Twyfelfontein

A different scale

On a different scale, if you’ll pardon the pun, from the pachyderms of Twyfelfontein, are the dazzling lizards – green is for girls and orange is for boys. We saw lots of them, on the deck and in the dining area at Camp Kipwe and on the large orange-and-ochre boulders that formed the walls of our outdoor bathroom. There was a lovely little water feature, too, where starlings and weavers, pigeons and various other kinds of small fowl gathered and parlayed, along with the occasional visiting lizard. You’ll see, if you look closely, that one of the lizards is busy changing his skin.

Happiness is a Fine Art Print

Mussels are $6 a pound at Doonies on Wednesdays, so a couple of nights ago I headed off down Shaw Street in the direction of Bloor, in search of a pint of beer and some sustenance. And as I went, striding along in the evening light with fresh air in my lungs, I suddenly realised I was happy. Not just in the mundane, everyday, things-are-ok sense, but actually rejoicing, with an unfamiliar sense of renewal, of purpose, of satisfaction and fulfilment coursing through these ageing old veins of mine. There was a spring in my step, a sense of connection, that all too often is missing. And as I walked I realised where it had come from: it had come from being utterly absorbed in doing something creative. I learned an awful lot, last week, about digital printing: poring over Jeff Schewe’s The Digital Print and The Digital Negative, trying different papers and sizes, learning how to soft-proof (how had I ever printed without it!) and, in the end, producing

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Ugab to Twyfelfontein

From Ugab we drove on to Camp Kipwe in Twyfelfontein – named ‘doubtful spring,’ after the white farmer who settled here in the ‘forties, and who evidently would tell his guests, whenever they visited, that he was doubtful that the water would flow that year. I guess he was right more often than not. Camp Kipwe was where we would round off our visit to Namibia – and in style, folks, in style! Kipwe is every bit as fabulous as it looks: blended into the huge red boulders of which it seems to form part, it is the epitome of ‘glamping’ – the kind of luxurious, ‘Out of Africa’ chilling that Rob and I only wish we could become accustomed to. But for three nights, on a special deal, including two drives into the desert (more on this in another post) it was fabulous, and in dollars at least, relatively affordable. Where Etosha was, for the most part, very much

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Out of the frying pan

If Namibia, metaphorically speaking, was the frying pan, what with its 40 degree temperatures, desert elephants and the extraordinary vistas of Etosha, then returning to still-grey and chilly Toronto has been a leap, or spill, into the metaphorical fire. We just haven’t stopped, since landing at Pearson. It started with two mailboxes: our physical mailbox, which contained, when we wearily prised open our front door after 30 hours in transit, a missive from Citizenship and Immigration, inviting me to attend a citizenship swearing-in ceremony on May 17th. Quite the welcome home, I’d say. Talk about rolling out the red carpet. Waiting for me in the other mailbox, my email inbox, was a string of messages, pertaining to a possible contract in – you guessed it – the place we had just come from, South Africa. The flurry of emails and conference calls since then has all trended in one direction: the possibility of more work back home, and more travel. There will

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