Brokeback Mountain

Before I begin, I need to clarify that this post has absolutely nothing to do with cowboys – or any romantic relationships between cowboys, for that matter. The title was suggested by Duncan, and because it made me laugh, I decided to use it. Its significance will soon become clear…

Last weekend was Sarah’s birthday hike – a 3 day excursion to Suikerboschfontein in Mpumalanga, with her friends and family. After much panic about what food, shoes and backpack to take, I was finally ready, and met some of my fellow hikers at Sarah and Graham’s house in Sydenham on Friday night. We loaded our stuff into the 4 X 4’s, sorted out GPS coordinates and set off at about 18:30, arriving at Suikerboschfontein at 21:30, where we met the rest of Duncan and Luke’s family, as well as the Van Zyl’s. After a quick chat and the allocation of beds, we went to sleep, in preparation for Saturday’s hike. Unfortunately, our sleep wasn’t as peaceful as we had hoped it would be, thanks to Garrith’s phone switching itself on at 4am and his alarm going off. After much scuffling in the dark, he managed to locate it and turn it off, and everyone went back to some much needed sleep.

Everyone was up by 6:30am, making “just add hot water” oats, packing up sleeping bags and berating Garrith’s cellphone. A group of us set off at about 8am, while the rest of the hikers waited for the return of the 4 X 4’s, which had gone to drop off everyone’s stuff at the second camp site. I was in a group with Duncan, his parents (Trish and Peter), John-Mark, Jenny, Martin, Luke and his dad, Robert, and I chatted to Duncan as we walked along, taking the occasional photo and enjoying the scenery. We then dropped to the back of the group, with Luke and his dad, who were taking photos and looking at plants, and I then watched as Luke and Duncan attempted some rock-climbing on a sheer rock face, which was surprisingly successful! We met up with the rest of the group, and then split up again, with Luke, Duncan, Martin, Jenny and John-Mark opting for the complicated rock-climbing shortcut route, while I decided to follow Duncan’s parents and Luke’s dad down the less strenuous path. It was at this point that things went awry. I was stepping down onto the path when I slipped, twisted my ankle and fell sideways into a bush, flat on my back. Luckily, the sound of me falling into the bush brought Trish, Peter and Robert running back, and they quickly stepped in to help me, as Trish helped me up and Robert found me my water and took off my shoe and sock. I was sure that I was fine – aside from the feeling that I was about to faint and my throbbing ankle – and that all I needed was to sit down for 10 minutes. I then noticed that my ankle was already swollen. Robert rubbed Voltaren onto my ankle and bandaged it up (with Graham’s 3 metre long bandage), and gave me some painkillers, while everyone else debated what to do. The rest of the group had caught up to us, and everyone had stopped to see what had happened – a bit like a car crash, I suppose! It was decided that Luke, Duncan, Garrith and Peter would carry me back to the first camp site, and from there we’d decide whether I should have the ankle x-rayed. So, somewhat unceremoniously, they took turns piggy-backing me along the 3km route back to the camp (as the title of this post becomes clear!). All 4 of them were incredibly obliging, considering that they had to manoeuvre me up and down the steep hills, along very narrow paths, and I spent the journey promising to pay for their physiotherapy bills, and bake them biscuits, rusks and a gingerbread house each. Duncan’s dad was very amusing, maintaining that I had slipped and fallen because I was tired of walking and because I wanted attention from the men on the hike – I responded that this was true, and that it had worked, because I now had 3 eligible bachelors carrying me!

We made it back to the camp, and drove into Carolina (the closest town), where I was seen to by a very nice GP, who sent me to the Carolina General Hospital for x-rays. The less said about the hospital, the better – the front desk was manned by Jabba the Hut, and we were very lucky to eventually find the radiographer (who must have seriously wondered about Luke and I debating whether I was pregnant). Nonetheless, the ankle was not broken, and so the GP wrapped it up and gave me a Voltaren injection. We drove back to the second camp site, and had lunch, while the people who had finished the rest of the hike slowly made their way up the hill to the camp. Luke, Duncan and Garrith walked down to the waterfall nearby, and I spent the afternoon watching a very passionate game of Uno and retelling the morning’s events. The evening consisted of dinner (“just add hot water” noodles), joke-telling and singing and a very long conversation with Garrith about assorted sports injuries – I was pretty drugged up on painkillers by this stage, and a somewhat “captive audience” because I couldn’t walk!

