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Well , this past Saturday was rather unusual to say the least .

Myself and 2 girlfriends were invited to a birthday party out past the boerewors curtain in Durbanville.We were up for the challenge of shimmying our Southern Suburb’s asses out into uncharted territory.

We set off in my trusty Palio imagining would reach our destination in approximately 40 minutes -we were very sadly mistaken .My passenger Claudia, armed with her freshly printed set of directions ,was my navigator for the journey. We successfully maneuvered our way through Durbanville and took a sharp but excitable turn into Wellington Road- these directions were faboosh! Our next landmark was the Model Airplane field which we would come across after 5 sets of robots . We were doing well . The next stop on our “map” was , according to Claudia’s writing, Coco-Bick. We knew we had about 3km of driving until we hit the mysterious Coco-bick signpost.

By now  (half an hour in ) it had become one of those frosty evenings in the Cape , slightly misty and very dark as we travelled along this freeway with angry motorists hurtling past. Finally Claire saw a sign approaching- alas it was not Coco-bick but in fact Corobrick! Thanks Clauds LOL. We all agreed this was most likely the spot we had to take a right down a dirt path.  Down the dusty path my little car trundled – it was a wee bit suspicious seeing as there were no signs indicating we were on our way to a restaurant. Anyhow we had followed the directions to the tee so figured we had to be on the right track.

The further along we drove the darker it got and the more fareeeked out us 3 girls became . I think it’s a pretty safe bet all of us were beginning to wonder if we were about to meet a grisly end with some deranged serial killer the further away we got from the main road. Meep…

As we were moving at a rather bumpy pace Clauds requested me to open the windows to reduce her car sickness in the back seat after which we all screamed as a massive stench of chicken shit wafted into my freshly vacuumed car. Whilst shrieking we realised we were now passing a chicken factory -where in God’s name are we ! As a recent PETA convert I was horrified .

Finally we saw some lights and thought HURRAH we have have arrived unfortunately as we moved closer we saw no signs of  a restaurant and realised we were probably trespassing on someone’s farm. EEK!

As we slowly crept past hoping no-one would hear us we spotted some lights coming from a building so we decided to be brave and stick around and ask for directions . I pulled my palio up towards a field to park and as my lights illuminated the area in front a bloody huge hog ran past . Fark – this could turn into a scene from “Deliverance”  gulp…

I decided to look at the funny side and demand shots of me were taken in front of the pig pen whilst avoiding pig shit in my new booties. After my impromptu photo shoot we then proceeded to enter this establishment which turned out to be a bush bar . A BUSH BAR in Cape Town – can you believe it ?

3 dolled up girlies trotted into a very low key police bar and began the embarrassing ordeal of explaning how they had ended up in this charming neck of the woods. We soon learnt we had in fact found the restuarant’s old location ( tis true ) and we were in fact at HOK 11. Thankfully though the locals were friendly and treated us to free drinks to make our trip worthwhile.

I had said when I got back from my travels I wanted to do more roadtrips in my own country – this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.However if we ever need a place to hire for a Texas Chain Saw themed party  HOK 11 is the first place I’ll call.

PS Claire just alerted me to this which she found on GOOGLE about HOK 11 – this place is famous

http://www.henry.co.za/articles.asp?ART_ID=300&Step=3

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Invisible Sugar Fish

Ad ID: 128817991

Location: Cape Town Southern Suburbs Kenilworth
Date Listed: 19/05/2009

You will receive 10 Invisible Sugar Fish in a sealed glass jar. They only require feeding once a month of a tea spoon of sugar. Life expectancy of 10 years.

So basically in 10 years you have a heavily dilute mixture of SUGAR WATER !! WTF indeed

Last week my friend finally arrived for her long awaited girl’s weekend in Barcelona (long awaited by moi even more so – a quiet life by the ocean can get tedious when you on your eis). Lee-Anne was here to inject some fun and excitement into my mellow existence. And by god did she ever!

Wednesday evening I head off by train to collect Lee who has arrived 30minutes early. As if this trip was getting a blessing from above I too am also early – what a great start to what’s sure to be a wicked weekend ( not too wicked mind you -she has a spouse  )
My friend calls to alert me that she is waiting at terminal A and not at Terminal C as I had mistakenly assured her she would be landing. NO ONE MOVE! We agree to meet outside a sweet shop in terminal A .Little do I know those sweet shops are littered throughout Barcelona International. First of a series of cellular calls begin .Lee-Anne “Where you?” I reply “I’m here – outside the sweet shop”. Lee “I am outside the sweet shop” A collective UHOH! I start panicking “oh my god she’s at the wrong airport”. Sweat starts to drip– shitballs it’s 9:15pm. Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck. I will have to head all the way back through Barcelona to the other side of the city to get to Girona Airport. The she calls again to inform me she is in Terminal A definitely BCN Airport. I stand in Terminal A and cannot for the life of me see a bloody sweet shop. Oh god! I am sure she’s at Girona and someone gave her faulty information. So I do a redundant walk all the way to Terminal B to feel as if I am accomplishing something…

Eventually I say “ok listen I am walking towards Terminal A again you leave Terminal A we are bound to see each other if you are in fact at the correct airport?” Lee-Anne shrieks “of course I am at right airport”. Lo and behold the two of us imbeciles talking on the phone, looking I imagine like special needs candidates, finally spot each other. Cue the romantic run through the airport music– must have looked like a lesbian romance movie come to life. Dumb and dumber- Out the closet and lost in an airport.

