Ramp watch

Farmers' market: no ramps yet...

Kersefontein

After leaving Paternoster we arrived early at the farm and fed ourselves out of the back of the Landcruiser, which was still well stocked after 4,700km.

Hungry kitties joined us.

Hungry, thieving kitties who liked cheese.

And a tame, pushy sheep called Lemon.

Very pushy, and smelly. That night the sheep drank beer from the bottle of a blue-eyed boy, ostensibly the farm manager, who sat at his master's right hand at dinner.

This was a strange place. We had decided to stay here on the recommendation of a source I trust. But her experience was not ours.

It would take a better hand than mine to define the source, and describe the depth, of my unease here.

The farm buildings and house are beautiful and old, and have remained - famously - in the family since they were built. Pepper trees and eucalyptus against crumbling whitewash.

That night, at the long antique dining table, set with silver and crystal, and waited upon by Coloured servants - there is no other word to describe their role - there was vegetable soup, beef stew and boiled rice and peas, served to each guest in the manner of a nineteenth century country house by maids who could neither meet one's eyes, nor smile of their own volition.

The bombast, the undercurrents that I could strongly sense, but only guess at, gathered both of us up at that long table, and left Vince as ill as I have ever seen him and me eloquent and cold with rage.

It is a place to visit if you would like to see the relics of an old order. Some more worthy of attention than others.

Magnolia stellata, East Village

On East 9th where it makes a funny little triangle park between 2nd and 3rd Avenues.

New York Spring

Not all graffiti, all the time...

Sara D. Roosevelt Park, between Christy and Forsyth, and on Delancey.

The Funniest Salad in the World

...is what I ate, between gulps of suppressed laughter, at Buitenverwachting, a very beautiful wine estate in Constantia.

The menu, which was all over the place - from Austria to SE Asia by way of North America - said Caesar Salad. I ordered it, followed by schnitzel, for good measure.

A huge plate arrived. With a Romaine/Cos lettuce quartered lengthways and lying in four quadrants. On each hunk o' lettuce, balanced see-saw-like, were rashers of very stiff and very flat bacon. And an anchovy. And on each tip of lettuce, tilting like bubble bath on your loved one's breast, a mound of foam. And inbetween each quadrant an entire poached egg. And beneath each poached egg, a small brick of pan-fried baguette.

I have never laughed at food before. Not even at Heston Blumenthal's snail porridge and bacon and egg icecream and vanilla pods like straws.

I laughed and laughed. The foam was parmesan flavoured. Foam has made it to Cape Town.

Deconstructng the Caesar Salad. It's a good idea. But here it was on a plate as misunderstood and abused as a salad has ever been. We should have buried it with with honours in the courtyard garden and played Taps. It had been a brave attempt.

The schnitzel was dry and tasteless. The Sacher Torte afterwards, the first time I have ever eaten cake with a meal, quite delicious.

Visit Buitenverwachting for the architecture, the views, the wine, and the gossipy, Eastern Bloc spy history. Skip the restaurant and order the picnic under the oak trees. Years ago my mom and I were eating in the dining room (under the cheffage of Thomas Sinn, then), when a rotten branch fell on a family picnicking outside. A man and his little dog were killed.

The oaks have been well pruned now and are safe.

But if you really need cheering up, order the Caesar Salad.

Hiking in Cape Town: Silvermine

Above: Gladiolus somewhere between G. undulatus and G. monticola. Marijke, Lynn? Photographed near pool above the Waterfall.

"The entire Cape Floristic Region averages 94 species per 1000 square km, making it much more diverse than any other part of the world. California and Southwestern Australia, two other Mediterranean regions, have respective average diversities of 14 and just under 12 species per 1,000 square km...Within the Cape Floristic Region, fynbos alone may contain between 150 and 170 species per 1,000 square km, an astonishing two or three times that measured for tropical rainforests..."

John Manning, Field Guide to Fynbos, 2007

Vince and I, two corgis and one black lab, set off from the eastern section of Silvermine, easily defined as lying on the eastern side of Ou Kaapse Weg, one afternoon after lunch at home. There are several possible routes one can follow from the car park, but we wanted a shortish walk of about 3 hours, and headed off towards the amphitheatre. I was relying on memory and an old map from Jose Berman's hiking book, circa 1976, but we should have had the up to date Slingsby's Silvermine Map.