Sunday morning dawned, and I discovered that, while still very swollen, I was at least able to walk on the ankle, and so I followed Luke up some rocks to take photos of the early-morning scenery. Everyone set off for the second section of the hike at various times, and eventually I was left at the camp site with Astrid – a friend of the Van Zyl’s. I was really tired of staring at the same part of the camp by this stage, and so I bandaged up my ankle, put on my shoes and went for a very slow walk around the edge of the camp site to take photos. Fortunately, there were plenty of rocks to balance on, and I took some nice photos of the scenery and just played around with different settings and angles on my camera. I spent the rest of the morning reading a book that Luke had lent me, chatting to Astrid and drinking tea. A few hours later, Duncan’s dad came to retrieve us and everyone’s luggage, and we made our way back to the base camp and then back to Johannesburg.

And that was the hike. It was a lot of fun – up until I fell down the hill. But I still had a good time, mostly thanks to Luke, Duncan, Duncan’s parents, Luke’s dad, Sarah and Graham, and I took some beautiful photos. I’m also hoping to do the entire hike sometime soon – if anyone is prepared to ever let me encounter nature ever again, based on the amount of drama that I caused on this hike! If nothing else, I have now added hiking boots to my birthday wish list!

From Russia With Love

I have good news! I seem to be back to normal, although what qualifies as “normal” is still up for debate! Either that or I’ve accepted the insanity which is my life. Actually, I prefer this explanation more, since I’ve actually been enjoying all the strangeness that has been going on.

One of the strange things that has been happening started a few weeks ago, when I was feeling somewhat depressed and rather pessimistic about life. As such, I decided that I was just going to focus on my academic work this year, and that fun would be optional. I would read Freud on Saturday nights and get 98% for everything and if I didn’t see a single movie or go to any parties, that was just fine! (I think that at this point I should point out that when I decided this, I was having a REALLY bad day. I don’t usually decide to forgo fun with friends because of petty things. I just was feeling very pessimistic). Anyway, no sooner had I decided this, then Duncan sms’ed me to organize going to movies, and so I begrudgingly accepted that life wasn’t really that bad. Things picked up the next week as well though, when I was invited to two 21sts, and ended up going for coffee with a variety of friends. The momentum has continued, and I now have at least one activity/outing/party every weekend for the next month and a half! I’m not complaining though!

One of the 21st’s was on Saturday night. I was invited by Chris, who needed a date/partner/plus-one to his friend, Amy’s party. The theme was “Shipwreck: How did you wash up?”, and as Chris didn’t want to be a pirate (and wanted to wear shoes), he decided that we should go as James Bond and one of the Bond Girls. Our cover story was that James was supposed to assassinate a Russian president (why is it always a Russian president?) on his presidential yacht, but that he had to escape off the yacht – and very nicely took me with him (because he’s such a gentleman and not because of any ulterior motives). I couldn’t complain – I’ve dressed up as a pirate at least twice, and I’d far rather wear a cocktail dress and heels! So, I straightened my hair, put on my little black dress (and added some fake seaweed to my hair and a miniature fake lobster to my dress) and even put on some make-up! And, as part of my “20 Firsts” list, you will be happy to hear that I managed to apply eyeliner, all by myself, for the first time ever! It was actually surprisingly easy, and I’m now in the same league as the emo boys!

Back to the party though! Chris fetched me, in his swanky new car (a Corsa, not an Aston Martin) and we set off to Greenside, navigated by his GPS, Miss Moneypenny (we actually named her last year, way before the party) and wondering whether we would be ridiculously over-dressed by comparison to all the people who would be dressed as pirates! I was suitably impressed with how dapper Chris looked in his James Bond outfit though, and I was feeling rather sexy (I had to – Bond girls don’t feel anything other than sexy all the time). Upon our arrival at the party we were ushered into the marquee that had been set up next to Amy’s lounge, and we were both amazed at the décor – Amy’s dad had covered the floor in building sand, so that it really was like a beach, and the walls were hung with fishing nets and fake fish, as well as fairy lights! There were some pretty impressive costumes too, aside from the usual pirates – Amy herself was wearing a dress which wouldn’t look out of place in Marie Antoinette’s wardrobe, while her boyfriend was dressed as an alien (space-ship wreck) and her older brother was wandering around dressed as SpongeBob!

