As This Day Ends

“You will never be completely at home again

Because part of your heart will always be elsewhere

That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and

knowing people in more

than one place”

                                                                                           Anon

With the silence of a whisper, Mother Time slipped through my fingers. I was aware of her constant presence devouring my hours and my days. But was helpless to do anything about it. She has an agenda. One for which Man does not have the ability to alter. 

I returned home to South Africa, with a to-do-list a mile long. My priority being to renovate my home in Hermanus, the incredibly beautiful seaside town situated on the south-western coast of South Africa. I worked with teams of great people. Builders, site managers, friends and family acknowledged my ideas and supported me throughout the lengthy process. At times the challenges seemed insurmountable. Chaos seemingly ruled both indoors and outdoors. Walls went in and walls went out. However, with each step of the often very frustrating experience, progress was made. There were many sleepless nights, when hours of doubt clawed at my thoughts. When the dreaded tentacles of the financial creature gripped around my throat. My head and my entire being. Making it difficult to rid myself of fear and anxiety.

Then one day, it all came together. Laughter and huge sighs of relief echoed through the empty spaces. I could feel the soul of the Hutong (alleyway), the Chinese name I had given my home years before, returning. She once again felt loved and appreciated. My dreams had been realised and I fell in love with my house all over again. 

The renovation process took longer than was planned. Each day my constant companion – the acute awareness of time - walked beside me. At times, nagging me incessantly to keep up with the demands of life. To meet the dead-lines we humans place upon ourselves. I had many reservations. I battled with constant concerns. My remedy was to stop, drink a cup of tea and hand over to the greater powers. I found infinite support and comfort knowing that the universe had my back. It was in those moments that it all felt so right.  I knew without a doubt, that there was a plan. I was on track with my journey. Exactly where I was meant to be. Doing exactly what I was meant to be doing.

When I was not knee-deep in building rubble, the natural beauty of Hermanus held me captive. Medicine for my soul it was. We certainly live in one of the most beautiful parts of Africa. Our mountains, the guardians of Hermanus, support the length of the town as she nestles at their feet. Lying between the Kleinrivier Mountains, with their endless hiking trails, and the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean, what was once an old fishing village is now a rapidly growing town with some of the best medical facilities in the country. Hermanus is home to those who appreciate nature, as well as those seeking a healthier lifestyle on all levels. It is home to the southern right whales which find refuge, each year, in the protected waters of Walker Bay. To give birth to the next generation. Tourists from around the world flock to our shores to witness the majestic creatures breaching in the waters of the bay. The spectacular cliff path hugs the coastline, providing incredible viewpoints from which to witness the gentle giants.

Not only did I immerse myself in my natural environment, I travelled along the most exquisite Clarens Drive. The dramatic sea cliffs and ocean views always reaffirm my love for my country. Making me and any other South African ridiculously proud of the beauty we call home. It seemed we weren’t the only ones seeking a glass of red wine to celebrate the day. The wildlife at a local restaurant was out in full force.

I created space in my days to travel to nearby farms. To appreciate their worth and their fabulous homesteads, being deeply influenced by the Cape Dutch architecture of the past. I walked alongside huge ponds filled with lilies, stopped to enjoy the pumpkins hanging in abundance and always, had time to enjoy the excellent home-cooked meals served everywhere.

Behind the mountains of Hermanus lies the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley. So beautiful that it is believed this is where heaven and earth meet. However, during the years 1817-1846, this peaceful valley held space for extreme sorrow and suffering. The isolation of the valley provided the perfect environment in which to set up a leper colony.  Huts, vegetable gardens and a hospital were established and within a few months, this was home to one hundred and twenty patients.

Endless vineyards, superbly manicured berry farms and fynbos stretch as far as the eye can see.  Fynbos plants are hardy and can be very dry-looking. Yet, they hold their own incredible beauty. They thrive in our Mediterranean climate, covering mountains (Table Mountain being the most well-known), valleys and inland plateaus. The species include the rooibos plant from which our superb, world-famous Rooibos tea is made, and, our national pride and joy, the striking king protea. The protea flower symbolises the country's strength, beauty and resilience. Nothing could be more apt.

