Peacock Tail

I start helping out in a crèche today, so this seemed fitting. 

Blue umbrellas

by D. J. Enright

'The thing that makes a blue umbrella with its tail -

how do you call it?' you ask. Poorly and pale

Comes my answer. For all I can call it is peacock.

Now that you go to school, you will learn how we call all sorts of things;

How we mar great works by our mean recital.

You will learn, for instance, that Head Monster is not the gentleman's accepted title;

The blue-tailed eccentrics will be merely peacocks; the dead bird will no longer doze

Off till tomorrow's lark, for the latter has killed him.

The dictionary is opening, the gay umbrellas close.

Oh our mistaken teachers! -

It was not a proper respect for words that we need,

But a decent regard for things, those older creatures and more real.

Later you may even resort to writing verse

To prove the dishonesty of names and their black greed -

To confess your ignorance, to exiate your crime, seeking one spell to

life another curse.

Or you may, more commodiously, spy on your children, busy discoverers,

Without the dubious benefit of rhyme.

Pools

Crossing the bridge to the island. 

With the international students, I had the privilege of visiting the island of Sylt. Initially I wasn't sure where it is located or why one should go, but after some Wikipedia research it seemed like an interesting place to visit, especially since the university would be covering my costs haha. It is shaped like an anchor lying on its side, and although the island stretches for 40km from north to south it is only 320m in width. Because of strong storm tides, they have an enormous erosion problem and after trying to salvage the island throughout the years with groynes and tetrapods they are now dredging the sand back to the beaches. It costs the government millions every year, but for some reason it must be worth it. 

We took three trains to get there and then another bus to our hostel/previous boarding school. The accommodation was wonderful. Everyone was extremely friendly, all our meals were catered for and the rooms were nice as well. On the afternoon of our arrival we went on a guided tour of the Wadden Sea (Wattwanderung) where two young students explained to us the different creatures that live in the muddy sand and how the ebb and flow works there. One also said that the weather changes extremely quickly on the island, but I was not listening too exactly to his words. 

Wattwanderung

The Wadden Sea on both sides

Hah, he was right. During the night an enormous thunderstorm harassed the island and I was panicking a bit because our group was supposed to be touring around on bicycles the next day. At breakfast it was still gloomy and rainy, but by the time everyone had showered and gotten ready the skies had cleared and it was a lovely day. Later on we returned to the hostel and a thick thick mist covered the buildings as we ate our supper. I wanted to walk the 100m to the beach to see the mist there, and only 2 students joined me because the others said it was too cold. However, as the 3 of us climbed over the dune there was no sign of the mist. We settled into the beach chairs and watched a beautiful sunset instead. 

The main beach at Westerland

There are 11 000 of these in season spread on the beaches.

Safe and Sound

Somehow, you find your way in a new place. You get lost, often, in the beginning, but after a while you figure out which bus to take, where to buy your groceries, when market day is and which club you should not go to, ever again (I'm looking at you, Phono. That name should have been a hint). You develop a routine with roads walked and people seen on a daily basis, because after all you have chosen to be here for some time so you might as well burrow yourself into a niche and make yourself comfortable. It becomes the home you speak of when you go home after a day at the university or drinks with friends. 

And yet, it is not. This cloudy place is not home. Although beautiful, this city with its harbour and beaches and friendly people does not make me want to stay longer than needed. I miss sunsets where cherries and strawberries blend with peach colours as you drive home. I miss seeing the stars (or just a cloudless sky for that matter). I miss the ladies that pack the grocery bags. I miss fruit that smells like fruit and not simply like nothing. I miss Hunter's Dry. I miss Woolworths. I miss road trips, weekend adventures and dancing to good electronic music. I miss the heat, the food and the people. 

This onslaught of nostalgia and Heimweh has a source: my people came to visit, and with them the language, the habits and the memories of home. My mother and sister were here for only a week but their presence had a lasting effect. Perhaps it is the time of the year, with the semester coming to a close and my plane ticket taking me home being only a month away. I am pretty certain that home will not be home, or not the one I remember. The house we have lived in for the past 20 years has been sold to a young family. My sister lives and works in a different city. My friends have moved to cities far away, have started new jobs and new relationships, everyone has made everyday choices which I have not been privy to but which have marked them ever so slightly. In turn, my choices here have influenced me as well. 

W. Somerset Maugham wrote in The Summing Up that "we are not the same persons this year as last ; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person." (I've quoted this previously). It is this sentiment that I cling to, it is this that I am homesick for: although the cities change, although we choose different paths, although my mother's house is no longer hers it is this environment that formed me. I long for this illusion of 'home', the 'home' of my past because it constitutes my foundation. It is the habits I have assimilated from my family, it is the new friendships I am willing to invest time in because I know what good, old friends are and it is the security of being unguarded in front of people who will not reject you.  

In some way I see this homesickness as the symptom of another little crisis, as one of those things that life throws your way unexpectedly at 4 a.m. on a Tuesday. I am sloth-like here, unhappy with being unproductive for a university that asks nothing of you, and unhappy for then not challenging myself. I could be reading, I could be writing that novel, I could be doing things that other, working people no longer have time for. Instead I languish on my bed, watching mindless series and sinking deeper into to-do lists I don't do. 

This is my fault, naturally. Blogging today is a start. Reading something for classes after this will be another. Getting away from the screen, from the foolish distractions of facebook and 9gag, taking charge of my time again is where I put my faith in. So I'll start. I'll make myself some rooibos tea, dunk one of the rusks my mom baked and brought, and start focusing again. 

