My Bonnievale lies over the River

I guest blog over at A girl, a bicycle and mama Africa to help keep people on track with the progress of my adventurous friend travelling from Cairo to Cape Town.  She left Egypt just before the unrest started.  Could it be that she had such an impact on the country that they started rioting just because they missed her?  Or did it start when her calming influence crossed into the Sudan?  With her life so exciting I did not feel that sharing my boring one would be edifying for anyone.   But here is a part of it anyway.

It was a weekend of firsts for me.  I took a trip to Bonnievale, to visit with my cousins.  Not all of them as they are quite numerous and just scheduling it would be Nobel Prize worthy.  It was the first time I entered the town (village, if they close the supermarket on a Sunday afternoon, then it is a village) of Bonnievale.  Some of my favourite wine farms are on the road to Bonnievale from Robertson. So the boot usually filled and the wallet emptied long before I reached even the outskirts of Bonnievale.  I managed to stock up on wild yeast Chardonnay from both Major’s Hill and Springfield.  Slightly sweeter from botrytis ⁽¹⁾ and fermented in the barrel for the Major’s Hill.  Definitely barrel fermented for the Springfield as well.  What I did not know is that the interesting liquid, Timjan, is made near Bonnievale.  I would have visited the factory to indulge in a spot of light masochism.

The cast of characters for the weekend:  Me, The He-Architect, The She-Architect, The 2 year old architect, and the Serene baby Architect.  The Philosopher, The French Author⁽²⁾  and their 2 year old Mademoiselle.  It was she who convinced me French is an easy language.  If a two year old can master it...Come to think of it millions of toddlers can speak Mandarin.  I must be stupid.

I was reminded again of the hard work that it is to raise children.   The 2 year olds were busy.    Extremely busy.  So I saw in action again that parenting is a blend of bribery, cajoling, threatening and sudden topic shifts.  As they start to cry their parents distract them with such a rapid direction change that I was left witless.  Discussions where I could stay with the topic included schools, siblings, cousins, restoring old buildings and a reprise of a delightful conversation of about 9 years ago.  The Philosopher and I were in Paris, at a fountain in the grounds of the Louvre.  We took up the discussion of whether the recorder is an effeminate instrument.  It remains one of the most memorable conversations in my life, but I guess you had to be there. 

On the restoring of old buildings I learned a lot.  Such as why you lime wash the walls and don’t paint them.  How do you decide which parts of the building you are going to restore?  If the original building dates from 1805 and someone added a bit in 1890 and again 1950, which do you leave and which to you remove?  I don’t know enough about the topic to add value to it, but I will make this observation.  None of the people involved were hard core enough to have the toilet outside.  They argued that for a building to be preserved, it had to be useful, thus lived in.  And who would today put up with going outside to the loo if the modern alternative is available.  This echoes the issue of toilets in Makhaza in Cape Town. 

And to everybody at the braai where I left early, once again my apologies.  I just had to get back.  Taking a wrong turn did not help with that either.  I was never lost, because I knew where I was all the time.  It just was not where I wanted to be.  A bit like my life.

List of firsts:
1.    Visited Bonnievale
2.    Met the serene baby after 4 months of life
3.    Touched a quince on a tree
4.    Ate a fig off the tree (different tree)
5.    Saw a grave desecrated.  It was an accident. And if the nappy worked properly it would have not have been worth mentioning. 
6.    Ate tomato salad with about 4 different types of tomatoes
7.    Visited a lived in, restored house of about 150 years
8.    Visit Major’s Hill
9.    Took a wrong turn and drove a gravel road from Gouda to Mooreesburg. 


(1)    A fungus concentrating the juice in the grapes by drinking the water in it.
(2)    I once asked her what the French call French kissing.  Just kissing apparently.