Chris in James Bond mode
Having found a few other people who Chris knew, we found ourselves a table and proceeded to work our way through the Nik-Naks before the speeches started. Chris and I spent the rest of the evening chatting to the people at our table, pouring sand out of our shoes (not fun in stiletto heels), avoiding the punch (which was a lethal combination of every alcoholic beverage known to man, including peach schnapps) and watching the girls at our table getting progressively more drunk as the evening progressed due to the punch. I too fell victim to this concoction, as Amy decided that since Chris refused to drink because he was driving, I would have to drink Chris’ quota of punch. Luckily, after getting me to drink half a cup of the stuff, she was soon distracted and set off to get a few of her other friends wasted!

Even though I didn’t know anyone else there, the party was a lot of fun – especially with someone as suave as James Bond as my partner! Chris and I were quite amazed that by the time we had eaten dessert and done a fair bit of dancing, it was past 12:30pm – by which time my feet were aching and I had lost my voice. It was at that point that we made our exit – before Amy could ply me with any more punch or before Chris’ mom started to worry.

I’m now seriously considering having a James Bond themed dinner party sometime soon, for no particular reason! But many thanks to Chris for a very enjoyable evening, and for very kindly donating the lobster that he bought me to my kitten, which has spent hours playing with it!


Chris' redecorated tie.

The Foreign Affair

It’s done! At last! After months and months of procrastination, and motivated by dwindling free time, I finally braved the Home Affairs office this morning to apply for my passport! “Braved” is certainly the right word to use in this context, because all South Africans know that going to any government department (although mostly Home Affairs and the traffic department) is likely to require courage, patience and comfortable shoes (As an aside, I’d love to know how our system measures up against international standards – I mean, are South Africans just complaining excessively about something which is a global phenomenon, or is applying for a passport or identity document in Canada or England or Belgium an effortless process? I only ask because I wonder if things are truly as bad as people make them out to be, or if it’s just one of those things, like packed shopping malls in the week before Christmas, and most government departments are slow and poorly organized and it’s just a fact of life).

In any case, I spent the week “preparing” myself, by having passport photos taken and clearing Thursday of any other plans, just in case it took the entire day. I also did some research on the Home Affairs website, and checked what documents I needed and how much everything would cost, as the last thing I wanted was to get to the front of the queue and be told that I needed some copy of a mysterious document! I also spoke to people who know about these things – mostly Luke and his mom, who told me to go early, as this was the easiest way to get it done quickly, and to take a book with, just in case.

I set off this morning, armed with my ID, birth certificate, flat shoes, water, a book, my cellphone and the necessary money. I didn’t leave as early as I had initially planned, but having driven past the office twice, I finally found parking, and set off towards the building. Once inside, I was rather shocked by the length of the queue, but got the necessary forms and joined the queue. Unfortunately, at this point, I suddenly realized that having copies of my ID and birth certificate was probably a good idea, so I popped into the shop next door to Home Affairs, got the documents photocopied and then rejoined the queue. It was now 8:40am. There were only 12 people ahead of me, and the queue was actually moving – albeit slowly. Rather than reading my book, I decided that people-watching was far more interesting, and between the Asian baby, the two Afrikaans “poppies” who were discussing period pain and the yuppie who had decided to attempt the queue in stiletto heels, I was kept entertained. I finally reached the front of the queue, where I presented my filled-out form to the clerk on duty, who paged through it, scanned through my information and then looked at me and asked how old I was. Clearly, he didn’t think I was old enough to be applying for a passport on my own, and he expected to see my parents with me. Having explained that I was indeed 21, and that, if he were to glance at the ID number and birth certificate in front of him this would become apparent, he attached my photos, covered the documents in stamps and sent me off to counter 5, where I paid. Then it was off to have my finger prints taken by a man who seemed to think that, because he had a big pad of black ink and got to roll people’s fingers around in it, he had the most authority of anyone in the entire office (incidentally, does anyone know how to get that wretched black ink off one’s skin? This stuff seems to be permanent!)! Luckily, it was over quickly, and by the time I emerged from Home Affairs, it was only 9:10am! I am still somewhat in awe of how quick and easy the process was – and just hope that all my new-found faith in Home Affairs and South African bureaucracy is not undone by my passport never appearing! Only time will tell, and that could take between 3 and 6 weeks!

