Organic farm trip

Our minibus turned off the smooth tar road, tyres crunching on the gravel. Suddenly away from traffic, we faced a long, narrow wedge – a valley rising up into a tall range of mountains. My wife explained to me that, in winter, snow fell on the peaks ahead. Unusual for Africa.

For us it was sunset at the tail end of summer. No snow. Instead, the gravel road was hot and red in the sun, and the bush on the valley floor was a hundred shades of gold and green. A troop of baboons walked on the side of the road, welcoming us to our stay at the organic farm. “All this fruit is ours” they seemed to say. “Leave it alone and we’ll let you stay”. I made a mental note: Lock the windows, hide the food. Then an eagle hovered above, scanning for movement in the bush below. My daughter noticed how fierce its claws were. The mouse below would have no chance but the eagle needed to eat too hey Dad? Signs appear on the side of the road with directions to our cottage.

Minibuses dont do well on steep valley roads. The steeper the road got, the more we slipped and slid until finally the bus reached the cottage like a tired animal, happy to lie down and rest in the car park. By that time all the children had left seatbelts behind, and sat on our laps in the front. No health and safety standards. No space. Lots of fun and excitement with a valley full of baboons and birds, and a sliding slipping bus ride.

The cottage gave us everything we needed. Or rather, it kept everything that we didn’t need away from us. No phones, no TV, no internet. Even the baboons left us alone. As a replacement the girls played and played. Adventures in the amazing bunk bed with a ladder and a nook in the wall. The deep swimming pool to keep us cool and occupied by a couple of frogs, beautiful leopard spots on their backs. I showed the girls how to catch a frog gently in my hands, and they squealed with laughter as it hopped out my hands and launched itself away to the nearest bush.

Everything growing on the farm was classified as organic. Or rather, the soil in which it grew was classified organic. Not the biggest farm I have seen, but it stood out from larger, mass producing farms as each piece of fruit had an extra “organic” certification. Fancy baboon feeding scheme, you might think. Apparently they allow outsiders to use their soil so that they can claim their produce is organic in the markets. An interesting concept. Hard work though.

When we went to the nearby town for a meal, the girls attracted the attention of another family celebrating a birthday. They gave us about twenty balloons. We crammed them into the car, so that our minibus looked like it would float away as we rumbled back to the cottage. More squealing with laughter. Then the girls decided it would be nice to pass on the balloons to the boys who lived in workers’s shacks on the farm. I was proud of them for giving away such a treasure. I was also glad our minibus stayed on the ground throughout. Gravity works.

Such a short and simple trip away but it gave us more than I hoped. Happy Tuesday chimps.

Trips to Kenya

I just returned from a trip to Kenya. It was beautiful. The weather was warm, my family there was happy and healthy, and I was by myself in the town of my childhood for a while. I visited friends, stayed up late and generally did what I wanted. However, I always come away from these trips a little conflicted. Let me try to explain.

Depending on who I am talking to, trips to Nairobi can be called “a trip home”, “a trip to see my parents”, or simply “a trip to Kenya”. Somehow I am unable to find a label that sticks. It seems to reflect poorly on me to call it “home” in front of my wife, for example. Whereas calling it the same thing in front of an old Kenyan friend seems right. This is strange. The place does not change. Simply my label for it.

Since I went to boarding school overseas (sunny England) aged 15 I have been returning to Kenya, to the exact same house I grew up in. I tend to revert to a sort of adolescence and a role in the Kenya house. This is the case even though I have a very happy home and family of my own in South Africa. I heard the experience described as a “dance” we have with our original family members. A choreographed sequence of interactions and emotions. Over the years I have simultaneously missed the old dance (homesickness) and realised the need to escape from it and create a new dance with my new family (growing up).

Back in boarding school the homesickness was paralysing. I would miss Kenya so much, ticking the days off my calendar. When I eventually got back for a holiday I would wallow and bathe in the place, saturating myself with familiarity like I was in a warm bath. In the worst case scenario, we never leave our childhood homes. Either physically or psychologically. We are never allowed to grow up and create our own “dance”. We fail to launch. Nowadays of course I miss my parents being overseas, but the “dance” and the power of our old home only hits me once I have arrived in Kenya.

I am grateful that the homesickness and the “family dance” of my childhood is getting further away all the time. It means I am happy with my life. At the same time I am so lucky to have such a place to go back to. Trips to Nairobi are now more like a quick holiday rather than an essential recovery or a fix for an ailment. I enjoy them more because of this.

Happy weekend, chimps.

An ode to combis

My sister left a car for me in Australia. A classic VW combi van with sliding doors and acres of space. It was very cool. But very old.