A road-trip always presents a sense of excitement. As children, my sister and I were often tucked up in the back of the old Vauxhall station wagon or the Volkswagen Combi, as Mom headed off along roads unknown. We’d each have our own can of caramel which was meticulously nursed throughout the journey. That was our childhood treat. Cans of condensed milk boiled for hours until the tin held deliciously thick, smoky-flavoured caramel. To this day, that decadent, deep-golden treat remains a favourite.

Karen and I headed off from Hermanus, following the road through the Overberg, a region which hosts the spectacular canola fields. The landscape glowed in a sea of buttercup yellow that stretched on forever. At times, depending on the direction of the sun, those vast ribbons of colour become an almost luminous gold. Radiating their glory in the most powerful manner. 

The striking, extremely diverse natural beauty of South Africa is nothing short of breathtaking. Offering us a palette on which the most spectacular scenes have been created by the hand that remains unseen. It is within these wide-open spaces that one begins to understand the meaning of majestic.

We travelled alongside the majestic Riviersonderend Mountains. In the distance their blue haze formed a spectacular backdrop to the yellow canola fields. The Outeniqua Mountain range then greeted us and guided us along the famous Garden Route to Knysna. A town founded by George Rex, the alleged first son of King George 111, in 1804. The town is well-known for the famous Knysna Oyster Festival, during which period tons of oysters are consumed by visitors from around the globe. No doubt, copious amounts of our fabulous Cape wines accompany this celebration of seafood.

Knysna lies on the shores of a peaceful tidal estuary. In dramatic contrast to the striking sandstone cliffs, known as the Knysna Heads. The two cliffs, on either side of a narrow channel connecting the estuary to the Indian Ocean, present themselves as the custodians of Knysna. They stand with age-old pride, in silence, daring fishermen and sailors to accept the challenge of passing through the treacherous waters below. Many have died in the past as the waters are dangerously unpredictable. While looking out over Knysna from atop the Western Head, I once again became aware of the enormity and the sheer magnificence of my country. The realisation of just how small we humans are, filled my thoughts with a sense of wonderment. The all-powerful waters below crushed against the cliffs.

We travelled further into the interior through towns such as George and Oudtshoorn, De Rust and Klaarstroom. Places familiar to us throughout our lives, and yet, we saw them now through more appreciative eyes. Their rich historical pasts remain visible in the traditional homes still standing, in the century-old trees that guard the land and in the evidence of hard labour and endless challenges that shaped each community. 

Nostalgie Restaurant, where memories and flavours intertwine to create a culinary experience like no other. 

Sitting in the shade of the towering trees, Karen and I relived treasured memories of growing up in South Africa. Delving deep into our rich culture which is undeniably well-grounded in what we eat. We spoke of food that many South Africans will have cherished throughout their childhood. Meals that embraced the diversity of our traditions. Celebrated our achievements. And those which always provided comfort. I so remember my mom and both my grandmothers preparing similar meals to those served at this quaint restaurant in Oudtshoorn. A town cradled by the Swartberg and Outeniqua mountains in the Klein Karoo (Little Karoo). A semi-desert region with fertile valleys that make space for vineyards, orchards, and, of course, the famous ostrich farms.

I have always prepared the old faithful recipes handed down by generations before me, whether in China, Cambodia or even Myanmar. Each home-cooked meal was a dedication of love. A gift to create memories and connect one another around the table. My friends have all gorged themselves on my Malva pudding and the pancakes smothered in cinnamon and sugar. Bobotie, with its roots in Malay culture, reflects the rich influence of other cultures on our traditional cuisine. As does the habit of adding brown sugar to pumpkin or sprinkling raisins and sultanas, dried fruits and apricot jam to many savoury dishes.

The sky appears to be bigger in the Little Karoo. Converging with the rugged scrub vegetation and timeless traditions. At a leisurely pace we headed along the Meiringspoort Mountain Pass which makes its way through the Swartberg Mountains. One cannot travel through this pass without making the time to fully absorb the rugged beauty of the mountains around each corner. It is as though time stood still along that winding road. Echoes of the past could be heard in the silence of the rocks.

Perhaps it’s the simplicity. The untouched beauty of a dirt road winding its way through rugged terrain.  Or the ribbons of red earth twisting for as far as the eye can see. A deep sense of intrigue is stirred within me. The need to see what lies around the next corner. This curiosity, a gift, was passed down by my grandfather. To my mom. To her daughters. And to our daughters. 