PS – I have just re-read my post, and have become amazed by the fact that I can write this much on one incident, when I could have just said that I had gone to apply for my passport, and left it at that. Clearly, after three years of writing English essays, I have learned to waffle, with some degree of style, and it seems that I can draw out any subject matter long enough to cover at least 500 words! The joys of academia!

PPS - I realise that the title of this post is a bit of a stretch, but I really couldn't find too many movie titles that had anything to do with passports and Home Affairs. I eventually settled for the current title, although I haven't seen the film. Apparently, it was produced in 2003 and starred Tim Blake Nelson and David Arquette. Um... Yeah...

Miss Congeniality

I am including this post for two reasons – firstly because Luke thought that this story was hysterically funny, and secondly because I hope that it will serve as a warning to those of us who have an altruistic nature, occasionally to our detriment. I realize that my second reason makes this post sound fairly ominous, and so I suggest that you divert your attention to the humour of the incident.

On Saturday morning, I was running some errands for my family. I stopped at Norwood Pick ‘n Pay, and was en route to the vet where I work to pick up the kittens who were due to spend the weekend with me. The roads were almost completely deserted, on account of the annual Johannesburg mass exodus to the coast, and I pulled to a stop at the traffic light on The Avenue in Norwood. As I waited for the light to change, I glanced at a thin, middle-aged white woman, who was standing on the corner, attempting to hail a minibus taxi. She was unsuccessful, and the oncoming taxi zoomed past her, obviously taking full advantage of the quiet roads (not that taxi’s generally pay much attention to other cars anyway). I leaned forward to glance at this, and as I did so, the woman noticed me, and ran towards my car. “Maybe she’s lost, or from another country” I thought, as this would surely explain why she was standing on the side of a suburban road, trying to get a lift. She came round to the driver’s side of my car – where my window was rolled down – and politely asked if she could have a lift. Rapidly glancing at her before unlocking the passenger-side door, I concluded that she seemed harmless enough. Petite, thin and dressed in jeans and a bright pink t-shirt – to match the awful pink sunglasses that she was wearing -, she seemed to be relatively ordinary and not particularly likely to endanger my personal safety. Besides, I was only going about 500m up the road, as I assumed that I would drop her at the intersection at the top of the road. The traffic light finally changed as she got into the car and I made my way towards Grant Avenue, while she rapidly explained that her car was being repaired and that she was eternally grateful to me for giving her a lift. And then she asked if I also had R60 for her. She had only been in the car for a minute and I was now starting to wonder if this was such a good idea! My doubts continued to grow as she asked what my name was, and then declared that Candice was her favourite name - what a serendipitous occurrence! She introduced herself as Jan. By this point, I had carefully stowed my handbag behind my seat, and was silently counting the intersections until her designated drop-off point, which I decided to confirm. As it turned out, she actually wanted to be dropped off at the KFC on Louis Botha Avenue. I weighed up my options – on the down side, this was not actually on my route to the vet, but on the plus side, Louis Botha is quite busy, even on a long weekend, and it was only 2 minutes away. Besides, Jan was now chattering to someone on her cellphone, asking them for 150 grams of chocolate (as I began wondering whether her skeletenal frame was due to Weight Watchers – or possibly anorexia) and so I kept driving. Having finished her call, she turned to thank me once again, although I noticed that despite Candice being her favourite name, I was now being called Kim. I also noticed a somewhat alcoholic aroma wafting from her. Counting the minutes until I could drop her off, I pulled onto Louis Botha, and decided to compromise by dropping her off at the BP Garage, which is about 100 metres from the KFC, as I concluded that I had done my good deed for the day. Pulling into a side road, she thanked me, wished me all the best for the festive season and hoped that God would bestow his blessings on me, hugged me and alighted from my vehicle – much to my relief, especially since my handbag remained untouched.

I now vaguely remember being warned about this woman a few months ago – a warning which I obviously forgot on Saturday! It was certainly one of my less-than-sterling judgement calls – one which I plan to not repeat in a hurry, not because I’m overwhelming paranoid about my safety, but rather because I need to learn to stand up for myself and know when to say no because my gut-feel is telling me to do so and to not feel guilty about it – even if it means saying no to a random stranger named Jan. I think I shall limit my good deeds to looking after kittens and volunteering on suicide hotlines instead.

