Window on George

Because our houses are just one block away from the George Botanical Gardens, Mandy and I regard it as our extended backyards.   I sort of lay claim to the dam, as the river flows through Mandy's property.   There are chestnut trees on the banks of her river, but that's another story... So, whenever I'm in George, we have to do the usual.   It's a tradition.  Like a brugfoto (another story)   We simply have to. Just for the hell of it, we approached the dam from the other side for a change.    The Egyptian goose was completely confused.   He kept on following us as if to say: you girls are going about it in the wrong way.   or like a bee eater guiding us to the honey. But I reckon this is enough dam for the day.   Tomorrow, I will show you the proteas and the heather.

Mandy is obsessed with stoking a good fire, using the ugly pine cones she collects, the pretty ones on display in baskets near the hearth.   On very cold and rainy days, the fire is started by around three in the afternoon.   Then I delve into the red wines or pink port wines, and grab the squeaky chair closest to the fireplace. In this household, you cannot ask for one chocolate bar. You protest, offer it to other people, leave it on the kitchen counter, and then promptly eat it the next morning.  Holidays and diets don't go well together. Sigh.

We reached the top of Caledon Street, turned the corner into Courtenay Street, and then were faced with a dilemma: Go down York Street on the right or down the left: All South Africans will know... So we decided very bravely that we would resist. And headed down on the right hand side. The Greek restaurant is no more Surprised a few guys Won't go in there, Mark! And when we thought we were well out of smelling sight, if you can call it that, of the TEMPTATION, we crossed over to the other side: By now the pull was getting unbearable, and we were also curious to check out the renovations of the Publicity Association Building, moving a bit closer again to where we started in York Street. The Slave Tree, with the chains imbedded in the trunk. A last desperate attempt landed us at La Locanda, but one look at the menu with the worst English I have seen in recent history, made us change our minds.  We did stop a while for Mandy t...

We continued our walk along Caledon Street, past the church with the quaint parking sign, until we reached the top end of the road.   Looking back, I'm quite relieved that the friendly local we met along the way correctly assumed I was an "overseas visitor" and not a peeping Tom!   I reminded her of what a beautiful town George was, she said. Yes, we all had a little moment of just gazing at the mountains and the impossible blue sky. A very old oak tree. I think it looks like a male Blue Crane bird... We felt quite nostalgic when we saw the old, original entrance. Me playing peeping Tom again.   I love doors.