Turns out Terminal A was in fact much bigger than I remembered and Lee Anne had been there all along I had just forgotten to walk behind the elevators where indeed A extended into a world of sweet shops and the actual arrivals section. Whoops, my bad.

Things have been happening on this side of the world-I have left the obscenely expensive room  in Barcelona for the quieter town of Masnou situated along the Mediterranean coast – horses in close proximity Yeehaaaa!  Of course in true me fashion, the journey was not without it’s obstacles .

My leaving was preceded by a raucous Saturday night that only ended Sunday 5-30am – a fitting farewell to the city I think you would agree. I managed 4 hours of sleep and then had to get ready for my departure from Barcelona. Suffering from a major case of babalaas and thinking I am only 30minutes away from my new bed  I set off for Masnou.

I have a lot of luggage – backpack on my back ( obviously) , laptop hoisted over my chest, handbag on arm and right hand pulling a case of about 23kgs. Not  to worry – I only have a short walk to the train station and then upon arrival in Masnou my new boss will be fetching me in her car- what’s ten minutes of lugging this stuff about hey?

After stumbling down the stairs  with my carry case bouncing down each step like an epileptic drill bit  I flung myself onto the train and settled in for the ride to my new home.  10 minutes in I realised I hadn’t yet seen the sea – I was moving to the coast after all ? I didn’t want to panic and thought maybe because I was tired the trip was taking longer in my mind . At about 30minutes in I accepted that I had clearly boarded the wrong train there were mountains all around me. Dammit!

Next stop I heaved my increasingly heavy  luggage onto the platform and decided I would sit around this station and await the next train returning from whence I came. I shuffled across a dodgy looking pathway over the train tracks praying I don’t get electrocuted. So here I am looking like a right knob sitting on the side of the railway tracks with all my worldly possessions dangling off  various limbs.

“promixa tren  a Barthelona blah blah Numero 1 “   My ears tweak -next train it is.  Every one runs across to the platform on the other side which is where the train dropped me off to begin with. Hell I ain’t getting on the wrong train again and travelling further into the interior. In a logical world I would assume that the opposite platform(numero 2) to the one that deposited me onto this railway abyss , would be the very one that would take me back to the city. That would have been too simple. I am standing on platform 2 thinking that the train will come opposite to the track that  I arrived on – I mean how can the one track have trains travelling in both directions?

I  go inside the station and see if I can figure out what time the next train heading back to Barna will arrive. I ask when the next train is and she points outside – there it is on the other side of the tracks on bloody platform 1 . With about 30kgs of luggage it’s safe to say I didn’t make that train.

Tick tock tick tock – I sat in this random station for forty minutes. My only entertainment being the endless stream of teenagers spitting on the tracks, sashaying past in pussy pelmets and doing bike tricks uncomfortably close to me on the steps whilst I was slowly passing out.

Another 40minutes pass. Kill me now. Eventually I hear “proxima tren a Barthelona blah blah blah numero 2″. OK I am on platform 2 I am not moving.Unfortunately just as the train arrives I start to feel the 2 litres of cranberry juice and water I drank before leaving Barcelona make their presence felt.

I hoist myself onto the train  surrounded by wife-beater clad teenage boys doing wheelies on their BMX’s up and down the train. For some reason these youths feel the need to walk up and down the train directly past where I am sitting forcing me to adjust my seating position every 2 minutes – all the while trying desperately not to pee my pants. You know that excruciating point where you think if you don’t pee your kidney will burst through you stomach – this was worse. I start debating to myself- it’s either pee on myself in a foreign country and explain I am from another culture and hope this flies or jump off at the next stop.

Next stop it  is – there must be a toilet somewhere , a cafe , a shop , a house anything! So I waddle, knees clamped together ,in search of ablutions in this very industrial looking pit stop.I see the familiar  Servioco sign ( toilets) and make my way only to discover urinals upon urinals- the girl’s toilet is shut F%&^ !

