From Parkhurst to Kalk Bay, a non sequitur

We had barely taken our seats at Coobs in Parkhurst last night when a seeming explosion rent the air, as if from the street two feet from the patio where we were sitting. Moments later the sky opened up, torrential, rinsing rain emptied the sky, the wind grasped the trees lining the sidewalk and shook them.

Meanwhile dinner was served, platters of confit duck legs and pan fried duck breast with Asian salad for both of us, which, accompanied by a bottle of Vergenoegd Merlot, were pronounced delicious.

Think of it as a gift from Nora, our friend in Vancouver, who had generously sent Rob some money – going to the trouble of sending the cheque in Rands, nogal.

On a completely unrelated topic, here are some photos from Kalk Bay, the quaint little fishing village that hugs the coast on the railway line from Cape Town to Simonstown.

Don’t ask what’s the connection – there isn’t one. In South Africa these days – think Cabinet reshuffles, the musical chairs that a rogue President plays with his minions – there’s no rhyme or reason for anything. Might as well get on with photography.




Travelling through life without a map

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