I said I would write a blog, and here it is - one week in. Peter spent weeks planning this (see cover photo), and so far we have:
Thurs 20th: arrived, after 4-hour stop-over in Dubai; collected underpowered 6-gear Toyota Corolla from Avis; toured some areas of Johannesburg by accident - and found our 'B&B'. That term means something else here: we have what strikes me as a luxury studio apartment.It is hot. I am tired. We sort out phones with local sims, and eat takeaway on our balcony.
Friday 21: we breakfast with Peter's friends Jill and Frank Chidley; visit Constitution Hill, and meet another friend, Patricia, for supper in the evening.
Saturday 22: the timing of our trip was dictated by the wedding of Tamsin, Jill and Frank's daughter. A trip to the hairdresser and a wedding occupy all day. We bopped for a bit, but left the young ones to it around 10 in the evening.
Sunday 23: went to Museum Africa (disappointing; just saved by the geology section); lunch was an after-wedding party, with a braai of a whole lamb by the Chidleys' pool, then supper with Marge and Paul Brown. Beth was there too, very grown-up.
Monday 24: hand in car and fly to Zimbabwe to see Victoria Falls. HOT! (93 deg F!) humid and malarial. Hotel startling - very 'Disney', but impressive. We swim in pool before supper, where we are entertained by men performing traditional songs.Insects bite me; but I do not realise this until
Tuesday 25: walk to see Victoria Falls. In the afternoon we go on a 'sundowner' cruise on the Zambezi, and see elephant, hippo and a crocodile.
Wed 25: Peter picks up emails, and we learn that my mother is unlikely to live long. Saddened, we fly back to Jo'burg, pick up another car and drive to Rustenburg - a mining city, where Peter worked and his girls went to school. Night descends as he navigates new roads, potholes and townships; suddenly we see the sign for our B&B - it turns out to be built on Paul Kruger's farm, to be run by a knowledgeable historian and conservationist, and to be wonderfully eccentric. We learn that Mother has died; I speak to Sally. (I will not return for the funeral, though Peter offers to fix up everything for me to do so. I did what I could during her lifetime, and this chance will not come again.)
Thurs 26: After breakfasting in the Armoury, we go in a safari vehicle to visit Paul Kruger's farm, now kept as a museum, seeing various buck en route.
Then off to look at Impala platinum mine, where Peter once managed 500 men and a real railway with 14 locos (no no.13, of course) - we saw loco 15 pulling a line of trucks. He showed me the houses where they lived, and the schools his daughters attended, and finally we drove back through scenic ways to our first B&B, where we will stay until Sunday.
But it wasn't all scenic: we passed villages, with some nicely built modern, well-tended homes next to tin huts; and a desperately poor shanty town to which people were streaming homewards after a day's work. That work might entail standing between lanes of traffic, hawking sunglasses, flags, toys; or washing windscreens (an unasked-for service that is unappreciated); some - not many- beg.
Friday 28: Things (all the new sights and experiences, reactions to strange pollens and insect bites - and to Mum's death) had exhausted me. But I did not realised this until I told Peter I would pay for my phone top-up, then discovered I knew no numbers. Not for the South African sim, or any of my credit cards. So he brought me back to our B&B, and I slept away the afternoon. In the evening we went to the glitziest, most expensive part of Jo'burg: Sandton City. Think Metro Centre, new, shiny, hi-tech and exclusive. Outside it stands a colossal statue of Nelson Mandela.