When it comes to going to places, Colin and I have a problem. We can never get in the car and drive to a destination. Travelling from Pretoria to Durban, is a 6-hour trip for most people. For us, it is a 3-day journey. You see, the thing is, going somewhere is not a destination, it becomes a journey. No sooner are we in the car, or we decide to detour here, or stop there, and should we stop in a dorpie we like or find interesting, we can easily decide to stay for a night, or two. It happened to us in Lady Grey (we stayed 3 nights), and not many folks can say they have spent a night in Williston, or a sleep over in a shebeen in Swaziland. So you see, we can wake up and decide to travel to destination A, but once we are in the car, and the car’s nose is pointing in the direction of destination B, who knows where we will end up?

This past weekend, we decided to take a drive out. Where shall we go, Colin asked, knowing very well that whatever we decide on, will not be the final destination. And so our car took us to Franschhoek – along the very long, scenic route.

Our scenic route involved yet another scary mountain pass. We drove past the Theewaterskloof dam, reminding each other of how empty it was only a few years ago, and marveling at how huge a body of water it is. We stopped at a viewing spot, where you can look down the valley onto Franschhoek. From up there you can pick out the wine farms that ware established by the French Huguenots – hence the town’s name. (Rough translation: French Corner). They named their farms for the areas in France where they came from, and still you will find La Motte, La Provence and Bourgogne sign posted. All pronounced with what our South African tongues can manage or the more pretentious nasal pronunciation, for those who can, but even then, it still does not sound quite French. Some of the surnames in the area, such as Du Toit, Malan and Joubert, may have been of French origin, but now they are associated with Afrikaans families. The town’s architecture is very Cape Dutch, and there are strict development restrictions in place to retain the look and feel of the town. The town itself is lovely, and its history infused into every bit of town. Being a multi-generational South African (I sometimes joke that my family have been in this country for so long, that I am convinced some of my ancestors were part of the welcoming committee on the beach when the Dutch founding fathers first landed) it was interesting to pick out bits of my own family history, and how we became part of the South Africa as we know it today. One of my forefathers, was hanged as part of the Slagters Nek Rebellion, back in 1815. It was a rebellion against some British rules (they were the colonial masters at the time), and here I am today, with my British husband, and sons on British passports. The sacrilege, some would have said. But that, is what makes us South African.

Looking at what a very beautiful, but ever so pretentious town Franschhoek is today, it is difficult to comprehend how difficult it must have been for those first Huguenot settlers when they first arrived in the area. They faced unbelievable hardships, firstly the religious prosecution that drove them out of their countries, and then having to build a new life on a new continent, with only the most basic of infrastructure and resources. Having walked the high street shops previously, we decided to rather focus on the history of the town. My first surprise was when we paid the entrance fee to the museum. Yes, one expects to pay a fee, but I was just a little surprised at how expensive it was. At one stage during the Covid restrictions, I read an article on Franschhoek, and it was about how the town was suffering hardship as most of its economy is based on tourism. One would think that this would have humbled them so as to appreciate their income source when they return. I guess some memories are short. Or maybe the cashier was just having a bad day, with her take it – or leave it attitude. And as for the restaurant owner (It appeared that he was) and his rowdy family who monopolized the serving staff: also, maybe just a bad day. We all have those.

On the return trip, we thought it would be an adventure to drive back on the Vanderstel pass. We have walked a good stretch of it from Botrivier end but driving all the pass from the opposite direction was an experience that stayed with us until this morning, when I finally capitulated (I was holding out, hoping Colin would be the weak one) and wiped the dust from our car. Reminder: Vanderstel pass is a dirt road. Again, the scenery was breathtaking. The Cape is indeed a very beautiful place. Maybe, that is why the Huguenots persevered, and made this their home.

This brings me back to our Journey, and what brought us to the Cape. You will know from some of my previous writings, that we have had some interesting challenges. Someone commented last week: why are you developing yourself, could you not buy a ready built house and just renovate? I have commented that I battle with impatience, as I want it all done NOW. (“I placed my order 5 minutes ago, why am I still waiting”- mentality at times from me.) Then Colin reminded me, that our coming down here was not to reach a destination, it is a journey. I guess, somewhere along the line, we pointed our metaphorical nose in a direction, and this is now the journey, and rather than wishing time away (I often say: I wish it was next year this time!), I should slow down, and enjoy the journey. It will only happen once, so enjoy going nowhere slowly. Even if the journey takes us to the town planning division (to hand in yet another revised plan) far too often. We have discovered that regional and municipal building lines are not always the same thing. From one to the other, they could be out with an entire 5cm. On this earth with an estimated 92 229 473.6 square kilometers of livable land, how dare you stick your toe 5cm over the line which you did not know existed?

Saturday took us to Franschhoek. Sunday, had us walking another unexplored part of the Hermanus Cliff path. We came home sun burnt and exhausted, telling each other it was worth it. And true to my word: We came, we conquered, and we resisted all the lickey cones that tempted us along the way. And that is the true reason why it took 4 days to wipe the dust from the car: Boy! Was I stiff in places from the Cliff walk? With or without pretentions, with or without poor service, even if it costs an arm and a leg, Franschhoek as it stands today, was a much easier outing. I will work on my pretentiousness for next time we visit.