Cape Town Stadium

For Cape Town's, and the Stadium's, second test run before the World Cup, the Cape Town Stadium admitted 40,000 ticket holders to a rugby match, filling two of the three tiers in the stadium. The first test two weeks ago filled only the lower tier.

It was built for the FIFA World Cup, coming here in June, but the grass was neatly painted with rugby stripes and the rugby poles looked as though they belonged there. Maybe one day they will.

I had been told by people who had attended the first test run (a soccer match) that the transport from the public parking at the Civic Centre to the Stadium in Greenpoint would be seamless, but most observers have been extremely sceptical. No reason. It was seamless. Perfect, in a word.

Do not bother going near the stadium in your car. Park at Artscape or near the Civic Centre, queue for a bus where they tell you to, and off you will go, as they arrive, endlessly, in rotation. I have never seen anything this streamlined in this country. Or any country.

And it's free.

Men and women in yellow How Can I Help You? T-shirts helped us. Go there, wait here. Everything will be OK.

Our convoy cruised through green lights all the way, controlled by traffic police in our favour. We felt presidential.

South Africa is not known for its sterling public transport. On the contrary. So this was very exciting.

We were dropped off to walk approximately 400 metres (wild guess) to the stadium, and passed some new porta loos in case we absolutely had to pee right there.

Finishing touches include the indigenous plantings to be...

Fever trees have been planted in the pedestrian concourse beneath a new raised traffic circle.

There she is.

More How Can I help You?s were on hand at the gates. We should have stuck to this queue, at the main gates, as any gate will let you into the stadium area, regardless of your seating assignment. Instead we were directed to other gates with only four entrances and got stuck for a long time.

The best view of the shell is just beneath it, as it curves up and out with Signal Hill and the mountain in the background.

More How Can I Help You?s were stationed inside, and actually fewer than we needed, as we didn't have the colour-coded seating areas worked out yet. A map might be forthcoming.

This was reeeeeally useful, but we only saw one.

I am not a sports junkie, but the first time I walked into the (old) Yankee Stadium, I cried, without warning. I was very surprised and very moved. Go figure.

I didn't cry here, because here there is no history, yet. But I did stop in my tracks. I did say, Wow! It was awesome. Beautiful.

Wheelchair access was clearly no problem.

We were addressed by the mayor, and by the premier of the Western Cape, who was wearing an unfortunate outfit. But she still got a hero's welcome.

Then the Stormers and the Boland team trotted on.

It's the roar of the crowd. Makes the hairs stick up.

The big screen behind and above our heads showed replays and fights up close and personal.

We were facing the west, and became very hot after the sun hit us. No respite, and I hadn't brought a hat or extra suncream. They should sell hats. And suncream.

But there is beer!

Perhaps this is better beer drinking etiquette.

Then she got too hot, too. I hid under my sweater as well. Capetonians always carry sweaters.

When a team came on to fix divots in the turf my mouth hung open. I had assumed they were playing on Astroturf.

It's real grass!

There are no rugby pictures. I wasn't really watching the game.

We left early to avoid a crush, and some people opted for taxis.

The police were still very much in evidence. I have never seen so many cops in my life. They must have been bored because there was absolutely nothing for them to do.

Overheard on Afrikaans policeman's walkie talkie: Frans, I have a complaint about hawrse droppings here...

Frans: Ja, well...I haven't got to that one yet.

I honestly don't see the soccer hooligan element making it here for the World Cup...Anyway, aren't they all on the dole?

Already lots of people waiting for the busses, all leaving early -more How Can I help You?s might be needed on this return trip...

But they were all at the Civic Centre again, shepherding people back to their cars.

The parking was free.

So. It was a great experience.

In the lingua franca, I had a jol.

Catch up

On Saturday I:

- gave a talk and slideshow on New York gardens
- deboned, stuffed and trussed two chickens
- (literally) threw together two pizzas for lunch
- went with my dad and Vince to the brand new Cape Town Stadium for the first rugby match ever played there, for the stadium's second, 40,000 thousand 'test' pre-FIFA World Cup: we were all bussed to the stadium from our parking - and it was faultless. I was wide-eyed with admiration for the organization. Lengthy post to follow. It will be the only sports post ever on this blog.
- braaied 3 kinds of boerewors for supper, made a salad and heated a Woolworths malva pudding

Today I will be:

- layering small cocottes with fresh pesto, aioli, tomato sauce and tapenade, as a starter for a lunch for eleven that was supposed to be under the tree. But it is raining.
- shredding lamb shoulders cooked overnight for Nigella's lamb salad
- roasting deboned, stuffed, trussed chickens
- eating said lunch
- blogging. I hope.

