No words needed today

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No matter how many times,
No matter how far or close,
Old or young
Nothing can prepare you for the shock of death.
Nothing is a clear a cut,
As instant,
Or as severe as death.
It is a sudden void
That no amount of tears can fill.
It is a pain
That no pain killer can kill.
Death is our biggest enemy
Whether Christian or Atheist
It does to everyone
Exactly the same.
Death is not my friend,
Nor is it my ally
But the pain that wakes me up at night.
And yet, death has visited again.

Saturday Musings

Waking up in a rush, realising that it’s already light only to remember that its Saturday morning is probably one of the best feelings in the world. Settling down for one more snooze, a possible cup of tea in the bed and a late breakfast is just one of those small wonders women so much love. And if you are fortunate enough to have a newspaper boy then you have the advantage of the smell of a freshly printed newspaper with Saturday news. If not, you will have to settle for the electronic version, just like me. But just like me, you’ll miss the smell and the feel of it. Scrolling down the page just isn’t the same as struggling to turn the page without getting it all messed up.

Once I finally manage to get out of bed I put on my weekend playlist – yes am rather pedantic about this. Chilling around the house, taking an extra-long shower and playing with the pooch puts me in the perfect spirit to brave traffic. Browsing through the shops at your own time, surprise meetings in long aisles makes this experience worth it all. Making your way to a coffee shop, struggling to find a table and finally having that coffee you have been smelling all morning is even worth breathing in the smoke that wasn’t supposed to be there. Traffic home is always challenging with hundreds of shoppers all finding their way home. But then you get home with your dozen packages and empty purse and nothing seems more inviting than your bed.

Whether you are an outdoorsy person or a bookworm of sorts, Saturday afternoons and evenings seem to flow into one much faster than a river reaches its mouth. Before you know it, it’s time to make dinner plans, get yourself invited somewhere or decide what packet of chips will go with what bottle of wine.

And all too soon you’ll find yourself wishing it was Saturday morning again.

Night time

There’s nothing quite as refreshing as driving through a town or city in the middle of night when most people are safely tucked in their beds. I was driving from the most northern suburb last night to a rather southern suburb when I realised how much I love it. If there were two other vehicles on the road, it is a lot. You can either drive as slow as you like and just absorb the quietness or you can race through town, skip the red lights and ignore the speeding warning – knowing full well that if someone else is doing this right now, you might just connect. It’s the adrenaline rush, isn’t it? The thought that you might get caught out. But ironically enough, every time I’ve raced through town in the middle of the night, I found another car trying to race me. If you have fuel in your veins instead of blood, you’ll fully understand the rush when pushing your car to its limits in streets where it is forbidden to drive so fast.
So the next time you find yourself in the streets during the early morning hours make sure to appreciate it – the best you can. And if a blue lightning passes you – you’ve already lost the race.

Music (2)

Yes, we’re still on music. Why does it happen that every other or so morning one will wake up with the most random song in one’s head?  And then that song will refuse to go away until a moment when you realise it’s just not there anymore. I mean, where do these songs come from? Sometimes it will be songs that you haven’t heard for in ages. You haven’t even thought about them. And then sometimes it will be a song that you heard in the supermarket two days ago while you very much concentrated on your too long shopping list and the woman blocking the way in front of you. How then can you first of all suddenly hear the song in your head and secondly – remember where you heard it?! The brain amuses me. My own probably the most.

And yes, I’m singing Major Tom today – all day long. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFks9A9TCF0

Music

Sometime during the week the most random song played on one of the computers at work and out of nowhere one of the girls in the office started singing along. I couldn’t believe it. How could she know this song that I’ve never heard?

It is then that I suddenly remembered that as a little girl I use to think that it is possible to know every single song in the world. This off course is well before I understood that there is music in every language. As I got older the realisation hit and I was rather disappointed that I would never know every song there is to know.

Even as a teen I closed all the windows and doors and put the volume at its maximum and just listened to my latest tape or cd. (At that stage it was all Celine Dion and I’m confident to say that I knew all her songs – even the French ones). I would listen to a song over and over again. I would enjoy every sound and tried to separate every instrument. I loved my music.

Varsity life came along and I sometimes still had my alone moments with music – most of them in the conservatory absorbing the sounds of soon to be professionals. I loved the piano concerts, the organist and his musical feet, the choir concerts and best of all the symphonies. For days to come I would live the dream of a musician.

And then adult life happened and music disappeared almost all together from my life. Yes, the radio is still doing its thing in my car and on my laptop, but I hardly register anymore. Every once in a while a song would get stuck, but will soon lose its meaning again. More often than not, I find that I prefer silence. That silence that penetrates heart, soul and mind. It is this silence that rejuvenates me, where I find myself wondering and thinking again. It’s a Godly silence I can only find when I’m in the middle of nowhere among endless sand dunes or bushes filled with forest wonders. This is now my music.

