Knysna. Now that is a town I have not been to in an awfully long time. Our last trip to Knysna was around 2000/1. Our boys were young, and we wanted to give them the experience of a plane, a train, a boat and an automobile. So, we flew down, landing at George Airport. From there, we took the Outeniqua Choo Choo (which was the last remaining continually operated passenger steam train in Africa at the time. It has since sadly departed this world) to Knysna, where we got on a river boat for a week, leisurely traveling up and down the lagoon. Except the night our Skipper (you can guess who) got it a little wrong and we almost got pulled out to sea. But that is a story I will share another time. We ended the holiday in a rented automobile, planning to spend 2 weeks in Cape Town. It was on this trip that we discovered road tripping, the South African way, by turning Sho’t Left. After two days in Cape Town, I informed Colin that I had seen enough and was ready to go home. So, we did what we now do so well: we pointed the car’s nose in a direction and followed it. We arrived back in Pretoria two weeks later, with the boys balancing their legs on boxes of fruit, crates of wine, ostrich eggs and all sorts of treasures we acquired along the way.

I arrived home one day last week, and as I walked in, Colin said: I have some work to do in Knysna and he was thinking that maybe…Never mind what you were thinking, I said, hopping onto Bookings.com. In no time at all, I had booked our accommodation and planned what we would need for the weekend. I travel light. Very light. But believe me, traveling light takes careful planning. I did not even complain when we had to leave home at Sparrow-fart, to get to Knysna on time for his business. It so happened that Knysna was having its Oyster Festival that weekend and Oldest Son & Wifey were incidentally also running a marathon through the Knysna forest that same weekend. All that was co-incidence, we did not plan to be there for either.

We ended up staying at a venue in the middle of nowhere, with the most spectacular views and absolutely no internet or connectivity. So, not only did we have a technology detox, but also early nights and late mornings. I ever so proudly (when I had signal) shared this off the beaten track spot with a friend, who (I thought she would be happy for me and complement me on my online searching abilities) quipped back: This is becoming the norm for you! Hmmm, time I found myself some new friends. But, back to Knysna.

So, Sjarlene, what did you do on Friday while Colin was earning the bacon?

The answer is short and sweet: Shopping! After a year of living in the back waters, seeing a Shopping Centre was just more than what my feel-good pheromones could handle. I walked through every single shop, looking at every single thing, until my feet ached, and I had to stop for Coffee and Cheesecake. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I was exhausted, but it is a very long time since I had been to a Mugg and Bean, and now I know why. Do you remember years ago when Mugg and Bean burst onto the scene, and everything about it was just bigger and better? That was a very long time ago. Or just maybe, I have been spoilt by my favourite Bistro 14 and Coffee@Clarence. Or maybe I have just become a country bumpkin.

We spent the rest of the weekend being tourists. We went up to the look out point near the “Heads”. There was a scenic cliff walk, which we would normally have walked, but it was cold, windy and wet. I had my umbrella pulled over my head for what it was worth. One thing I have learnt with Cape weather – umbrellas are more effort than protection. Just wear your best waterproof jacket, even if it is a fashion faux pas. And as for the hair? Give up. After this winter, I am also contemplating buying a pair of Wellington boots. At least my feet will stay dry, if nothing else.

After very many years of marriage, couples learn a few things about each other. Having a body in your half of the bed is only cute when you are newlywed. Fighting over a duvet in the middle of the night is a losing battle. No wonder our grandparents ended up with single beds. Or like the old aristocracy, where each half had their own bedroom, interconnecting. Our very quaint, off the beaten track with no internet connectivity lodgings, came with just that: Two single beds. Oh, how nice. Boy, did I choose this venue well…. until the second night of the coldest weekend in Knysna. Next evening, the bedside table made way and my single bed moved over. Another thing one learns over time is what gifts to buy your significant other.

Saturday morning, we walked past a shop, and in the window, I spotted a Southern Cross pendant – much like the one I spotted that one time a century ago. Back then, I dropped hints the size of the Empire Building, but Colin missed each one. The years have taught me to be specific. Oh, Colin. Look at that lovely pendant! It looks just like the one you did not buy me back then. Colin stopped long enough to convert the price of the pendant into the quantity of bricks we could buy with the same money. Yes, Colin. I know. But I can’t wear that number of bricks around my neck. By now, I must have been a picture of bedraggled beauty, with my waterproof jacket, wild hair, and wet feet, because Colin caved in. I have been wearing the pendant every day since then. I ever so nonchalantly play with it, whenever I feel the person, I am talking to is not taking notice of it.

And where was Domino in all this? Staying at that ghastly Cat Hotel where his humans left him on a previous occasion. No sooner had he arrived in his exclusive cat suite, when he crawled in under a chair and spent the entire weekend there. We paid all that money – at least 100 bricks’ worth, for him to crawl in under a chair. He is still giving his humans silent treatment. He will get over it.

I recently have been made aware of John O’Donoghue. He was an Irish poet, author, priest, and philosopher. A friend has been using this quote of his quite often:

May all that is unforgiven in you be released.

May your fears yield tranquilities.

May all that is unlived in you blossom into a future graced with love.

He may as well have added: “and when an unexpected opportunity to get away for a weekend presents itself, waste no time in making that reservation. Sometimes, all we need is a little headspace, to put things back into perspective. The same friend who commented on our secluded accommodation reminded me of the meaning behind the Southern Cross: Always find your way home.