Damn I'm bad at this blogging game. Instant New Year's Resolution: update the blog more frequently. It's not for the want of interesting happenings, nor because we don't love you any more. I blame the slow and expensive internet down here.

I write you from the shores of the Langebaan lagoon 100km North of Cape Town. We're here in a rented 4-bedroom house with my bru Grant, his wife Marlene, Dylan and a mob of assorted friends for Christmas and the New Year. Nor turkey nor Christmas pudd'n shall be consumed, lest it be braaied, more of which later.

Day 48 - 55 Cape Town (Edna's flat on Mouille Point)
But we left you, dear reader, with our early excursions around Cape Town and surrounds. We are, at this point, without passports, they having been despatched post-haste to Carla at the Angolan consulate in London. Mum deserves a special mention here for her tireless pursuit of our documents, whose existence was hotly denied for several hours in the bowels of the embassy in Marylebone, before their miraculous discovery having "just arrived". The outcome of the to-ing and fro-ing being that we didn't receive our stamps and passports until mid-December, knocking on the head any thought of a Namibian trip this side of the New Year.

We make do with the further delights of Cape Town, being, variously, sushi, parties, Clifton beach, the Waterfront, Kirstenbosch, more sushi and then probably another party back at Edna's gracious pad overlooking the sea. Our impression of this great city is favourable. It doesn't feel like such a murderous environment, people of all descriptions are largely friendly, and it's cheap to eat out.


- The trees just can't take that bloody wind any more


- Lucy basks in the all-round wellbeing generated by lots of sunshine, spritzers and umami


- Clifton beach, the best place to doze away an afternoon


- The majestic Kirstenbosch Gardens


- Lucy with the king protea, national flower, at Kirstenbosch

Day 56-63 Cape Town (Grant & Marlene's)
After Edna's, we transfer seamlessly to Grant's house in the Northern suburbs, on the fringes of the Durbanville Hills - wine country. In fact we quickly find a vineyard in walking distance of the house, whose pool-house we occupy. Family and friends turn out to be bons vivants of the highest order. On our second night it's Grant and Marlene's 25th anniversary. We cluster around the bar at the house, and under the temporary gazebos (actually Grant's camping equipment) in the garden and toast the occaision repeatedly with everything from fresh white wine, through rum and coke, out the other side of Lucy's pineappley cocktails, neatly past the Jaegermeister, making a brief acquaintance with home-brew passion-fruit liqueur on the way to dancing like whirlygigs and finally reaching destination Complete Oblivion at late-past early AM. And we are introduced to some proper authentic South African cuisine in the guise of the poitjie (poikkie), a great cast-iron cauldron suspended over a braai in which slow-cooked stews are rustled up. Charlie is the poitjie-master in this crew, manning three of the beasts in parallel. His own speciality is the spaghetti-pot, which is said pasta suspended in a thick bolognese-style sauce, incorporating vast quantities of cola and supporting an inch of cheese sauce. This is better than it sounds and doubly good warmed through the following day. The other pots contained a lamb-knuckle stew and my personal favourite, chicken and waterbloometjie (water-lily) stew. Authentic and delicious!


- Your correspondent with wife and sister-in-law


- At the bar, Grant and Marlene's house, saint Marilyn watches over the drinkers


- These are very very naughty people


- A familiar sight: Charlie at the wheel of the Poitjie, but where's his rum and coke?

As the family has been good enough to lend us a motor, we potter off to see some local sights. I won't bore you with the malls, which are just malls, where we had to tread to pick up our secret-Santa gifts. (But I do have to put this one photo in I'm afraid)



We take a drive down to see the penguins, who are slothful and surrounded by suited-and-booted Chinese tourists. Lunches follow at Bloubergstrand, where the kite-surfers bob and leap in the gale-force wind (one such jump apparently cleared the beach and car-park and landed in the mini-roundabout outside the restaurant. Result: two broken ankles), and Bloemendahl winery which becomes raucus and sees a bevvy of bras draped over the chandelier.


- Do something you lazy buggers!