And yet, as I drove to work this morning I could not help but put the volume at its maximum and sing like a mad woman along with Nianell’s “What’s the matter?” http://nianell.co.za/site/ And suddenly I felt human again.

Fish River Canyon Hike

I have finally gotten around to writing about this hiking trail that I never want to forget. That may be the very reason it took me so long to go through my photos, gathering my thoughts...

After months of planning and dreaming, it eventually became days. Days in which we feverishly packed backpacks, weighing our packs – hoping, that somehow they will get lighter. They didn’t. As we drove down from Windhoek, we decided it best to overnight in Keetmanshoop – a small quiver tree town, but an excellent halfway stop.
Rising at sunrise, we realised – this is it. In a few hours, we will descend down a canyon wall, so steep, that chains assist you for the first few meters down. (Also anyone with a slight fear for height’s biggest concern) We arrived at Hobas at around noon, filling in forms, trying to gather as much information as possible while we waited for Henrico to return from Ai-Ais where he has left the car. After what seemed like an eternity, he returned and we nervously got on the shuttle to take us to the view point from where our great journey would start.

Slowly we descended into what seemed a never-ending downward spiral. Further and further we climbed away from life as we knew it. It got more beautiful around every bend and ever boulder we had to struggle over. I got to the point where I didn’t want to climb down any further. It seemed to me, that the beauty was lost on us. But the sinking sun kept us well on track. Finally, long after sunset, we reached a sandy beach, a haven for the night. We tested the water – too cold. We listened to the silence, tenderly massaging our shoulders and knowing that sleep wasn’t far off.
We had a late start the next morning – having bacon and eggs for breakfast, inhaling the freshness of it all. When we finally started walking, we realised that it was the last sleep-in for the next few days. Everyone soon assumed a role... Marius taking the lead, giving us a reasonable pace to follow. Me, following close on his heels, picking up rocks and dropping them again – too beautiful to leave, too heavy to carry. Wendy followed suite sharing food as far as we walked and Henrico at the rear – taking photos, telling jokes, before he graciously jumped over a rock to catch up – making us all look terribly old and unfit.

I think the disappoint of day 1 was when we finally reached the much talked about Vespa – the 5km marker. 5km? And we thought we were close to 12kms. The highlight of the day was when we met a veteran hiker called Chris, who was completing his 39th hike and told us to slow down – we’re walking too fast! What an immense relief!

In the days to come, we meandered along the Fish River, following fresh tracks of other hikers. Hikers that we would cross paths with many times. Hikers that would share valuable information – lending a hand where needed. It seemed that we chose a week of extreme heat in the canyon and though warned of very cold nights and mornings, we regretted every single gram of winter clothing that we had to carry with. We slept on our sleeping bags, keeping an eye on the moving constellations, counting shooting stars and wishing that the sand would get softer beneath our tired bodies. We started walking early in the morning, having breakfast somewhere along the way, making our way towards a shady spot for lunch. When the temperatures became somewhat more bearable, we moved along, on the lookout for a sandy beach on which to overnight.
From the view point at Hobas, the valley below looks dead... as if nothing can ever live there. But walking down here made us realise that we were not alone. A pair of Egyptian Geese waved the day goodbye every evening, an angry black scorpion, a Klipspringer against the mountain, wild feral horses and pale-winged starlings that followed us everywhere were the sure signs of life. Not to mention that fresh leopard foot prints we saw every day. But life down in the canyon was not easy. The shells of 2 tortoises and a couple of carcasses confirmed that.

The beating of the sun on your body, the creaks of your backpack, the barking of a baboon, the smell of dust as you struggle through yet another sandy patch, the cry of Egyptian Geese flying low over the river... resting your tired body in the cold river after a day of walking and climbing – that’s what makes it special. And that’s the very reason, we’ll return.

As we neared the end, we all had mixed feelings. We struggled to make peace with the fact that we had to leave this special place behind, but at the same time the hot water springs at Ai-Ais, the voices of loved ones over the phone, a cooked meal – they were all screaming to be heard. We stepped out – looking back on a journey we didn’t want to forget.

We returned along the same roads, thinking that only a few days before we were still untouched by the beauty that lies at the bottom of a thousand rocks - already making plans to return. But another, small surprise was waiting for us at the Canon Roadhouse, where we decided to have lunch. It was a walk into history with number plates, cars and old sentimental memories, surrounding us, while we had the best sandwiches in the south. We returned to the city with backpacks filled with sand and a dozen memories guiding us into the night.