– In high school, I had to be at school by 7:25. IN THE MORNING. I know, I know. It sounds positively inhuman, doesn’t it? I’m fairly sure that in most parts of Europe, it would constitute child abuse (like Spain. Seriously, next time you have to get up early, think WWTS –What Would The…
Rand and I are on the road this week, which means that I put this roundup together last week. So if something major happened in the last five days, the Geraldine of last Sunday (who is currently writing this post) doesn’t know about it yet. Hopefully, nothing I say will be too offensive in the…
Warning: before writing this post, I spent waaaaay too long listening to NPR, after which I devoured some poetry, and then chased the whole thing with a few swings of prose. The result is … whatever the heck is going on below. It has nothing to do with travel. Sorry. Rand and I have a…
On the drive to Bushman’s Kloof from Cape Town, our bus overheated.
– We first arrived at Bushman’s Kloof in the late afternoon. It had been an absurdly hot day, and the sun was now inching back towards the horizon. It was the sort of weather that makes you swear that you will never eat anything again that isn’t presented to you in popsicle form. Still, when…
It is sunny in my damp little corner of the world. The hippies are already congregating in the park, beating their damn drum incessantly. And this Sunday, despite we’re all going to collectively be an hour late to something. In short: spring is coming. Personally, I can’t wait (except for the damn hippie drum circle).…
– When Rand first told me that Bushman’s Kloof had not one, but several infinity pools, I promptly freaked out. “How is that even possible?” I squealed. “It’s a luxury resort,” Rand explained. “That still doesn’t make sense. They are messing with THE VERY FABRIC OF SPACE TIME.” With that statement, my husband paused, and took a…
– Rand often tells me that it takes a lot to please me. I argue that this isn’t exactly true. I require very few things to be happy. I’ve explained time and again that I require little else in life than a cupcake or four, his undivided attention, and a really comfortable couch. The problem is…
– I don’t really know how to begin telling you about Bushman’s Kloof. Words don’t usually fail me. In fact, I often have them in excess. They dribble out of my mouth at particularly inopportune times. Like when I’m telling a story at noisy party, and I find myself shouting the gory details in order…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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