But first, let’s get into some dippy African delights. One of my favorite things is when people find out I was born in South Africa, they often don’t understand how on earth it is possible that I am white skinned (I remind them - not so gently - about colonialism) and then, to make matters more entertaining, they often don’t know where South Africa is located on a map, so I tell them “well, it’s in the name.”
But lucky for us, Africa Tourism on SNL takes all your African travel queries:
South Africa’s Garden Route, close to where my family has had a beach house for almost a century and a half, can be one of those hidden secrets I probably don’t want to tell you about. It’s a magical spot where the two oceans - warm Indian and chilly Atlantic - are mixing and churning creating a micro climate like no other. Fynbos (gorgeous endemic shrubbery) all about, big clouds running by, and so much open space that simply invites you to come lose yourself.
Sometimes the best way to connect is to disconnect. With the height of connectivity today, we are more hooked up than ever before – fused to the world thanks to social media, bolted to every email plus its ping, and somehow left secured all due to technology that is supposed to aid us to be the “best of the best.” As with everything in life, an inevitable balance must triumph. Swing that pendulum please. And so the need to detox from all this connectedness is unfurling into our lives: from daily switch off times forming part of the ritual, to making time for no-technology family dinners all the way to disconnected holidays and weekends purely dedicated to feeling something utterly new and profound: severed.
It was that lunatic Albert Einstein that said, “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” Just a little snippet of simple advice that is perfect if you decide to spend the next week cycling around the Winelands and Garden Route of the familiar Cape looking to feel grounded. The balance that the genius speaks of is, of course, ideal for two things: staying on the bike itself and mindfully peddling whilst admiring the mountains. And then there is, perhaps more importantly, also finding the balance of switching off and just doing this single minded action – a meditation on two wheels.
Before the days of Lance Armstrong and New York’s Citibike hire scheme there was the dandy horse, or “Laufmaschine” as the inventing Germans called it, in 1818. But it was really the French who turned bicycling into an art and by 1860 the capital of France was besieged by a culture of two wheels to parade around boulevards for coffee and hedonist delights. A century or two later the bike as we know it is now safer than ever before and often seen as the best way to get around a city, or even a beautiful landscape like the Cape. Fitting into the trend of slower (and a more mindful life of wellness) biking allows you to put away your iPhone as you don’t need to capture every moment with your camera or upload it to some sharing with the world website – staying on your saddle is more important. Biking allows for a little free-fall where train-car-plane windows do not bridle the views and the destination can easily be secondary.
Biking also requires very little skill. Even though I am known to be clumsy and have in the past fallen off and bloodied myself in the driveway before even heading out to Whidbey Island’s bike-hungry forests. There is just a heartbeat when you put your foot on both pedals that your childhood memories come round to expedite. Perhaps the training wheels have been dumped and there is no My Little Pony sticker, but there is something else: “just like riding a bicycle,” I grin to myself. Geared up, caffeinated with over excitement that natural wonder of Table Mountain is now behind me as I pedal along towards Stellenbosch. With about 60 km per day over the next six or seven days, the path is clear.
Inspired by Cheryl Strayed (with her book “Wild: from Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail”, now a Reese Witherspoon hit) who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail I wanted to take my bike and explore far beyond Cape Town and the tourist arenas. The bike, of course, allows just the access I was after: small back roads away from cars and up close and personal with nature. When Cheryl, the brave damsel that she is, confronted the mountains by her lonesome I did decide to take along a friend – one that somehow has all the wisdom necessary. Cheryl used the road to mourn the death of her mother and gather herself again. I used the road to find a moment of stillness, a switching off from the hurried pace – perhaps mourning the end of the illusive perjurer called “fast-paced” I had become a slave to.
At some point the jet set and fast pace were revered, that’s when we lost our way. We decided it was better to do things more efficiently in spite of the fact that we had lost the grand “art” of doing things. Forget the beauty of doing something; we were too busy trying to just get things done. We chased the dragon only to find that we had no idea what the dragon even tasted like, or for that matter whether we even enjoyed this silly morsel. Granted the slow movement has flooded us for years now - food and décor and everything else included – but the real value of it may have escaped me. I needed something to remind me again - and again, and again. I managed to put away my electronics and just sit on this saddle as I felt the Stellenbosch Mountains come closer. The sound of the spokes tender as I methodically move my legs in a never-ending dance, the bike is the thread to the turf underneath my feet.
The mountains are what stills me first. With the sun pouring down on me the now familiar rhythm of my leg action becomes a meditation. The little dust road I am on feels insignificant as I tilt my head up towards these great ranges in front of me. With no appointment reminders coming from my smartphone or driving instructions from an annoyingly accented GPS gentleman, the very act of what I am doing becomes a pleasure. An ostrich lifts its neck and stares me down - ushering me to a simpler life as he winks me goodbye. The bikes groan as the hill becomes somewhat steeper. A quintessential South African wind pump waves and unfetters its supply.
With no real agenda a gust of inspiration sets me to lay the bike down in that red African soil, to throw off my t-shirt and to seek a source for cooling down. With an open gate and a few innocent sheep finding me amusing I climb a small ladder only to discover the windpump’s treasure – a better-than-LA pool of unembellished water from below the ground. My bike sleeps as I jump in the bracing water instantly claiming spontaneity and the marking of this slower and steadier life. I swim not for exercise; I swim for the wellness of something far deeper and fundamental – a celebration of water, a jamboree of the moment.
Back on the bike, with my t-shirt now a scarf, the clay road leads onto a farm where fare and slumber are purveyed. In perfect synchronization the estate cultivates all things slowly: butter hand churned, herbs infused teas, bathing rituals, and somehow even the people seem at ease, actually within their own skin. Before retiring I wash my bike with a brush, slowly eroding the day’s dust and sweat. As I take care in the simplest action I find the zeal in the day’s most mindful endeavor.
The next morning plans are executed: biking through the pass to Franschoek with the Hottentots Holland Mountains gazing down from either side. The famed Franschhoek comes with its own set of perfection post-biking: La Residence offers the perfect respite. As the day comes to an end my bike is leaning on a tree and I am lying in a vineyard with only the clouds floating quietly above me. As the stars come up, night falls and time escapes me yet again.
For the next two days (I think) I spend my time on small farm roads alongside the coast. Besides for the mountains now in the distance the smell of the warmer ocean and the company of tiny purple and white flowers is how the moments move by. We pass through the French-inspired little town of Stanford first, with a pop in at the antique store TAT and then find coffee from Peru in Struisbaai. For the afternoon my bike and I sit on the nearby vacant beach meditating with only the sea spray as testament. Looking up the coast miles of sand gape and invite me to pedal along the water’s edge. The bike sprays a thin efflux behind me creating modern art patterns in the sand and the crabs peek out to see who’s disturbing their swim.
When we reach Vermaaklikheid late in the day, the spate of tiny-whitewashed Cape Dutch houses encourage us to stop. The road down to the town is the colour of beach sand and the vegetation is rank and friendly. A light touch of the brakes brings a wonted satisfaction as we stop to take in the sea views. In the distance lies the Indian Ocean and beyond that the promise of Antarctica, but for now the bike, my friend and I are just here sweating from all the pedaling.
Biking, the perfect switching off, around the Cape gave me exactly what I craved: stillness. As I took out a flask of brewed coffee I slowly unscrew the cap and poured the draft into a stainless steel cup. The bike is between my legs, sweat is pouring down my dust-caked face as it forms tributaries. And all I can do is smile. It’s just another beach view, just another coffee, and just another day – but this time around I am in the stillness of the moment experiencing every second anew. Of course, the bike agrees.