She had travelled across the top of Australia in a bigger 4×4, hit a big kangaroo, and traded the wreck in for the combi. The first time i drove it the accelerator pedal fell off in the middle of freeway traffic. I was starting my undergraduate degree at the university of Western Australia, trying to find the place on busy roads in Perth.

I was able to drive it for a few glorious weeks. Combis have so much space you can pile a lot of students in. There’s nothing quite like driving one to the beach for a surf. It made me a few friends and helped to ease me into University life. But then the registration ran out on the car, and it was so old, they wouldn’t renew the road worthy certificate without a load of work done on the car. It made sense to buy another car instead. A boring old Mitsubishi with less space, and an accelerator pedal which worked.

At the tail end of 2019 I find myself wanting to buy another combi. A wife, 3 kids, 2 dogs, and sometimes the goldfish come with me everywhere i go. Soon they will all have friends (except maybe the goldfish).

Valentines day post

Or as my daughter puts it: “Ballet-tines day” – she wants to wear a leotard and tutu all day in honor of this special occasion. I’m sticking with my shirt and pants combo.

Valentines day is supposed to be romantic.

So is travel to a far away land. More so, when you travel to be with the person you love. Alas, it is not all sunsets and roses.

Tune in to the podcast tomorrow to see how Rachel has managed a massive move from Africa to Scandinavia.

Romanticising travel

By all accounts, my next guest on the podcast was smart about her move abroad – Even though she did it in part for love!

It is tempting to romanticise travel. The grass is always greener on the other side of the Pacific – so the saying goes.

Here’s the thing – travel and moving your life is TOUGH. The simple reality is that when you move, you necessarily are uncomfortable. The fact that you are no longer in a place of comfort hits you from all sides as soon as you touch down. Romanticising a move, and lying to yourself about why you are traveling only makes this worse. So what to do about it?

It helps to be as specific as possible about the reasons for your move. It helps to define this explicitly before you travel. This creates alignment.

If you don’t pay attention to your reasons and to your own desires for travel, you might fool yourself and end up not being true to yourself. This can bend your life in all sorts of ways.

Sounds dramatic – but Rachel got this right. In my opinion, She’s in Denmark for the long haul and for the right reasons.

Tune in to the podcast (now on iTunes and Spotify) this Friday to hear her Romantic story.

Denmark

I have never been to Denmark, but I have spoken to someone who moved there from sunny South Africa. The subject of Friday’s podcast is now freezing in Copenhagen, while we are sweltering in the Cape.

I went to Norway and Sweden once on a trip that culminated in a wedding near the arctic circle. Scandinavia is beautiful (in the summer) and I was curious on Rachel’s take after living through a couple of their winters.

Catch the chimpwithcans podcast on Friday to hear about Rachel’s story.

Moving is harder and more interesting than you think.

Bothy bagging

In the wilderness of Scotland are cabins free to use. Called bothies, the remote shelters are often abandoned old shepherd huts now maintained for hikers.

My next guest was so inspired by his “bothy-bagging” during his stay in Scotland, he decided to make his own version when he returned back home to South Africa.

It changed his life, and it’s a great story.

Tune in to the podcast on Friday to hear more.

Sun

After a rainy couple of days in the mountains we are on the beach.

The thick bush reminds me of the Kenyan coastline.

We have had scores of whales hanging around for the last few days.

Spouts of water rising up in the air and lazy gigantic tails flopping down onto the surface of the sea.

It’s absolutely beautiful.

Holiday

It’s nice to get away from real life every now and then.

We’re off to KZN to hit the beach, hike and generally stay away from computers as much as possible.

I’ll try and blog from the hotel but I can’t promise anything.😀

Be more Scandinavian

I recently went on a three week holiday to Scandinavia – Norway and Sweden to be precise. It was pretty incredible. Coming from South Africa – a place struggling with its economy, identity and environment – Norway and Sweden felt like a glimpse into the future.

The nature was pristine. I saw mountains, fjords, forests and moose. I went salmon and trout fishing in rivers that were so clean I could bend down and drink, straight from the flow of water at my feet if I got thirsty in between a cast of the line. The cities were incredibly well organised with museums, public transport and cycling lanes. There was also construction all around and there were Teslas everywhere with charging stations lining the streets. Recycling of rubbish is a given.

Patriotism and a sense of community was evident all around. People fly flags and live with no fences or security worries. The state is clearly rich and so are its people. Everybody (and I mean EVERYbody) spoke perfect English.

It was an inspiring trip. Now that I have recovered from the flight back with my pregnant wife and my 2 year old, I am on a mission to be more Scandinavian – to me this means more focus and simplicity, more organisation, more environmentally aware, more disciplined and secure in everything I am doing. That’s the idea anyways. So far it has translated into one blog post at 630am with a cup of tea for company.

But it’s a start, and anyways neither Stockholm, nor Oslo were built in a day.

Be more Scandinavian.