My happiness

I tend to add a 'but' to everything I do, always questioning whether whatever it was was good enough, perpetually in search of something just a teeny little bit better, closer to perfection.

Wednesday was just that: perfection. After class a friend and I went to the beach to tan, with the light rays warming up the sweet lingering smell of coconut in my suntan lotion. There was a slight breeze, just enough to keep us cool as we were sautéing ourselves in the sun, and the faint clinginess of salt water on our skin felt like being on vacation without it being holiday time. We were unhurried, unstressed, not worrying about echoes of anxiety that seem to catch me at unguarded moments.

Then four of us roadtripped to Hamburg, as we were attending different concerts there. Nele and I headed to The National playing in the Stadtpark Freilichtbühne, which is an open air stage in an enormous park. Since my last years at school The National have been a musical emotional support system. Whenever not so happy times arose, I'd play Fake Empire, and as they released new albums Runaway and Fireproof joined the top 25 songs that my iPod plays. Their music to me is representative of the melancholy, awkward darkness that we all fall prey to at times and wallow in slightly, but which we then overcome after a glass of wine with friends or a good nights sleep.

It is hard to say why this concert was so wonderful. They are not a band where you dance excessively and they don't have an impressive light show or background visuals. Nonetheless, Nele and I were smiling the whole way through. There is something in the songs that pulls you along, that makes you swing slowly from side to side, that talks to you more than bigger, louder, dancier tracks do. The best moment was the final one: throughout the day the heavens had darkened, with heavy rain clouds rolling in over the venue. Not until the last last song did it start to rain ever so softly though: the band had come to the absolute front of the stage and sung a heartfelt stripped-down rendering of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks as the crown chanted along and the droplets hung as if momentarily frozen in the air.

Absolute perfection.

Hartklop

My ma stuur vir my poësie uit die moederland.

Grense

My naakte siel wil sonder skrome
in alle eenvoud tot jou gaan,
soos uit diepe slaap ons drome,
soos teen skemerlug die bome
opreik na die bloue maan;

gaan met al sy donker wense,
en die heilige, nooit-gehoorde
dinge sê, waarvoor die mense
huiwer, en wat om die grense
flikker van my duister woorde.

~NP van Wyk Louw

Plansch

Yesterday I woke to dozens (hundreds?) of boats leaving the harbour at the same time. At the moment the Rum Regatta is taking place and it is a sea of masts when I look outside. When we were little and living in Geneva, my mother booked a summer sailing course for my sister and me. It was horribly traumatic. I think my sister did everything as I sat somewhere in the little boat praying for us to go slower. Somehow my sister must have been really good at sailing or interpreting the wind or whatever it was that made our boat speed away from the little group of about 10 tiny sailboats. But that is where my sailing experience started and ended.

Now I have the best view in town and can watch what happens on the water without getting out of my pajamas. After having lived far away from any great body of water for most of my life, it is quite a change to have it at my doorstep: when we don't have class and the weather is sunny, we'll head to the beach to tan and swim. When I go for a walk, I walk around the harbour and watch others strolling along the water's edge. Somehow, it is life at a different pace, not measured in kilometers but knots.

Red Bull Student Boat Battle

Strawbear

I never got what one does with rhubarb. They were strange celery-like stalks and I imaged them to taste horrible. Like celery, only with a red hue. Then as I got older maybe I was more inclined to test other ingredients in the kitchen, and thus I once bought a bunch of rhubarb in Fruit & Veg for R15. I think I made a strawberry-rhubarb pie, not quite trusting the stalks to taste like anything edible on their own.

Rhubarb syrup?

Rhubarb season has started here and I embraced it completely. I made rhubarb and grapefruit syrup, then rhubarb-strawberry jam, then a jar of rhubarb compote and lastly a wonderful rhubarb panna cotta tart that looked and tasted incredible. I had rhubarb coming out of my ears by the end of it, but it was worth it. Everyone complemented the panna cotta tart and I ended up using the left-over champagne from my birthday with the last bit of rhubarb syrup as a cocktail, which worked really well. And now when my mom and sister come in three weeks I am totally super prepared for breakfast :)

Step 1 for the panna cotta

Rhubarb in the oven with WINE? Hells yes. 

This was super easy. And delicioussss. 

The tart bottom chilling in my window sill. 

Badaboom Badabang. 

Bloom

My grandmother has the green thumb in the family. She pulls out something in one spot and sticks it in a different one and it grows, whereas when I try to have plants they wilt and die. The only success I have is with the ones I can eat. Here I now have some basil, Moroccan mint and coriander growing steadily. And oregano, lemon balm and parsley seeds are sprouting into tiny sprigs of green on our window sill. 

With flowers I have had no such luck. Nevertheless, one of my wishes was to see the tulip fields in the Netherlands so when planning our trip to Amsterdam it was the opportune moment to insist on a day at Keukenhof. The Keukenhof gardens lie about an hour by bus outside of the city. Because it was a mild winter most flowers had bloomed already and the fields were not so much fields as individual stretches of colour. 

The gardens themselves are enormous with hundreds of different types of tulips and other bulbs. There was also a greenhouse with various orchids. Although it was lovely to walk around so many colours and petals in all shapes and sizes, Keukenhof felt too touristy for my liking. It seems that everyone only goes to be photographed in front of as many different tulips as possible, whereas I had this romanticized notion of strolling through fields of flowers and being overcome by their beauty and smell. Hah. Next time (next year? Try again maybe?) I'd prefer borrowing a bike somewhere and cycling through the fields, and ultimately skipping Keukenhof completely. 

Daffodils in cheese wheels. The Dutch!

Far away fields. 

A singular blossom of difference.

Some petals were the size of my hand.