These are excellent maps and I would encourage visitors to the Cape to purchase several (Table Mountain, Hout Bay, Cape Point) , and then use them. Very few tourists consider hiking proper (i.e. with backpacks, proper shoes and a MAP) when they come to the Cape Peninsula, and this omission deprives them of an unforgettably rich lifetime experience.

Table Mountain might look flat (or in our accent, flet) from the front, but in fact the Table Mountain National Park extends right to tip of the Cape Peninsula, with hundreds of hiking trails crisscrossing it, with plants and views unique to each.

Ah, Romulea, But you are not in Mr Manning's book. Growing almost flat on the sandy soil leading steeply up to the Amphitheatre, and as dense as gentians. Known as African bluebells.

For better ID'ing I have ordered Wild Flowers of Table Mountain, from England. Amazon had never heard of it. However Amazon did have Cape Peninsula: No. 3: South African Wild Flower Guide" by M.M. Kidd. A whopping $55. But I still have credit on my Christmas gift card. Thanks, Boss. Sold. So hopefully I will be saying "I think..." a little less often when it comes to plant names.

Pelargonium cucullatum, and the first and easiest I ever learned to recognize, as a child newly moved to the Cape from the grasslands of the Free State.

On a hill overlooking Ou Kaapse Weg, this Protea speciosa grew right next to the path.

Below, I have seen these pelargoniums two years in a row now, in relative abundance beside these paths, growing out of dry sand banks, with leaves frizzled to nothing. I think they are P. pinnatum. What I love about these walks is that you see one flower for a few metres, and then another, and then more of the second, and so on, so that always there are localized pockets of something new. And this was a midsummer hike, not exactly the most floriferous time of year.

"At every step a different plant appeared; and it is not an exaggerated description, if it should be compared to a botanic garden...so great was the variety everywhere to be met with."

William Burchell, journal entry for the last week of November 1810.

Flax - Heliophila, no idea which species. And blooming late...it seemed to be a late year in general.

Thereianthus, and again not sure which one - the last time I walked here I saw them showing only their tantalizing drying stalks. With petals they are lovely!

This stunning, shrubby erica, dripping with waxy white and green blooms, grew on the path down into the Amphitheatre, just after False Bay had come into view. Sunbirds darted about, drinking their nectar. No luck ID'ing, as it does not seem to match the white ericas in my book.

Poor, short-legged corgis. I had told them the walk would be gentle. I had completely forgotten a steep, boulder-climbing section. Not having a collapsable water dish, we poured their water into one of the honeycombed sandstone boulders on the way.

They said a lot in Welsh, and from the tone none of it apparently flattering to my person.

Lobelia, of course. L. coronopifolia.

Lachnaea grandiflora - mountain carnation/bergangelier. They can also be pink.

Polygala - butterfly bush.

Protea nitida, I think. For some reason I never paid much attention in the past to the most famous of the fynbos flowers. This one grew low down on a tree about 8 feet high.

Ben flopped into the pool above the waterfall.

And in the thicker, grassy vegetation behind the pool I found several more of these gladioli. The colouring looks like G. monticola but the form and habitat resembles more G. undulatus. Help.

The home stretch, coming full circle.

Home before dark. Obviating the necessity for a posse, which is what I found in the driveway the last time I returned, well after sunset, from this circuit.

Some hiking rules for visitors (and the first one I need to um, obey too. I hate hats):

1. Wear a hat

2. Take a sweater or waterpoof jacket no matter what the weather looks like

3. Take water and some food

4. Tell someone exactly where you are going. Write it down.

5. Do not hike alone

Mountain rescue: 021-948-9900

Fragrant Viburnum

Explosions of joy in my cranium after I crossed the street to investigate what I thought must be a weirdly early crabapple. No! It was something I had never seen before. I was clueless. The flowers looked like lilac, the emerging leaves looked like viburnum, the form...tree-like, but trained so...deeply perfumed and spicy, too. And dripping with blooms in late March. I mean nothing is open. Only the quinces have started. Not even the callery pears, which have buds right now.