The upside (?) of this incident has undoubtedly been the amusement factor of seeing straight through someone (that “Candice/Kim” thing just reduces me to giggles) – as well as Luke now recounting to everyone how I picked up a woman on the side of the road! For the record (just in case he tells you this story), she was not a prostitute (despite the unfortunate dress sense) – or at least, I didn’t stick around to find out! The fact that she asked me for money will be ignored…

Fame

This post was actually supposed to be about something else – the topic came to me the other day while I was swapping CDs in my CD player and I thought that I should write it down so that I wouldn’t forget it. Naturally, I didn’t write it down and I now have no idea what the fantastic blog topic was. Maybe it will come to me again sometime…

So, by default, this post is going to involve some reminiscing – not about the forgotten topic, but rather about a really amazing thing that happened a month or 2 ago, and which I haven’t had the chance to write about. I am an avid 94.7 listener (alternating every so often to 95.4, UJ FM, mostly because of the alternative rock music which dominates their playlist), and listen to the afternoon drive show with Alex Jay on most afternoons, especially since that is usually the time when I’m at work, and the radio is normally on in the background (provided I can hear anything over the barking dogs). Aside from the “5 o’clock Funnies”, one feature of the show which I really love is “The Drive Song”. Basically, Alex has spent the past 4 months or so asking listeners to let him know what their favourite driving song is, and every day at 17:35, he calls someone who has emailed in a suggestion and has a chat to them and then plays their song. There have been some really good suggestions over the past couple of months, and the songs themselves have been quite diverse – everything from London Calling to Bohemian Rhapsody. It got me thinking about what my favourite drive song is too.

And then one morning, I woke up with Greenday’s cover of John Lennon’s song Working Class Hero in my head, and realized that it would make a pretty good drive song, mostly because I’ve had a couple of moments of doing 90km on the M1 while singing along at the top of my lungs to it! And so, giving it no further thought, I emailed Alex Jay and sent in my suggestion. No sooner had the email gone, did I realize that I might have to speak on radio if my song was chosen! I panicked for a couple of minutes and then calmed down, assuming that the chances of him calling me were as slim as any self-respecting emo boy’s skinny jeans.

There I was, a week later at work, when my phone rang. I ignored it, because I was helping a customer, and didn’t get the chance to check my voicemail until 15 minutes later. The voice on the message was awfully familiar – and then I realized that that was because, at the same time, Alex Jay was speaking on the radio behind me. He called me back an hour later, just to make sure that I would be able to answer my phone at 17:30 so that I could chat to him about the song, and having got permission from my boss to drop everything – including abandoning any clients who might be waiting at 17:30 - I anxiously awaited the phone call. And so, at 17:30, Alex called me, and I listened to the sports report while I waited for him to introduce my song. I was marginally terrified – despite having done public speaking for 12 years – but managed to chat to Alex about the song, explaining that I loved to head-bang to it in traffic, and dedicating it to all my friends who were writing exams. Alex was incredibly friendly and fun throughout, and most of my nervousness subsided. And then he played the song and wished me luck for my exams! And those were my 15 seconds of fame, which, while rather unexpected, were awfully cool too, even if only 1 of my friends actually heard me on radio!

Dressed to Kill

I have recently realized – with a bit of panic – that I have just over 6 months left in which to complete my “20 Firsts” list. With almost 2 months of holiday still left, I hope to get at least a few more of them completed soon. One which has been completed, however, was my mission to find somewhere to wear my little black dress. I’ve had the dress for at least 4 years, and have just never worn it, mostly because a suitable occasion has never really arisen for wearing the dress, since I don’t get invited to too many cocktail parties. The dress itself is a knee-length halter-neck, with a rather plunging neckline. In fact, the neckline probably accounts for at least 80% of the reasons why I haven’t worn the dress! As much as I would look good in it, it has just always felt a little too risqué to wear to a birthday party or dinner. It should probably also be mentioned that I actually didn’t buy the dress myself, as it was a gift – and I know that my taste is clothes is a lot more conservative!

