An every two-year treat, I’ve only missed one, a special, short edition timed for the 2002 solar eclipse, with the valid excuse that I was in hospital recovering from the excision of a brain tumour!
This is another of those unique and altogether wonderful artistic happenings in our country which, like Hifa, you need your head read if you haven’t seized the day and embraced! Festival fever continues, and barely recovered from the joyful sleep deprivation of Hifa, we’re accumulating stamina for this next treat! This time, I’m singing soprano in Orff’s Carmina Burana for the second time; the first, at Hifa. Colbert Mpofu and Jaap Kuiper have been preparing 18 of us for this privilege, concurrent with all the Hifa rehearsing. We’re very excited!
On the way there, I couldn’t resist sneaking a quick trip to my favourite place on planet earth, the Matobo Hills. When this paper hits the streets, I’ll be roaming happily somewhere out there for an altogether sublime way to spend a Sunday; what I always refer to as “an adventure”.
This got me thinking. Whether I go out into the sticks running or hiking on a well-tried and worn route or veer off into the unknown, there’s always an element of adventure, and there’s much to be said for both the well-worn path and “the road less travelled”. I often think of these adventures, woven into the routines of my life, as metaphorically representative of life itself — an interesting journey which is a tapestry of both the comfortably familiar and the excitingly unknown paths we choose. A full and interesting life needs both.
I’m amazed when people are of the view that once you’ve been somewhere a couple of times, it’s not worth returning. My own is quite to the contrary. Finding somewhere beautiful or interesting or appealing is just the beginning. In returning over and over again, we discover more and more, yet are reassured by the permanence and familiarity of the setting.
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In a national park or otherwise protected place, generally we can rely on that setting being for the most part unchanging, except for the affects of the seasons. The immutability of the landscapes is one of the most appealing aspects of returning to a favourite area — there to renew ourselves and go out on adventures which always bring something fresh and new, adding to the stock of good memories we accumulate, to enjoy though our lifetimes.
I spent my childhood, adolescence and early adulthood in flux between different countries, schools, houses, and while there’s much to be said for variety and developing adaptability, it was unsettling and often fraught with sadness and loss — the loss of the familiar, of proximate friends, favourite places, feeling “at home”. And while I certainly developed a passion for travel and adventure, I also found myself craving a sense of constancy and permanency. A peripatetic lifestyle can be hard, as well as interesting.
A balance between the well-worn path and road less travelled is both necessary and desirable. On the former, there is, regardless of its familiarity, always something new to observe and enjoy, as long as one is living in the moment. On the latter, there is the excitement of exploring and discovering the unknown.
Last week, I took my mother, who’s in her ’70s, on an adventure in the Chikurubi-Chishawasha area. We try to squeeze a walk in most weeks. I’m sharing with her, many of my well-worn running routes in the almost-bush outskirts of my suburb, sometimes, we end up taking a road less travelled, though “road” it seldom is!
The terrain changes constantly as the seasons turn, which is why there’s always something new out there. At the moment, the grass and other vegetation is very thick and tall, often towering way above our heads. I’m mindful that I must prepare myself for the always distressing devastation of the fire season that will begin soon, as those who still don’t seem to know any better set fire to and destroy most of this vegetation we’re currently exploring and enjoying, and plenty of trees besides; one of the topics I harp on, and something I live in hope of seeing become less wholesale in this country, with education.
But before those fires start, or the vegetation naturally dies back, it’s often hard to find the “well-worn path”. Our “road less travelled” unwittingly turned into crashing through the undergrowth, ten foot high, myself blazing a difficult uphill trail, my mum and the dogs in pursuit! I knew the area of our destination, a fairly newly discovered wild area with great views, also the place in which not long ago I lost one of our dogs overnight!
An adventurous spirit appears to be genetic, for mum didn’t complain. Instead she embraced the adventure, clambering through the tangled vegetation in gung-ho fashion.
My mum is one of those I describe as “a credit to her age group”. I could think of scores of people I know who are half her age or less and who wouldn’t have dreamed of continuing on this bush-bashing “jungle” adventure! By the time we reached the area originally in mind, we were covered in seeds, ticks, leaves, grass, and in my own case, as trail-blazer, bleeding scratches and later, rashes, in reaction to the many grasses my skin never seems to like!
The adventure was not without incident
We had also had the disquieting experience of someone threatening to shoot us. I hasten to add, he didn’t actually have a gun. He merely contrived to scare us rigid. He failed.
One of the many mansion builders at the Gletwyn end of this adventure upon whom we stumbled after our laboured process up the hill, whose free roaming goats my dogs thought good sport to chase till I quickly persuaded them in a different direction, opted for this somewhat overly aggressive reaction to our unwitting presence — perhaps not so surprising in the types of people in this country who build mansions to proclaim their self-importance.
The goats, dogs and ourselves, unharmed, we chose not to dwell upon his threat, and continued to enjoy our explorations, knowing where NOT to return next time.