We passed the Karoo’s traditional homesteads. Dwellings that have stood the test of time. Weathered both by history and the natural elements, many of these houses have existed for over one hundred years. Most of these enchanting, yet simple structures stand isolated. Strangely, they never appear to be lonesome as they are surrounded by the parched Karoo landscape with all the riches it has to offer. 

Further on our journey, we spent a night in one such dwelling. Like so many, that little gem had been restored to its original character. Built over a hundred years ago, the thick stone walls welcomed us after a long, tiring drive. The small windows in the thick walls were securely sealed to keep the extreme temperatures out. On entering through the solid wooden door, a delicious bubble of serenity and coolness greeted us. That night whilst nursing a simple dinner of pasta, the profound silence of the desert crept around us. Holding us captive.  One could be forgiven for thinking, that this incredible part of the world, tucked away amidst the Red Stone Hills in the Karoo, is where the earth comes to rest.

The rugged Swartberg Mountains were our constant companions along the drive to Prince Albert. They offered a reassuring presence amid the harshness of the landscape. In every direction, the Klein Karoo exemplified just how diverse our country is. A tapestry, not only of colour, but more of textures. Huge succulents and shrubs covered the open plains.  Patches of fertile greenery held space for orchards and vineyards.

An extremely sleepy Prince Albert lies on the edge of the Great Karoo. The area was originally inhabited by the San (Bushmen) and in the mid-18th century, Dutch farmers settled in the fertile area. The town is famous for its exquisite Cape Dutch, Victorian, and Karoo-style architecture. Of which all three are close to my heart. With its own unique design, each house has an abundance of character. 

I tried to imagine the role each building had played in shaping the town’s history and the countless changes they had witnessed over time. Whilst enjoying excellent coffee and homemade apple pie for breakfast one morning, it became evident that the building in which we were, was one such gem. The massively thick walls, small windows and low ceilings were the tell-tale signs of a treasure having been lovingly restored to its former beauty. The original milk cans from a bygone era looked forlorn as they huddled on the steps outside. Their stories etched deeply within the shades of rust and dented metal caused by the continuous use and lugging of heavy, precious liquid. A tinge of guilt embraced me as I made my way through that huge slice of decadent pie. I hoped the early residents would have consumed such delicacies too.

Prince Albert has a large community of writers and artists. The serenity and the sense of togetherness found in that small town must, no doubt, contribute to the creativity of all things wonderful. Long, slow walks, exploring the treasures in each shop filled our days in Prince Albert. The town named after Queen Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. In 1845, the Cape Colony was under British rule and new communities were named after members of the royal family.

Just when we thought we had witnessed all the beauty that was to be seen on our journey, the Tradouw Pass presented to us natural wonders on another level. But not before we had enjoyed the most decadent chocolate milkshakes in Barrydale. A small town en route to Hermanus. 

Karen skilfully negotiated the narrow, winding road through scenery that was nothing less than awe-inspiring. The rugged rock faces, the towering cliffs and the sheer drops, which periodically exposed the valley below, were dramatic in every sense of the word. Once again, a reminder of how majestic and powerful nature is. I find myself at a loss for words when trying to capture the essence of the Tradouw Pass. 

And so it came to be, our journey to the interior had come to an end. An enriching experience it was, from every aspect. Bringing home just how deeply I love my country. All the while though, Mother Time would gently nudge me forward, reminding me, that to become a better version of myself, change was both natural and necessary. She was waiting for me to take the plunge. 

It was tough leaving behind the thrill of Cape winter storms, and the sensation of icy winds from the Antarctic, greeting my cheeks. Of being wrapped in layers of thick woollen scarves and jerseys. I resisted leaving behind the great food, excellent wine and log-fires every night. Not to forget the warmth and friendliness of the South African people. Or the deep sense of belonging I felt, when screaming my lungs out during an international rugby match, during which, our Springboks would yet again, make us proud. I would miss singing our complicated, yet extremely beautiful national anthem, along with fellow countrymen. I would long to sit on a bench overlooking the rugged coastline that is home. And spending time with precious friends and my sister. 

With bags packed once more, I headed back to Cambodia. To a new chapter in my story. One, which at this stage, remains full of uncertainty and apprehension. Yet, one filled with excitement and new opportunities.

                Faith is taking the first step even when you can’t see the whole staircase

                                                                                                                   Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.