- Aha. These two got such a round of applause. I swear they were doing it for the cameras


- Just part of the wind-swept beach that runs the length of the North shore of false bay, about 40km


- We party hard!


- A stylish addition to any home or boozing joint

Day 64-67 Garden Route
The boozing is getting to Lucy and I and we're developing wobbly bellies. So, before heading to Langebaan for our Xmas revelry, we take the car and camping gear to the start of the World-renowned Garden Route. Our first stop, after a five-hour drive down the N2 is Mosselbaai. It's a well-developed seaside town and we decide to pitch camp here in one of the camp-sites. Oh my God. Our little two-man tent looks completely ridiculous nestled between the behemoth mobile-homes. Everybody is braaing, that is if they aren't firing up the microwaves, washing-machines, satellite TV's and whatever else their tents have to offer. In mitigation of this seeming affront to camping these guys are all parked up for a few weeks straight. Apart from the rocky point, which is heavily populated with dassies (rock hyrax), we decide quickly that Mosselbaai is not our scene, so point the car down the coast the very next morning.



50km further we find Wilderness. It's flanked by mountains, with a great beach. Our campsite is full of motorised castles again, but it's smaller, greener and right next to Island Lake in the National Park. The mosquitoes are legion and find Lucy to be quite tasty. Lucy and I take to walking and kayaking up the little rivers, where the water is the colour of rooibos tea, and there are lovely little cataracts and waterfalls, where if you get up early enough one can get naked (we did). It turns out we're quite outdoorsy people given the right surrounds.


- We put up our tent and one we borrowed from Dylan just to use up a bit more space on our pitch


- Flood damage


- We think the tea colour is due to tannins leached from trees


- Kayaking up the Kaaimans river


- Pocahontas


- Mercifully the battery died before my turn, but I did get buck nekkid too

The drive back on route 62 through the Klein Karoo is spectacular, all mountain passes, ostrich farms and wide open spaces. We didn't really have time to stop but I couldn't let this classic desert watering hole go by without a mention:


- It's "Ronnie's Sex Shop"!!!

Day 68-Present Langebaan
And now Langebaan, part of the West Coast National Park. There's a shallow lagoon full of fish and porpoises, many wading birds and, inevitably, people. Because it's Christmas/New Year, the place is heaving, but there's enough room for everyone. The house faces West over the water and is above the yacht club, which is handy as it has a decent little bar filled with jolly jack tars and ladies wearing nautical shorts. There's even a few yards of beach from which one can lower ones body into the cool water. Langebaan is famed for its wind, and many water-sport competitions are held here. Mercifully we've not felt the full force of this yet, and Lucy and I have a regular kayak session on the water. Heading down the shore in our little placcy boat is a hair-raising exercise. Imagine the classic computer game "Paperboy" translated to the open waves and you're getting there. In our self-propelled craft we have to dodge and weave our way between a myriad of deadly obstacles: powerboats, hobies, jetskis, windsurfers, fishermen casting from land and water, and worst of all, the kitesurfers.

In the middle of the lagoon a sand bar peeks above the surface and any day of the week is covered by gents with plungers, probing the muddy surface for little sandprawns - perfect bait for hungry stumpnosed fish. Grant, I and friends did this the other day, chartering a boat for several hours and braving the wind and swell for a measly haul of four fish (I did my bit, dragging out a few nice specimens), which Lucy and I braaied - delicious, like bream. We also golfed, quite badly, and visited the local casino where we're about 10 quid down. All jolly stuff.


- Our balcony


- Prize boozers at our fave bar, Friday Island


- More boozers


- At the country club


- Fore! Oh no, don't worry I missed the ball again...


- More artillery action


- I caught one! This measly specimen had to go back. The ones we ate were this big though, and the one that our skipper let slip through his fingers was a whopper!


- A breather from the strain of another hard day on the lagoon


- Part of our Christmas dinner. This ritual is quite traditional for these parts I understand


- It just happened...


- Sundown over the lagoon. Time for another cold one methinks

Happy New Year!
Angola, Namibia and other flung-far destinations beckon. I promise to be more regular...