Opportunity finally called a few months ago though, when Chris – of all people! – announced that he was having a semi-formal theme for his 21st birthday party! The theme was “Jo’burg Society”, and Chris’ vague description of suitable attire stated that boys should wear collared shirts, ties and pants which were “not jeans”. Girls were to wear whatever the female equivalent of the male attire was, and between us, Natalie and I assumed that this hinted at the cocktail dress department. And so, I decided that this was finally my chance to wear the dress!

The party itself was actually one of the most enjoyable 21st’s that I’ve been to this year! I had decided to drag Luke along, as my partner/date/plus-one, as the prospect of driving to Fourways alone was not one which I particularly relished. Having arrived at Luke’s house to find him picking out a tie, and after a quick (and very strange) chat with his dad, we were off, dressed to the nines – and personally, I was feeling a little nervous, on account of the somewhat daring dress. I really didn’t want to tarnish the impeccable reputation that I’d established with Chris’ family! Upon arrival at Chris’ house, we were greeted by Chris, Natalie, Dione and Morgan. It really was strange to see everyone dressed up, after having only ever seen each other in our casual, everyday outfits – usually jeans, t-shirts and comfortable shoes – for the last 3 years! After some socializing (and the awful realization that some of the students who Luke TA’s were around), we wandered off the other side of the house, where tables had been set up for supper. Having found our seats – each marked with a tiny wooden animal (which Chris assured were not chosen as a result of any personal resemblance to any of us) – we enjoyed the food, as well as some amusing video footage of Chris’ life and his dad’s emotive speech. Chris’ own speech was even more entertaining – mostly on account of his dry wit, as he told us how lucky we all were to have made the guest list for the party! And then he sprang a surprise, by telling us all to look at the back of our seats, where a new name tag was hidden, and to get up and find this name tag. This was Chris’ way of getting us to mingle – at least for dessert. It worked fairly well – I ended up the midst of his high school friends, but soon escaped when Kirstan and Marc arrived. After dessert, as everyone else either settled around the fire or went to dance, Kirstan, Marc, Luke and I amused ourselves by holding a spontaneous photo-shoot, assisted by the big, white wall which served as a background, as we spent the next hour striking increasingly ridiculous poses. This would later explain why the photos from Chris’ 21st only featured about 5 shots in which Chris was present – the rest were filled with Luke and me pretending to be matric dance dates or all of us posing as ninjas. We eventually exhausted ourselves, and spent the rest of the evening sitting outside, with Luke and Marc delving into philosophical discussion, while Kirstan and I dashed off to dance to the occasional song.

CD cover for our nonexistent band pose.

Matric dance shot

Super-ninja shot

All in all, it was a greatparty, and I finally got to wear my little black dress somewhere appropriate – and turned a few heads in the process! Hopefully, I’ll get to wear it again sometime soon!

Proof that Chris was actually at his own 21st!

Survivor

When I started my “20 Firsts” challenge a couple of months ago, for the most part I pretty much just wrote down random things that I wanted to do, and that’s how the list was compiled. One of them was going camping – not because I’ve never been camping, but because I really haven’t been camping since I was about 12! Since I wrote the list, I haven’t given very much thought to how I’m going to accomplish the items, mostly because I’ve been incredibly preoccupied with varsity and other “stuff”. So, I was amazed when I was actually invited to go camping by someone who doesn’t even know that my list exists (unless Dustin happens to read my blog and I don’t know, which is a little creepy!)!

The camping trip itself was centered around my friend Dustin’s 21st birthday party, and the theme was “Survivor” – inspired by the TV series. The invitations were scrolls, which told us that we were challenged to “out-drink, out-party and outlast!”, while surviving 21 hours! I was a little nervous about the party itself – not for fear of being devoured by “lions, tigers and bears”, but rather because I would be camping with 30 or so engineers, who form the bulk of Dustin’s circle of friends, and for those of you who don’t know, engineers are generally quite weird, especially en masse. Nevertheless, my friend Brad and I drove off to Dustin’s house at the Vaal River – aptly named “Vaalium” – on a Friday afternoon and prepared ourselves for the festivities (or having to crawl through mud and climb trees)…

Having arrived, we were greeted by Dustin, who handed us our buffs, splitting us into either the purple or orange team. We dragged our bags down to the river (a move we would regret at 4am, when the temperature dropped severely, but which was done based on the spectacular view), and set up camp. I set my 2-person tent up by myself, while next to me, 3 engineering guys (Andrew, Jonathan and Malcolm) tried to figure out how to put up their 2-storey mansion of a tent, and ended up with a couple of extra tent-poles, which was somewhat suspicious. So far, we had completed challenge #1: building shelter. We then walked back up to the house, where a ferocious game of volley-ball was underway. I took this as an opportunity to practice my photography skills, because I’m a hazard to myself and others on the volleyball court, although the engineers did eventually convince me to join them (and then spent the rest of the match deflecting the ball away from me).

