Three years ago, when our journey started, Colin and I set out to build OUR house. What do you have in mind, Colin asked. Now, that coming from Colin is a bit of a loaded question. Like really? How am I supposed to know what can be built on an impossible mountain erf with no road entrance. I will leave it in your capable hands, I replied. But if you do not mind….and then the list started. I had in mind a big open plan house, no walls, and no doors. I wanted to use the big non-committed areas to change the house into spaces that could function as I needed them to adapt. You have no idea what you want, Colin ventured. OK, well I tried. In the end I reminded him of that architect that both of us happen to like.

Frank Lloyd Wright was an American architect. Wikipedia tells me that his creative career spanned 70 years (He lived to be ninety-one, by the way). He believed in harmony with the environment; a philosophy he called Organic Architecture. His design included interior elements, including glass windows, floors, furniture and even tableware. Now, given our terrain, we did not have much of a choice. There were plenty of natural elements (big rocks, small rocks, flat rocks, and round rocks) to work with. Organic elements were also ample. Being surrounded by virtually untouched Fynbos, we tried not to encroach too much on our natural garden, but where possible to preserve it, or at least keep it in such a state that it would in time recover. And wildlife. We did not want to scare wildlife away. It had to be a high impact house making minimal impact on the surroundings. I think Colin managed to deliver on the brief. I may have mentioned before, but what we have is a house in a mountain not on top of a mountain.

In true FLR style, he created a building that blends away. At first, those that went out to have a look at it came back saying they could not find it. Granted, some of them did expect a manicured entrance and a driveway paved in stone. Others were right at the spot. We looked, but could not see anything, they would lament. And that was the whole idea. Looking at the (almost) finished product, the house sits low on the mountain, the building materials we used being vernacular, blends into nature – and that is only from the outside. From inside, it is like living in a game viewing hide. Large windows that allow one to look out in such a way that you do not interfere with what is happening outside. It did not take long for us to reap the rewards, and, learn the lessons, of course.

Now, keep in mind, once we switch our lights off, there is no light other than moonlight surrounding us. Our first night there we could hear the hooting of an owl. Oh, wow! the next day, we stared as a big hairy spider came strolling into the house. I do not mind spiders. I do not mind snakes either. Welcome, we said to him. It did not last long. Three days later I swept his curled-up corpse out with the dust. But, ahh! An inquisitive mongoose looked in on us. And a baboon. Yup, he found the one weak spot and managed to get into the house. His visit was brief, I think he is still running for the hills. Lying in bed at night, I could hear a creature just outside our window, sniffing. Perhaps a small jackal? Or a caracal? Or dare I even venture to guess one of those mountain lions that live on the mountains? A few evenings later, I was ready, at the window, no lights and camera in hand. And there he was. I heard him sniffing, before I saw him….somebody’s Jack Russel tasting freedom! And the next day, yet another baboon. This one got away with three avos and an apple. I am not one to give up easily. Porcupine? Surely, we will see a porcupine. I certainly picked up quills while we were building. I watched and waited. And then? More baboons. At first, they just walked by. Not looking into the house, not ogling my fruit bowl, in fact, they just sauntered by. Good! I said. They have learned not to mess with me. By now, word got around that I turned out not to be a good neighbour, so this time they brough re-enforcements. Following behind the adults, were the nursery. Perhaps about twelve little playful, mischievous baby baboons. Ahhhh, look, Colin! How cute. I was about to open the door and go out to feed them sliced apple and banana, when Colin nudged me to look at the two very big males, waiting for me to step into the trap of opening the door, fruity treats in hand.

Were we finally rewarded with wildlife sightings? Oh, yes. I arrived home in the week and found Colin at the window, completely mesmerized. And there, out at sea, a pod of what must have been twenty whales! What more could we have asked for?

As we are settling in and exploring, we do bump into locals. Are you new to Betty’s Bay, they ask. (What gave them that idea? Surely not Colin flat on his stomach trying to get a sneak photo of a penguin chick, in the rain?) Yes, we are. Oh, where do you live? We then explain to them. Oh, that house! We have been up to look at it. Occasionally, they say this in awe, at other times, I can read the sympathy in their eyes.

When Colin asked me what I had in mind for the house, never did I imagine it would become known as “That House”.

Next time round, perhaps I will settle for a more conventional architecture style. Like a floating box. Or a rondawel. Or a fisherman’s cottage. Or a caravan. Onrus has a really nice caravan park.