Very exciting.

Thanks to googling and going with the viburnum idea, I think it is Viburnum farreri*, described as a very early bloomer, sometimes damaged by frost. And this one must have been trained upright from an early age, as most of us should be.

[The tree is on Baltic between Court and Clinton, north side of street]

That's all it takes to cheer this girl up.

That and gallon of hot pink paint from Tony's Hardware.

Update: * The ever helpful Plant ID Forum at UBC tells me this: It is more likely to be Viburnum × bodnantense 'Dawn' (V. farreri × V. grandiflorum).

Sigh. It's so good to know exactly what something is, and how it got that way. Thank you.

Silvermine

This looks like a top-of-the-world-and-far-away-from-humans picture, doesn't it? The beauty of it is that while that is true, you are standing on the mountains of the Cape Peninsula, surrounded by a city and municipalities.

Marijke took me on a walk here last year, and it was the first time I'd seen these views, even after having lived in Cape Town for twelve years and having returned every year for another twelve. Since then I've walked it about three times, and it is one of my new favourite places.

Flower photos to follow.

The Kom

There are some quiet places in Cape Town that are half forgotten (hence, um...quiet).

Kommetjie might be famous for its surf breaks, but it is the glassy inner Kom that I find unusually peaceful and beautiful. Our friends the Friedmans live here and whenever I see this view, and walk out to the serene little bay with its one boat bobbing, I feel that the place is perfect. Otters are still seen here. Kreef fishermen push off from the shore. Flocks of seabirds wheel and return to roost. And small children paddle, nets in hand, in the gentle water.

These aloes are the same, I think, as the one I photographed in Paternoster - Aloe distans. I'll wait for someone to tell me different.

Kir Rouge

A sturdy red wine
A slosh of Cassis
A slice of lemon
Ice cubes in the shape of hearts

To be drunk as an antidote to the terrible hope of spring.

Saturday 8.30pm, Lights Out!

Photo: Vincent Mounier, Insider's Guide to Table Mountain

Tomorrow evening, all over the world, lights will be switched off between 8.30pm and 9.30pm your time.

Or not.

It's up to you.

Earth Hour last year and I was at Eric and Mimi's when the Empire State Building went dark.

That was a good reminder.

Have dinner by candlelight. Don't burn the house down.

Paternoster camping

Marie, the dawn is breaking...

Morning in Paternoster, at the Cape Columbine Reserve.

...and the night terrors receded.

Vince unzipped the tent and came to bed when the sky and sea had turned opalescent, sometime before 5am. He was cold, his hands freezing. We had not equipped ourselves for night watches in the Cape mist. He snuggled up, covered in both sleeping bags. And I was wide awake.

So I decided to assume the dangerous dawn sentry duty.

The mist had lifted and the sea had cleared to its cobalt blues again. The tide was far out and the rocks in our bay exposed in frilly capes of weed. I poked about.

I found many sea urchins quite undamaged. Rare for this coast.

Pink limpit shells...

And many snails.

The sun turned the crystal-studded granite golden.

And dew on the coffee mugs called for remedy.

I lit the Cadac burner, the gas roar loud in the still morning.

And looked into the pot to see one of the most welcome coffee sights ever. The new day had begun.

While I sat in a camping chair sipping coffee feathered friends hopped about the campsite begging for crumbs of last night's bread..

And some bossy kelp gulls investigated the night's dishes to see if there was any crayfish left. I gave them some legs and crunchy bits.

I took a walk up into the high boulders down a sandy path in the low vegetation and saw a mongoose on his dawn rounds.

I need help with this one, above. It looks like the Tylecodon grandiflorus we saw at Olifantsbos but the succulent stems are so much larger.

Above and below, a small, precisely-thorned aloe growing right in the rock, a few paces from the water. Possibly Aloe distans, based on my googling.

I got back to camp as the last of the mist cleared out, and headed for the coffee pot to start over. In the tent the night guard was stirring, still very sleepy.

One more day to go, and we would be back in Cape Town.