How many engineers does it take to put up a tent? (Jonathan, Andrew and Malcolm)

With most of the survivors having arrived by this stage – and having suitably exhausted themselves with building their “shelters” and defeating one another at volleyball and pool –, it was time for supper. The most challenging part of this for me was not eating the entire garlic bread myself. Yes, as much as I am generally a picky eater, I can’t resist garlic bread! Luckily, I was soon distracted by the salad – and Malcolm kindly agreed to move the bread to the other end of the table…

The majority of the rest of the evening was spent playing pool, meeting engineers and listening to the merits of aeronautical and mechanical engineering over industrial engineering, playing “30 Seconds”, learning how to sokkie with Malcolm, listening to the merits of aeronautical and mechanical engineering over industrial engineering, eating chocolate cake, sitting around the campfire while discussing the merits of aeronautical and mechanical engineering over industrial engineering (which almost ended with me asking Richard if engineers EVER talk about anything else), and eventually ended up on the tennis court, at about 00:30am, playing doubles tennis matches with Malcolm, Rob and Andrew, and then action cricket with whoever was still awake and sober enough to participate at that hour! The most impressive part of this was definitely Rob, who is a lovely indie-emo boy, who became strangely enthusiastic about tennis at 1:30am, and was tearing around the court, drink in hand. Tennis was actually a lot of fun – although that might just be because Malcolm let me serve, and because Dustin really did look like John McEnroe!

At about 3am, we wandered off to our tents to get some much-needed sleep, and we woke up at about 8am, where we traded stories about who snored, who had kicked who in the head, and whose feet were the most frozen (I’m pretty sure I won!). Then, it was time for breakfast – lots of coffee, left-over cake and some scrambled eggs, mostly eaten by very tired, somewhat hung-over groups of people – and the packing up of tents (and the question of how to remove tent-pegs from the ground when they’ve been hammered in much too hard), and the eventual trek back to Jo’burg!

And that was my camping trip! It was certainly not what I expected, but most definitely enjoyable, and I’m looking forward to the next one – regardless of the scenery, activities, company and food!

The Vaal scenery - worth freezing for!

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Before I begin this post, I must apologise for having neglected my blog in the last month. While I have been extremely busy, the main thing that has prevented me from writing has actually been the title of this post. I've had the idea for the post for at least 2 months, but haven't been able to think of a suitable title for it! It would appear that by choosing to make each post title the title of a movie or TV series, I've seriously limited my options! This post is supposed to be about my yoga class, and I have noticed a severe lack of movies entitled "10 Things I Hate About the Lotus Position" or "My Big Fat Greek Sun Salute". So, in desperation, I have opted for "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", as it is at least Eastern (though Asian, and not Indian) and sounds somewhat yogic. If anyone has a better suggestion, please let me know! Now on to the actual post...

I love yoga. I've been doing it for over a year and I love the serenity of the movements, alongside the challenges of some of the postures. Plus, I have the coolest yoga teacher, who was incidentally also my matric English teacher! There are a lot of things that I am really good at - like balancing - and some things that I still haven't managed to get right, like the "Little Bird" posture (your knees balance on your elbows and you support your body weight on your hands). Classes are always interesting - and often amusing! For example, a couple of weeks ago, we had a new teacher, who was filling in while my usual teacher was away. She has just qualified as a yoga instructor, and was extremely keen to show off her abilities. As such, she manically corrected every single position we did - including "The Corpse" (lying flat on your back. How hard can it be to be a corpse? If you can sleep, you can do this!). Having repositioned all my limbs (and even my toes) for The Corpse, she proceeded to lead us in the usual end-of-class relaxation and meditation session. Yoga teachers love tell people to do mystical things, like synchronising their "inner" and "outer" breath, and breathing colours. This teacher told us to "harmonise our life currents", which almost sent me into fits of giggles (while everyone else in the class lay in their perfected Corpses, harmonising away). Oddly enough, I do believe a lot of the concepts that go along with yoga, like chakras and auras and such. It's really just the "mystical" way that yoga teachers incorporate them into classes that amuses me!