Olympia Cafe - how slow can you go?

,
I have written about how much I like the food at Olympia Cafe in Kalk Bay. Vince is addicted to the spinach polenta, which is creamy, garlicky and delicious. We met our new friend Jane (another happy blog introduction) there for lunch. She is also a fan, as a past Kalk Bay resident.

But it's time to talk about the service. It has got to be the slowest in town.

It is very sweet and kind. When it arrives. But it might take ten to fifteen minutes for anyone to approach your table once you have been seated. This is a long time. But this is Kalk Bay. Who needs to be anywhere?

And as soon as your main course arrives you suddenly find yourself back in the Bermuda triangle of table service. No one will find you. Ever. Nor will you be able to make contact with the server-beings circling you, chatting in a friendly fashion to each other.

You shoot up flares in desperation, the ceiling starts to burn. No one notices.

Worse, no one will look for you. Or wonder what happened to you. You are gone. You never happened. You could die in your leftover linguine and never be discovered. Or maybe you'll just strangle yourself with it as it stiffens on the plate.

This is when you begin to understand Slaapstad (Sleeping town: the Afrikaans pejorative for Kaapstad, Cape Town). Why is it OK for service to end when the main event has been delivered? What about coffee, dessert, a bill? What if we'd like to LEAVE?

You snag attention by sticking your foot out, and sending someone crashing to the floor under a pile of yesterday's plates that have just been cleared.

Making people wait this long isn't cute, it is incredibly sloppy.

All one's good intentions about about leaving US-sized, 20% tips dwindle as the quarter hours pass by. Tipping the customary 10% feels uncomfortable to me in South Africa, and I always leave more, but after these serial desertions I feel the tradition is justified. It's what I would pay for the worst possible service in the States.

The food is good. So are the prices. And it is in a pretty little village-like part of the city that retains a uniquely good feel.

But put. a. wiggle. in. it.

Cape Dwarf Chameleons

Photo: Vincent Mounier

Ever since we got to Cape Town, Vincent has been obsessed with finding chameleons. He loves them.

He stuck to his quest, and they were found. And he keeps finding more.

Do you know how hard it is to find a chameleon in a tree? Hard. I found the first one by accident, and that was all the encouragement he needed. Now, if you see a tall, hairless man standing in front of a tree peering at it for hours, not moving a muscle, possibly turning slightly green in sympathy, that's my husband.

The chameleon whisperer.

He doesn't want to tell people who stare at him what he's looking at, because he's worried about them. The chameleons, not the people. They are very vulnerable. He has quite a collection, now, including babies, and he checks on them. He worries.

You can see some of them here, and here.

I think he's beginning to develop two-toed hands and a prehensile tail. He looks at flies in a beady way...

Summer geophytes

This could also be called I Brake for Bulbs.

Cape Point. A white Volkswagen Kombi. Two people with cameras and eyes peeled for subjects to photograph. A flash of red in the middle of a field of fynbos.

Screeeeech!

The last time I saw this flower was at the top of the Swartberg Pass in February 2008.

I looked it up on my own blog because the books I'm using didn't seem to help. My blog said Anapalina longituba, but with no clue as to how it had arrived at that conclusion. Sloppy. I googled. I came up with Tritoniopsis antholyza, a revised name? Which made sense, since I am now more familiar with the Tritoniopsis brood. I now also have lingering questions about my questionable ID of T. parviflora (Table Mountain), though - more lingering due to this useful wiki produced by the Pacific Bulb Society. I had to go to the Pacific to identify Cape flora??? I think it is Tritoniopsis unguicularis - not in my at-hand fynbos books (is it in John Mannings?).

So I might bother a couple more knowledgeable people. I suppose there are worse things in life than having too many questions. Having no questions at all might signal The End.

