A day away

Through the back streets to avoid the traffic, I forgot to take into account the weekday working people, poor things, sweatily going places importantly, driving too fast, frowning too much, not seeing four pretty girls chattering in The Silver Unicorn, heading for the hills. Girls, I use the word lightly, more for our presence of mind than our real ages.

We left the choking traffic behind and found ourselves amidst vines all ready for the changing season, the tips of their leaves yellowing, the ground dry and hard, waitingwaitingwaiting for the Winter rains. In the air, the smell of the grapes being 'stomped' and starting their fermentation was thick and, honestly, not entirely pleasant. Not surprising I suppose, it being fermentation and all.

We threw our bags into the beautiful rambling Cape Dutch house that was ours for the night and drove out the other side of town where we drank champagne as the light faded next to a dam with a lady who had a skirt made of rocks. The farm's ridgeback puppy, already enormous, fell in love with us, and us with him.

Back to our wooden-floored, thick-walled house, they dipped themselves in the pool and I watched the steam come off them as I listened to the hadedas heading home through the clouds that turned pink as the sun disappeared behind the towering mountain. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? It was.

A dinner filled with laughter and stories, we were the only guests mid-week out-of-season, our waitress answering "Why not?" each time we asked for anything, and showing us pictures of her son and daughter on her phone. Red wine from down the road, rich, deep red, vampirical (I know, there's no such word, but it just suits it) like the mosquitoes that swarmed and buzzed.

We sat on the stoep and it seemed the word had spread as the quiet street suddenly had numerous cars driving past and slowing to look at us. Four women, on their own, out in the middle of the week, seemingly with no cares in the world. Just for tonight Little Town, just for tonight.

Sleep in a house filled with hundreds of years of other people's dreams and breakfast in a cutesy shop filled with cutesy things and homemade jams with computer-printed labels. I want homemade jam with a handwritten label, please. Demanding City Girl.

Moments of confusion, moments of clarity and home again, to moments of a different kind completely.