The "Little Bird" pose

Nonetheless, I am proud to announce that I have made progress with the "20 Firsts" list, because on the same night that I learnt how to harmonise my life currents, I also managed to do a shoulder stand! I was tired of doing the "easy" option at the end of the class (I usually do "The Bridge", which isn't too difficult), and so decided to give the full "Shoulder Stand" a shot. Much to my own surprise, it was actually quite easy, and I got quite comfortable, with my legs dangling above my head, in a suitably controlled, yogic way! And the rush of adrenaline (or possibly all the blood rushing to my head) was amazing!

The Shoulder Stand

I haven't quite got to the full "Head Stand" yet, but I'm working on it, one yoga class at a time. Updates will follow! Maybe I need to fully harmonise my life currents first...

The Fast and the Furious

I have just had the most horribly nerve-wracking experience of my entire life!

It started innocently enough. I was at Wits today when Luke and I realised that we both needed to go shopping. I wanted to buy a gift for my friend's baby shower and Luke needed tyres for his bicycle, highlighters and a black shirt. We decided to go to Eastgate, since it was fairly close to his house and somewhat close to mine. We agreed to take the highway, and we would meet at his house.

Now, I have only had my licence for a little over a year and I only ever drive on 2 highways - the M1 and the N3. And, I only ever drive certain parts of these highways. So, Luke agreed to let me follow him and promised that he would not lose me. I should have got him to write this in blood...

I followed him out of Wits and through town to get to the M1 South onramp. So far, so good. Right up until the traffic light before the onramp, because Luke drove onto the onramp, while I was stuck at the traffic light, waiting for on-coming traffic to pass. I watched him drive off as slowly as he could, and then I gunned it up the onramp and onto the highway. I was nervous from the instant I got onto the highway - for some reason, traffic was incredibly heavy. But, I could see Luke just 3 cars ahead of me, so I felt okay. This didn't last long though, because traffic sped up and Luke and I were separated by more cars. I thought that I would be okay though, since I was sure that the road stayed straight. Except that it didn't. I suddenly realised that the highway forked, and that while I was on the left, Luke had gone right. So, I panicked. And slowed down and tried to speed across the painted lines which separated the 2 diverging highways. Why I did this, I have NO idea! It is SUCH a stupid thing to do. My brain and all reason had shut down by this stage. I now realise that I should have just gone right and not risked a gigantic accident. Except that I was so worried about getting lost that I pulled to a stop in the middle of a highway.

Luke was no nowhere to be seen (in fact, he may have actually gone right, for all I know). I managed to pull off and then heard my phone ringing. I never, ever answer my phone while driving, but figured that these were exceptional circumstances. I answered Luke's call - just as I happened to drive past a Metro cop! I really hope that they were preoccupied... Luke gave me some directions, which I forgot instantly, due to my panic and the fact that I was shaking like a leaf. I told him that I would meet him back at his house. Yes, I still thought that I would somehow make it to Bedfordview. Still panicked, I carried on driving (all while watching my petrol indicator drop lower and lower), and eventually took an off-ramp which looked somewhat familiar, since it was labelled "Joe Slovo Drive". I followed it, thinking that it would soon lead me somewhere, except that it didn't. There was another familiar-looking road which apparently lead to Bruma (near Bedfordview), but I misread the sign and went straight instead of left. And so I ended up in some dodgy part of the CBD, took a couple more wrong turns trying to get back to the Bruma road, and eventually just gave up and continued down Joe Slovo Drive until I found Louis Botha. The irony of this is that I am normally terrified of Louis Botha, but by this stage I was so relieved to have found it that I even drove home along it!

So, needless to say, I never made it to Bedfordview and Luke went shopping by himself. I arrived home and had a very sweet cup of tea and tried to calm down.

I realise that no one will ever come driving with me in my car ever again. But Luke, maybe next time we should just go to Killarney, or in one car? Please?