But what can *we* do in the meantime?

I am my mother's daughter, and I don't kneel.

The Thousand Steps (Elevation #1) by Helen Brain

First off, I must add, that Helen Brain's The Thousand Steps (the first of her Elevation trilogy) has scored what I think is quite possibly the best-looking cover for South African youth literature that I've seen in a long, long time. Wow. It's the kind of book that just begs to be picked up and admired.

The story itself stood out for me because while it plays on the usual "chosen one" riff that is so common in SFF, it does so with originality and nuance that I find is so often lacking in the genre. There's a lot going on under the skin.

Ebba den Eeden, our protagonist, starts out life in an underground bunker, where she and two thousand other young people are set to work shifts producing food for their community. Or so they think. She's led to believe that the world outside their bunker has been destroyed during a great cataclysm. That is, until she is miraculously "Elevated" at the eleventh hour before her execution, that is. (A rescue in the nick of time that seems awfully convenient, if you ask me.)

Ebba's Cape Peninsula is vastly different to the one we know today, and I loved seeing an environment I know defamiliarised. The higher sea level means that the mountain chain of the region has become a string of islands, and the communities living there have a hard life: food is scarce and the disparity between the haves and the have-nots is tremendous.

Coping with this sudden turnaround in her world, from being but a lowly drudge to one of the elite, is not easy, and while on one hand I felt that Ebba herself lacked agency in book one, this was, I believe, in keeping with her character development – she is way out of her depth and struggling to know her place and understand the power that she can wield.

Yet her intentions are good, even if her naïveté is painful, and though I cringed often as I saw her trying to navigate this society in which she found herself, her words and deeds come from a good place. It cannot be easy for a girl who's followed orders her entire life to kick against an authoritarian regime has infiltrated nearly every facet of the people's lives. Ebba is very much in a gawky phase in this story, where she hasn't fully grasped her power – so expect her to make mistakes and flounder a bit, and for others to take the initiative.

There are some lovely secondary characters, like Isi the dog and, of course, Aunty Figgy, whose special brand of magic happens in the kitchen. The world Helen conjures up feels tactile, as if it could possibly just exist in a slightly left-of-parallel universe. Yes, yes, in case you're asking, there is a kinda love triangle. Well not quite. But you'll have to see. I did feel as if the love interest was a bit quick on the draw, but then again there's a lot happening, and we get to the end of book one at a rapid rate.

I must add that much of book one does come across like an extended introduction to the setting, giving us all the main players and an indication of conflict – so don't expect any closure. There are loads of threads left hanging, and I'm looking forward to seeing how Helen will weave them together.

Where Helen shines is that she has a keen eye for understanding how people interact, especially in the subtexts of non-verbal communication, and indirect characterisation, which she brings across often so poignantly. There's a part of me that wishes the story could have been expanded, so that we could've dug deeper. (Though this may also be due to the fact that I'm used to reading doorstoppers, so don't mind me too much.) My biggest criticism was that the action sequences felt a bit rushed, glossed over and cause-and-effect not quite established, but the the sheer depth and breadth of her well thought-out world building, and an entire mythology to unpick, more than makes up for this.

My verdict: This is a super awesome story. It reads quickly, and there's much to unpack, and I'm looking forward to seeing where Helen takes this. Five bats squeaking out of auntie Nerine's hat for The Thousand Steps.

The Cape Town Book by Nechama Brodie #review

Title: The Cape Town Book
Author: Nechama Brodie
Publisher: Struik Travel & Heritage
Reviewer: Nerine Dorman

Though I’m a born-and-bred Capetonian, and reckoned I was au fait with everything I thought I knew about the Mother City, Nechama Brodie opened my eyes to quite a lot about my stomping ground that was fresh. This is a big book in more than one way – not only considering its physical dimensions but also the depth and breadth of its content. The Cape Town Book covers not only the city’s natural history and geography, but also tells the story of the many people who have lived around the slopes of Table Mountain.

Cape Town’s history stretches much further back than that of the refreshment station established by the Dutch back in the 1600s, and as such, the city has been shaped by the devastating effects of colonialism. Cape Town is thus a melting pot where Africa meets Asia and Europe, and though many of its people’s stories bear testimony to a legacy of inequalities, they are nonetheless fascinating and I feel enriched by having discovered them.

For me, in particular, this book filled many gaps that were omitted from my history lessons during my school days. In particular, I found the history of Islam in Cape Town fascinating – I really had no idea so many Muslim saints were buried here. The realisation of exactly how intrinsic the slave trade was to the city during its early days was also a revelation – much of this had been glossed over me. Brodie goes in depth with apartheid history, and the section about Robben Island in particular is both terrible and fascinating.

The Cape Town Book is jam packed with information and illustrated in full colour with plenty of visuals, including photos and reproductions of historical prints, as well as helpful suggestions for further reading. Scattered throughout is advice on places to visit and supplementary information panels. Not only is this a great book for visitors to the Mother City, but with its stunning layout and well-planned format, it’s exactly the kind of hefty tome that deserves a permanent place in my collection.

