Between Kaysers Beach and Igoda river mouth

I flew to East London. The flight is a can of sardines, full to the brim. But all good because soon I am at the beach.

Missing my brother on this flight with all his apps because I don't know what mines those are, what mountains, silos.

We fly over a thousand hills and they all have ridges on the south side.

Lots of rivers winding towards the sea, and the sea rushing up to greet them.

Most gorgeous drive down from the airport to Kaysers Beach. Sun setting, fields, the cows, rivers. Delightful.

This is how I came to be in Kaysers Beach: on the Woolworths tub of butter they describe that it is made from the milk of cows in the Eastern Cape between Kaysers Beach and Igoda river mouth. I didn't know where it was so I looked it up and then went to see it for myself. I 

I went for long walks on the beach, high dunes, an icy wind whips up the sand and stings my legs. There was never another soul visible, no other footprints. The sea, the sky and I. Bliss.

By 08:00 I have completed my required daily steps. Breakfast (oats) at my little cottage, sitting on the stoep, gazing at the sea. Then out in the car to explore the area. 

I drove to Kidds Beach for another long walk and happened upon a baptism on the beach, wonderful. It was such a cold day but they seemed not to care. The pastor told me they have faith that they will not get sick. Lots of shells to pick up.

Lovely little restaurant on the corner, overlooking the sea, with a roaring fire. Lunch and coffee.

Next stop Nahoon Reef walkway in East London. And onto the beach there. Drove down into the harbour and found the fisherman's fish and chip shop on the river bank. Crowds of locals, that's how you can tell it's good food.

The next day it's much the same pattern. 

I take a book with me and spend some time at the restaurant reading. Explore the roads that take you to the river mouths, there are so many. Some are single lane paths and steep, some just end long before the river mouth.

Drive along the dirt roads on either side of the main road looking for the cows that make the milk that makes the Woolworths butter. Find a tiny little church and a house in ruins in a large open field with the sunset as backdrop.

Yes, I find plenty of cows. The farms and the fields, it all seems so romantic. I had always wanted to live on a farm, but alas...

More of the same on another day and pizza for dinner on the beach. 

Back to the airport, and back home. 

Thank you for an an unexpected adventure.

Serbian Orthodox Church

I find all churches beautiful and wonder about their interiors. Every religion, I suppose, manifests their beliefs with different rituals and adornments and I find that so interesting. When I was at school I would go to church with my friends just to get the different views, the different experiences. In essence and at the core, I think, it is all similar but the differences in presentation and expression is what resonates with you or not. 

Everyday I drive past them Serbian Orthodox Church. I have been wanting a peep inside so when they had a food market day I went along. The church is so simple outside, so rich inside. Small but with so much detail. 

They also have the Serbian community hall on the property, the music I am sure just makes them remember, makes them homesick. There were posters, photographs and memorabilia on the wall brought over from Serbia and shared in this space where everyone has an appreciation of them.
I was certainly the odd one out. But I do understand what it means to them and how important it is to have this space. My parents gathered with others at the German club, sharing the music, stories, memories, jokes, gossip. Never were they so free of inhibition and so expressive as in their mother tongue. Great memories.

Sunday service

My mother would go to church most Sunday mornings. When I was young I would sometimes accompany her. 

I remember once we were standing to sing a hymn and then I woke up in the pastor's living room. I had fainted. I think after that I didn't attend church as frequently. Did God strike me down? Wink.

My mother and grandmother both sang in the church choir, choir practice was on Wednesday evenings. I tried that too but I was so bad (friends don't even want me to take part in SingStar).

I stopped to photograph the church on Sunday. While I was standing there the bells started to chime, I got goosebumps. I have heard them chime for Sunday services, weddings and funerals but whatever it is for it is the most beautiful sound. I didn't go in for the service. I just wanted a photograph. Or maybe I just wanted to remember my mother.

Old Belvidere church

I love this old church.

Sunday service

A lovely little church on plot no. 86.

So many churches

There were so many churches in Bethlehem but we only had time to go to two.