Hallo, Gutentag, Ciao, Bonjourno, Salut!
Greetings to all of you from a little place called Copthorne. No, wait...greetings from a very busy road in the middle of nowhere near a little place called Copthorne near a town called Crawley wherein lies a garage, one little shop, an ATM and a pub, of course. Always a pub. Once again, I find myself in the land of little reception, no internet and a grumpy elderly woman.
BUT, I am willing to do much more housework and cooking of three-course meals and smelly dog walking after my May month. I took off 28 days from caring and went off by myself on the trip of a lifetime. I made a whole bunch of new friends in the 18 days of my Contiki tour, had many a good 'jol' and saw some spellbinding, dreamlike, movie-making, life-changing places. I could not be more grateful for the experience truly.
After the 18 days of sleep deprivation, constant rain (it rained every day), illness (Contiki cough) and pure delirium, I made my way to Gatwick airport in a huge flurry only for my flight to be delayed for an hour. I was off to Geneva to visit Mom's life-long friend and former tennis partner, Lucille Rijs, and her family at their lovely home on the French/Swiss border. I have been trying to make this trip for some time but getting a visa was a nightmare and then volcanic eruptions and various non-refundable cancelled tickets meant I was only able to squeeze the trip in just after my Contiki tour. The Rijs' are based in Chens-sur-Leman, France but Jan works in Geneva, Switzerland.
It is amazing how easily we moved from one country to the other. The Rijs' really spoilt me; I caught up on much-needed sleep, saw some beautiful places, had a weird but wonderful night out with Lara, Jean and Chantelle in Geneva and even spoke some good French. Well, 'good' may be taking it a step too far...but at least I spoke. The lake is quite spectacular, especially when the weather is good. The weather was very kind to me after the 18 days of rain as the sun shone all six days of my stay. Lucille even dragged me off to the tennis courts...twice. I played poorly but thoroughly enjoyed it and I am looking forward to hitting the courts on my return to SA in just under two months time.
On the 27th May, I made my last pitstop (with cousin Garyth Turner) to Erlangen, Germnay, to Franconian territory and the site of 'Berg', a local beer festival. And what a surprise, a different London airport, another delay. And we ended up missing our connecting flight in Munich. Fortunately, we could hop on a train to Nuremberg where Robs Clarkson picked us up. Nicknamed 'Berg' because the two-week festival happens on a little mountain, the event is VERY local and a well-kept secret. Garyth and I must have been one of three tourists there (all in all). We stayed with Clarksons, cousins of our cousins (make sense?) in the little village of Dechsendorf, only a short busride from the Berg. Let me remind you that I am now at Day 25 of 28 and the body is feeling it somewhat. Garyth has been dutifully working and behaving in London but the look on his face as we arrive at the festival is one of fear and knowing of what is to come. We had a glorious time with Robs, Andrew and the family (and the locals). Again, no sleep or rest from the party. We did not understand anyone, no one understodd us but we left with many a friend and the beer was SUPERB!
We watched the Super 14 on the Saturday and what a day for South African rugby and for the nation herself. We walked around in our SA rugby jerseys, blowing a vuvuzela and singing the National Anthem. Everyone thought we were nuts, we thought we were the coolest people on earth, if not the proudest. I nearly killed Andrew during the evening though as he would not stop blowing the vuvuzela but he woke up with a swollen upper lip the next day and paid his price.
A year of crappy jobs, weather, crashed computers, ol' grumps and washing one million soiled sheets by hand has been heavily outweighed by life experience, new friendship, unforgettable memories and self belief.
I am so sad that I will miss the World Cup. I watched England arrive in Rustenburg to an unforgettable welcome. I saw Piers Morgan's World Cup special about what it has done for the country, how the singer Nelson Mandela had chosen for the opening ceremony died from meningitis only weeks before realising his dream, I read Desomond Tutu's articles in the international newspapers. Pride, patriotism and pure contentment overwhelms me when I see what can happen, what good there is in the world along with the evil and sadness. So, viva South Africa, viva! May it be the best, most unique World Cup ever.
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