This area had indeed 'been disturbed' as they say, by fire. A prerequisite for so much action in the fynbos world. And a miniature garden was growng up all around.

We saw a lot of other things on our half day, driving to and from the Point, and walking down the steep steps to deserted Dias Beach. With a little more time, I will get to them.

Table Mountain Water

A fine glass of a 1994 Rhine Riesling.

Not.

Table Mountain water, circa January 31st, 2010.

An anonymous commenter queried the wisdom of drinking water flowing from the mountain on our hike though Orange Kloof. With the spectre of darkest Africa, and many waterborne illnesses, bacteria, viruses and protozoa lurking in our collective consciousness, it's a reasonable question.

My own habit is formed not by science but by what I have seen other practised hikers do, over many years. Moving water, neither crossed by paths higher up nor subjected to other discernible human activity above the collection point, is safe to drink. I first drank it as a twelve year old and I am still here to tell the tale, though it may pass my lips but once or twice a year. I find it pure and delicious.

Sunday's water in Orange Kloof came from the De Villiers dam, a reservoir high above us whose sluice must have been opened to cause such a rush of water. There was no path above our source. But of course one doesn't know what could have happened out of sight. A dead animal, baboon droppings, human activity...it was just unlikely, though not impossible. On a more trafficked route like the front of Table Mountain, I would probably not drink.

But for now, Cheers!

I'd be curious to know what other Table Mountain (and Western Cape) hikers think. If you happen to read this, please add your opinion.

Vida e caffè

Last week we were taken out to coffee by Johan van Zyl, the editor of Visi magazine - and a whole new coffee planet was revealed. Vida e caffè has a short menu in Portuguese that lists coffee the way I like it. Coffee the way I beg for it, and for which I must contort my sentences in Starbucks and Various in New York:

Espresso marked with foam; espresso + whipped cream; espresso + steamed milk; espresso + 1 part milk, 2 parts foam; espresso + water; espresso + milk and cap of foam; espresso + Lindt chocolate +milk...

And then they deliver it just like that. The way they said it would be.

Baie dankie, Johan!

Hiking in Orange Kloof

When Marijke emailed me and asked whether Vince 'or' I would like to join her and her friend, Prof. Michael Cherry on a walk in Lemoenkloof (Orange Kloof) behind Table Mountain, a quick consultation elected Me.

Orange Kloof is restricted to the public unless permits are acquired and an official guide involved, so Michael's permit for three people, awarded for research purposes (the chromatology of shades of red pertaining to pollination rates...) is a boon to his hiking enthusiast friends.

Above - Marijke showing me our route on her map.

Below, from Constantia Neck, a short, stiff climb and scramble put us at Constantia Corner at Eagle's Nest, with a 180 degree view from False Bay to Hout Bay, with the spine of the peninsula inbetween. The vineyards of Constantia creep up the Constantiaberg to the right of the picture.

We branched from our trail to look out over our destination before we climbed higher and around for access to the top of Disa Gorge, which is the Kloof's beginning.

A new view for me. The wooded valley that is Orange Kloof.

More scrambling, holding onto rocks to pull ourselves up, and I found a flower new to me, Microdon dubius.

Below, Penaea mucronata, often with red instead of yellow flowers.

Tiny Thunbergiella filiformis. [2/2/10 - I see that it is called Itasina filifolia in Wild Flowers of Table Mountain National Park - so a reclassification occurred while some of us snoozed.]

There were many of these: the orchid-like Tritoniopsis parviflora. Much paler than the illustrations, which show it as acid yellow. I am missing my John Manning Fynbos book.

Our old friend Pseudoselago serrata, growing on a slope looking over Hout Bay.

Below, helichrysum, the pseudoselago and Protea cynaroides making a garden of the mountain.

This is where HDR (High Dynamic Range - the term that first sent me googling and finding Vince's website) would appeal to me. The sharp contrast between foreground and background make it impossible to expose the picture properly in one shot. But with three different pictures and three exposures one would have a composite yet better picture with none of this bright fuzzing in the background.

Watsonia tabularis, the faithful summer companion on the mountains.

The Karbonkelberg mid-picture with Little Lion's Head to its right.

