In the past week, I have been asked why I do not include photos of my daily walks. Now this can either mean that some of you are interested, or you want proof that apples do indeed grow on trees. Either way, I did think it would be a good idea. Trouble is just this: I take bad photos. You want your head chopped off or have a really nice photo of your one foot only, ask me to take it.

That is where my “trusty steed” comes in: Colin.

Not only is Colin a very good hobby photographer but given the fact that I am still coming to terms with Fat Pig, I felt better having company on my walk. What would Colin do about the pig you ask? Nothing. As long as I can outrun Colin when that pig charges.

Colin has a very big, well catalogued photo and slide collection that he took over the years. He has more photos of the Union Buildings in Pretoria, than the Union Buildings have themselves. Menlyn? You name it, he has it. Sun City? He has it. Yes, Colin loves taking photos. A few years back, we as a family took a trip to Russia. For a very long time, I had this curiosity about Russia. I am a bit of an amateur historian, with a love for beautiful buildings, and that is what I wanted to experience in Russia. Colin was not too keen on going, but from the moment we landed at Domodedovo Airport outside Moscow, Colin was snap happy. The boys will tell you of the day in St Petersburgh where Colin wanted a photo of the Peter & Paul Fortress, and the best angle he could get it from, was lying on his back on the traffic island in the middle of the road. We threatened to leave him there, reminding him that should he get lost in Russia and find his way home in 10 years’ time claiming exile status, it would be his problem.

And so, we set off, on a photographic journey. Since photos do not lie, I now have to come clean about a few of the other routes I walk. I am always telling you about Beaumont, but I can’t let Beaumont steal all the show. Beaumont farm borders onto Arcangeli and Wildekrans estates. The trouble is, there are no fences between the farms, so every so often I stray onto Arcangeli, or Wildekrans Farm. In fact, when we started the photo shoot walk, I preferred seeing a bit more of Arcangeli, mainly because it takes us into the opposite direction of where I first encountered Fat Pig.

Apart from the farms, another route we walk occasionally (because remember: we are supposed to walk to exercise), is walking up the Vanderstel Mountain Pass. It sounds grand, but it really just a dirt road that takes one to Villiersdorp. Why would we want to walk up a dirt road, even if it has a fancy name, or very steep hills to stretch our calf muscles? Ah! Now you see, this is it. The reward at the top of the rather steep hill, is simply the most spectacular view of Botrivier’s valleys and rolling hills. Yellow grass lands, deepest of green trees, and depending on the time of day, either the bluest of skies, clouds – sometimes white and wispy other times dark and grey, and the pinkest of sunsets you can imagine. I cannot paint, not even a white bedroom wall, but when I stand at the top of Vanderstel Pass, I find myself bargaining with my Creator. Surely, I have a talent that I am not using, that I can trade for the ability to paint? Surely such beauty should be captured by me, in a long white artist over coat, with a paint brush between my teeth, and a pallet of inspired colours in my left hand, and not by Colin with a cell phone? Sometimes life is just not fair.

What I could do however, was to take a pair of scissors with me on one of the walks, and I picked a very big bunch of dried fynbos and veld grasses – several varieties, which I now have in a vase in our lounge. Fortunately, at some point in my life, I did learn to arrange flowers.

Another WOW! moment on this walk, is passing over the bridge that spans the actual Bot River. In places it is just a trickle of water, and then it widens into large patches of wetland, and in places quite a wide river. Standing on this bridge, you look down onto a railway bridge. This bridge is on Beaumont land, and the tracks then curve up the hill over onto Wildekrans. Twice a day, the train announces its arrival. Early in the morning it is no more than 4 red engines, and later in the afternoon the same 4 engines, but this time pulling a number of wagons. To give you an indication of how very quiet it is here (we are miles from any big towns or busy roads) long after you can no longer see the train, you can still hear it. Fortunately, our timing was right, and Colin happened to be close to the bridge, just as the train passed, and could take some photos. As much as it passes twice a day, it is not at set times, so yes, lucky it was.

Getting back to how quiet it is here in Botrivier. The first time I travelled to this little town some 2 years ago, I simply could not get my mind around how tiny a town it is. Apart from the main streets, the others are all dirt roads. The town has an old hotel. As with all old hotels in small towns, Botrivier Hotel has a lot of history to offer and not much else. I just looked on its web site now, hoping to give you some interesting morsels of history around this grand old dame, but all I could find was the latest Facebook post, saying that this December, they had 11 bands appearing in 20 days. We could tell. One band was called Akkadis. (Akkadis is the Afrikaans word for Lizard.) But despite this, it is a lovely old building, and the new owner is doing a lot to restore her former glory.

The town also has 2 general dealers. One is called Mini Mart, and the other Maxi Mart. The only difference being their size, as they both sell the same groceries, and both are owned by Pakistani shop keepers. Anything you want, if they do not have it, they can find it for you. I popped in a few days ago hoping to find a Tick & Flea collar for Domino. (Domino can be quite a drama queen over fleas, but then, what was he expecting, chasing after mice?) Friendly Pakistani did not have one in stock but said he could have it by the next day, and then asked me what size I wear. I am trying to forgive his ignorance, but doubt that I will be back to support him any time soon. There is also a co-op store, and they will surprise you in what they keep. And a bottle store. The bottle store is tucked behind Maxi Mart, and next lock down and alcohol ban, I know where to go. It is tucked away so securely, that not even the Minister of Police will be able to find it. Apparently, the town has a pharmacy as well, from what I could see it looks like it is run from someone’s garage and resembles a tuck shop. I can only imagine what sort of pharmaceuticals can be bought there. The type you sniff twice a day, before or after meals. No. Let me not judge!

But, to get back to Botrivier and how silent it is. Imagine going to bed at night and you hear nothing. Imagine, you wake up the next day, and you hear nothing. When I say nothing, I am referring to man-made sounds. Of course, there are other sounds, such as the wind (that seem to never stop blowing.), birds – lots of guinea fowl, the odd dog flexing his muscle, proving that he is indeed a guard dog, and of course, the train, twice a day. Other than that: Silence.

One could get used to this.

Colin could capture the images. He was unable to capture the silence and tranquility of Botrivier.

And thankfully, he missed Akkadis.