There must be a key . I scamper to the station house to find ….no one working  aaargh Dam these Spaniards and their effing siestas. I then notice a rundown yard where there seems to be a drinks party going on so I approach the locals who happen to be  surrounded by chickens. They seem to recognize the anguish all across my face and direct me back to the men’s toilet where they assure me there is a separate toilet inside. I venture into urinal central and hurrah there is a room with a normal toilet – fantastic! I get straight onto the business of ending my pain and suffering  only to discover with horror someone else had been here before . They had not bothered to use the toilet- it wasn’t pretty that’s as much as I will say.

PS as for getting to Masnou despite turning what was a 30minute trip into a 3 hour lost-a-thon , all’s well that ends well.

Her name is Shamrock - I think you can tell why

Hurrah!  At long last I get to visit my brother “the monk” AKA Choden at his buddhist sanctuary in Scotland- http://www.holyisland.org/

This week as I make  preparations  to bid adios to Barcelona and move up the coast , I thought what better time to plan a little excursion to another destination I have always longed to visit.  So I booked myself a RyanAir flight to the land of the Loch Ness Monster- och ay!

After years of hearing about my brother’s adopted land I will finally make my way to his little buddhist warren amongst the Hebridean Islands. After flying into Glasgow I will be taking a ferry from the mainland at Ardrossan and then heading to the famous Isle of Arran (whiskey time!) whereupon I board a skip which will deliver me to the eponymous Holy Island. How very twee….

My brother , Sean McGovern, has been involved with the development of  Holy Island since it was bought in 1992 by the Rokpa Trust in association with Kagyu Samye Ling Monestary (which incidentally is  the largest Tibetan Monastery outside of Tibet as well as Europe’s oldest) .

The intention behind this center is that it acts as a spiritual retreat open to all faiths as a place where people can find a peaceful refuge in this hectic modern world and encourage inter-faith relations.

Aside from the spiritual benefits of this island I am most looking forward to chasing some wild ponies and hopefully avoiding any hind legs assaults as I try make friends . Apparently there are also herds of sheep and goats that wander about the island – so I am super excited at the prospect of frolicking in the wilderness .

I will be sure to post more news of my Highland Fling as it happens. Stay tuned.

SPCA rescues injured wildlife  COGH SPCA Chief Inspector Andries Venter carries the severly burnt grysbokkie to safety.

Andries Venter with injured bokkie

The greysbokkie when we found her.

Wildlife is the main casualty of the fires on Table Mountain – and the SPCA has had its hands full with urgent rescue and relief missions.Although numerous wild animals have been rescued, more casualties are expected while the fire still burns – and in its aftermath – and SPCA Inspectors remain on full alert. To date, no domestic animals appear to have been affected, but the SPCA urges pet owners to keep a close eye on their dogs and cats. One of the heartbreaking casualties of the fire was a grysbok, whose plight was brought to the attention of SPCA Chief Inspector Andries Venter by the City of Cape Town’s Disaster Management team. The grysbok was found in a quarry near Vredehoek, with severe burn wounds on its legs and face. It was unable to move because of its injuries. The animal was rushed to Dr George Coury at Citi Vet in Gardens, where it was put on a drip and given emergency treatment for its pain and injuries. Unfortunately it suffered internal injuries from smoke inhalation and passed away.

To report injured animals – or for more information about the SPCA’s rescue efforts – please call 021 700 4158/9 or contact the SPCA after hours emergency number: 083 326 1604.

THIS WAS COPIED FROM SPCA WEBSITE – LINK TO SPCA ON RIGHT HAND SIDE OF MY BLOG PLEASE SUPPORT

Get a Room People!

Right now I’m in Spain just as the weather is beginning to herald the start of Spring. I am incredibly lucky to be here and witness the Mediterranean people start to break free from the shackles of winter ( which I do think gets them down ) and start displaying their Latin temperaments. And boy display them they do! In the most public of places. Now I am no prude and come from a warm, open country where PDA is not frowned upon too much.But there’s PDA and then there’s the George Micheal kind of PDA that could land you in the dock. That being said my eyes have been standing out on stalks over the last couple of weeks as people are definitely feeling the birds and the bees in the air.

Every which way I turn there are couples going at it. Against walls outside shops, clutching each other desperately on elevators , partaking in tonsil hockey on the metro – you get the picture . At first its cute and you feel all caught up in Spanish pasione, then you kinda of stop noticing it and then you get trapped on a metro at 3 am with a couple dry-humping on the seat next to you …good god people we are not animals!

I honestly  don’t mind all this love and pashing that much. Apart from  dry-hump couple where after I felt the need to douse myself in a vat of disinfectant. Love is in the air and the metros apparently  xoxo

It’s nothing personal Gael I assure you – you are my number 1 but right now you busy in Madrid with your newborn  and his mother *bitter jealous cough*

It’s just temporary while you’re changing nappies and dealing with your girlfriend complaining about stretch marks. I just need a bit of a distraction – you understand?

When you have realised I am your one true love then I’ll kick Henry to the kerb but for now he shall do nicely – very nicely indeed…

And an animal lover - what more could one ask for ?