Notorious Blister Bush - Peucedanum galbanum - whose flowers resemble fennel. I used to handle these leaves when I was little, thinking them celery-like. Later, as an adult, hiking with the ladies of the botanical society, I was admonished for touching it. It produces painful welts and blisters in many people - not sure if it would do so to me now. Not testing the theory.

Below: don't know. Diosma? Growing low down, about 12" or 3cm max, it was everywhere and very pretty.

More helichrysum - still not sure which one.

And the most beautifully soft, lambs ear-like leaves of another helichrysum.

This is its flower.

Tiny erica.

We had reached the area of big, beautifully weathered rocks and were heading for our breakfast stop at Camel Rock.

Bobartia indica.

The first sighting of the Autumn Painted Lady, Gladiolus monticola. We saw another seven.


At last. I had stopped huffing and puffing and after a nice flat walk was very happy to open my flask of Illy and eat a raisin bun. Marijke had a cocktail of Michael's strong unsugared and my strong, sugared coffee, with rusks. I'll have to write a post about rusks.

Camel Rock. It doesn't seem to be in the middle of a city of three million, does it?

After some more hiking along the footpath we landed up on the jeep track that was built to service the reservoirs on the mountain. Suddenly Sunday was in evidence: People on the Mountain. All well-equipped, with backpacks, boots, walking sticks hats, water. I hate hats, but was slathered with Factor 50.

Erica lutea grew in a ditch.

Agapanthus africanus in its natural habitat.

Invasive blackberries made a very good, sweet snack.

Above the Woodhead Reservoir, which we were about to cross.

I had never seen the wall - very steep

And full of lichen.

At the end of the wall our path turned sharp left.

...and we walked down many small steep stone steps to the bottom of Disa Gorge.

More wall.

And they're off. Orange Kloof at last.

And a patrol!

Where are you going (no, Hello, how are you?)?
Who are you?

Papers were produced.

The friendlier lady ranger said they were also paramedics but avoided answering my question about how often they patrolled the area. After talking a bit about some disa buds farther down and the mountain pride butterflies she mentioned that she was fond of squirrels.

Hm.

A fiddlehead beneath our feet.

We passed several colonies of carniverous sundews - Drosera trinervia, always in damp spots to the side of the path.

The kloof ahead.

Marijke said it is protected to rehabilitate it after farming and logging activities disturbed the old indigenous forest.

Our path stuck to the eastern side of the kloof.

A leucadendron which is endemic to the area, but I have forgotten which it is. It has minute silvery, identifying hairs on its red leaf tips.

Under a dead bush I spied the luscious white petals of the leafless parasite Harveya capensis. We saw ten more within a few metres.


The first Pelargonium I learned to identify was Pelargonium cucullatum, with its characteristically cupped leaves.


Pelargonium longifolium - usually seen in abundance in Silvermine, above Kalk Bay. It always seems to grow from a dry, sandy bank.

And Pelargonium myrrhifolium. Dozens, at intervals.

Tiny Pelargonium tabulare, I think.

Its leaf, with what I thought was dodder wrapped around it, but it is probably Cassytha ciliolata, or Devil's tresses, another parasite.

Marijke versus the girdled lizard, Cordylus niger.

Himself.

Grasshopper on Pseudoselago serrata.

And the everlasting, Helichrysum vestitum.

Unknown, curly grass.

And many Lobelia coronopifolia growing on the sand track.

The best blue.

I don't know this grass, either, but it was gorgeous.

And Micranthus alopecuroides. Better blue?

My new friend, Aristea glauca, according to Tony Rebelo, courtesy of Lyn McCallum. First seen above Silvermine one week ago. These were in perfect condition, right on the sandy track.


This is the erica that confused me above Silvermine. It is Erica mammosa.

But so is this. Red.

Below the small De Villers dam high above us, water rushed from a rocky fall. We filled bottles and drank. It is the palest brown, perfectly clear, and the best water I know. I brought some home.

Five hours after starting we were back at Constantia Neck.

There is an overnight camp in Orange Kloof, part of the Hoerikwaggo Trail. We did not visit that part of the kloof.

You can book it as accommodation for a night in the Afromontane forest, without hiking the whole trail, and will be led on a walk in the evening and early morning if you like. More information here.