Of Mountains and vines

I’M still convinced Steenberg Vineyards exists in its own pocket of reality outside the rest of the world’s. It’s so ridiculously easy to roar past without sparing a glance for the vineyards above you on the mountainside.

But, next time you’re in the mood to slow down and take a detour, do consider the Steenberg Winery, where you’ll find Bistro Sixteen82. It’s well worth the visit, especially if you want to feel like you’re in the winelands without having to drive all the way to Stellenbosch or Paarl.

While you mission up the road to the winery, you’ll see brightly painted modern sculptures. These are by Edoardo Villa, a local artist of Italian descent, who is known for his installations in steel and bronze. The artwork seems at first to jar the senses, but in a way the smooth, almost geometric shapes and the verdant landscaping seem to complement each other.

The Steenberg Winery itself is a venue that will wow you (and you might even consider planning a special event). Even though the architecture seems larger than life, it’s nevertheless warm and inviting. The chandelier in the tasting area is one of the first design elements to grab the attention – what seems like thousands of pieces of ruby-hued, shaped glass pieces cascading from the ceiling. Large windows make you feel as though the spectacular water feature is about to invite itself into the dining area, and of course I couldn’t resist my childlike urge to take a walk along the stepping stones.

This wasn’t my first visit to Bistro Sixteen82 and, after this, I’m quite happy to say it won’t be my last, because executive chef Brad Ball has struck gold with whatever magic he’s weaving here. The mere fact that Bistro Sixteen82 has been buzzing since November 2009 says a lot, especially in Cape Town’s fickle restaurant climate.

Though the bistro serves breakfasts and lunches, we were primarily here for the tapas. Last month chef Brendan November offered an array of Mexican-inspired dishes, and we opted for tacos de pescados, which was served with a spicy tomato salsa; Valerie’s Choice – a cheese platter served with fresh fruit and – get this – candied walnuts (to die for, you absolutely must try them); and the shrimp and monkfish ceviche that was certainly colourful.

Then I made a big mistake. I shared my portion of churros with my husband. Why I did that I don’t know, and I will forever regret this decision. All I’ve done since then is bemoan the fact that I need to try those churros again. For those not in the know (like me, before I had my first churro), this is a Spanish “doughnut” – basically a length of pastry that’s been deep-fried until it’s crispy then dusted in sugar. Oh, wait, I forgot to mention that you dip it in melted chocolate. (Yes, this is one of the few cases where sharing is incredibly stupid, and I will never do it again.)

During this month Bistro Sixteen82 is keeping things fresh by changing the menu (so no more churros for Nerine) and I’ve heard that they’ll be offering a variety of Asian tapas. Of course tapas is for the sharing. There’s no crouching over your individual plates; it’s all about beating your husband’s fingers off the choice bits.

Bistro Sixteen82 is the kind of venue that encourages you to forget about the world outside – rare indeed – and, even better, the staff strike a balance between being unobtrusive and attentive. My verdict: stop putting off a visit to Bistro Sixteen82 and go already. So many of my friends say yes, they’ve heard of it but haven’t been there yet. I can guarantee one thing: you’ll go back – again and again – winter or summer.

Bistro Sixteen82 offers a breakfast and lunch menu, as well as a tapas and children’s menu. Opening hours are 9am to 11am (breakfast); lunch is served from noon to 4pm. Tapas is served in the late afternoon and at sunset, from 4.30pm to 8pm. Call 021 713 2211, e-mail reservations@bistro1682.co.za or visit www.steenberg-vineyards.co.za.

#Friday Flash: Memory Lane

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a game. It was more of a ritual. Suzanne and I would meet each Halloween at a small restaurant in Kalk Bay. The place had been there for ages—one of those spots that kept their doors open over the years despite the downturn in economic climes.

“You’re looking amazing!” the manager told me when I arrived. He was one of those rare ones, I gathered, with a gift for recalling faces. If he knew what was good for him he wouldn’t remember me the next time. He’d shown me to my table last year, and the year before that. I liked the view. I liked the memories. I came here even if Suzanne couldn’t make it.

“I stay out of the sun,” I told him with a pointed smile. “You have no idea how harmful UV radiation can be.”

I shouldn’t take such risks but the older our kind became, the more prone we were to being creatures of habit. And I was keen to see Suzanne. We hadn’t gotten together in more than a decade because she’d been living overseas with her second husband. Foreign travel understandably posed difficulties for those of us who were night dwellers.

Although I no longer had a pulse, I couldn’t help but feel a small lurch of excitement as I made my way to our usual table—one that overlooked the tidal pool. And, as promised in her last communiqué, Suzanne was there. She had her back to me, so did not see me until I slipped into the seat opposite hers.

“Oh!” Suzanne pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” I grimaced, partially from giving her a fright but also because of her appearance. Even more lines marred her face and her once nut-brown hair was streaked liberally with grey. “How are you?” I held my hand out to her and she took it, squeezing lightly. Her skin warmed mine. The last time we’d met, she’d thrown herself at me and we’d embraced, squealing like young girls.

“I’m fine,” Suzanne replied. Her eyes glistened and I could smell the sour burst of emotion from her. “You haven’t...” She wanted to complete the sentence with “aged a bit”.

We never discussed my condition or, indeed, the special needs that accompanied it. It was enough that she was aware of it, and that she didn’t judge me.

The skin around her eyes tightened briefly. “Charles was diagnosed with colon cancer last month.”

“That’s terrible,” I said, but I meant the words more for her than for the husband I’d never met.

Suzanne withdrew her hand then waved the waiter over, not quite meeting my gaze. She ordered us both a glass of red wine then waited for the man to get out of hearing. “I’ve filed for divorce. I can’t go through this a second time.” She meant living through the slow death of a loved one. The second husband had eventually died of a series of strokes, but he had been bedridden for almost two years. She’d gone through an almost literal hell.

I inclined my head. “I won’t think ill of you.” I was the last one to pass judgment. Especially since I’d long lost track of how many I’d killed. Some inadvertently. A few not.

Suzanne’s laugh was shallow and bitter. “I thought you’d like to know I went to our school reunion.”

I’d been unable to attend. For obvious reasons.

She dug in her handbag and produced a tablet in a slick leather binder. I watched with interest as she scrolled past icons to bring up a folder of pictures.

“You’ll laugh.” She handed me the thing. “One of the teachers made up a series of before and after pictures. I thought you’d be interested.”

I hardly recognised the faces, even of the photos taken when we’d been younger. A surprised hiss escaped me when I encountered the first images of me. My hair long, straight hair had been almost white. The colour now was more that of burnished gold and it looped in lazy ringlets through its own perverse will. The better to be more beguiling, my dear.

My eyes were wide and innocent in a sun-kissed face, a faint sprinkling of freckles across my nose. I looked like a baby. Not this dead white thing I was now. I paused at a picture taken on our valedictory day. Almost a hundred girls posed on the stands by the hockey field with Table Mountain in the background. Our beige uniforms couldn’t quite detract from the vibrancy of our smiles.

“Remember that day?” Suzanne said. “Mrs De Wet made us all take our jerseys off so we could look the same. We just dropped them in a scattering of discarded knitwear.”

“And I recall telling you they looked like empty skins, like cocoons or something that had hatched.” For some peculiar reason I felt ill. I could feel the ghost of sunlight on my skin, and the salty tang of the sea breaking on the rocks below the window made me think of blood, thick and hot on my tongue.

We shared a silent moment and I couldn’t help but think how we were both victims of time, and how differently things had turned out for each of us.

Suzanne gave a nervous laugh. “None of us were butterflies, were we?”

I shook my head. “And there are no knights in shining armour, either.”

We’d be back next year. I knew it. Suzanne would be a year older. I’d still be the same. She’d never ask to be turned, and I’d never offer.

* * * *

If you liked my vampires, you might want to try out two of my novellas, The Namaqualand Book of the Dead and What Sweet Music They Make.

Suffering a bout of impromptu crime-fighting

Living in Cape Town, South Africa, I should know better than to put my valuables in my jacket pocket. This year I've been robbed three times. Or, should I say, rather today was the third occasion. This time the thief came off second best, although I can't say I'm entirely pleased, since I'd rather have avoided this in the first place.

I consider myself fairly aware of the nonsense that goes on around me so to have had strangers help themselves to the contents of my pockets is really... just not cool... especially if I'm not even aware of it happening.

Third time "lucky"? Can I even call it that? This morning at 8.30am, while walking to work, and already quite twitchy, I felt a tugging at my jacket and turned to surprise a man who had his hand in my pocket, busy withdrawning my cellphone.

Gods, I got angry. Some people get all scared and whimpery. I get angry. You see, I've been in a situation where someone stabbed me before. I refuse to be a victim. Of course this reaction may not be very prudent if the guy had a knife... but hey, I didn't give the creep permission to take my cellphone.

Before the guy had a chance to run or do anything, I started shaking him, screaming at him, and the strange thing was, he went completely limp in my hands. I snatched my phone out of his hand and he started apologising. I called him terrible things, of which I can remember "vulture" and the infamous Cape "P" word, which flew from my lips as if I were no more than a common fishwife.

As if saying sorry would make a difference. He still tried to steal my things. Central City Improvement Districut (CCID) secruity officers were there in less than a minute and they took the man in custody. A few bystanders smacked the guy a few times... It was very surreal.

Shaking but unhurt, I was given a lift up to the police station where I made my statement. Sure, my cellphone is only worth about R3 000, which is not a lot of money, but I've just renewed my contract and I'm not in the mood to start over by getting new phone numbers so soon after my last phone was stolen.

It turns out my would-be robber was a young Tanzanian man. He's not even local. Which makes me wonder how many other opportunists are going to arrive here in South Africa in time for the festive season and the Fifa Soccer World Cup. Oh, they are going to have a field day with tourists.

It's days like these that I wish I could move to some small rural town and not have to commute daily. Oh wait... I already live in a semi-rural area...

Perhaps I should rather say: Buy my books so I can stay home and rather chase the baboons that try to raid my garden.