Nuggets of Gold

The last nugget of gold…at least for now.

LC-A+, Kodak 200

Gardens By the Bay, Singapore

A little photo essay of the phenomenal Gardens By the Bay in Singapore. I didn’t enjoy the luxury of entering either of the hot houses, but the general gardens were spectacular enough.

Singapore: a city (re)created

I spent just over a week in Singapore, and over the course of my time there, I developed a sense that the city-state is a little disorientated. It feels like the government is tenaciously determined to turn Singapore into a world class destination, kitting it out with luxury shopping malls, a slick metro service, shiny sky scrapers and top end attractions. It’s as if Singapore has carefully selected features of iconic cities around the world and is systematically and strategically combining them to create an ideal place.

But sadly this means major physical reconstruction and the effective overhaul of the country’s architectural history. Has Singapore forgotten that a strong sense of national identity and the preservation of important history are central to the success and appeal of a city? My short time in the country and my interactions with locals would suggest so.

Actually, Singapore reminds me of the classic line from the Joni Mitchell song Big Yellow Taxi: “Don’t it always seem to go / That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone? / They paved paradise / And put up a parking lot.”

It’s probably clear by now that I wasn’t hugely inspired by my time in Singapore, but that’s not to say that I didn’t find some little treasures and learn some valuable lessons. I’ll be sharing these soon.

Pictures taken from the sky deck at Marina Bay Sands (pictured above) with a Canon 600D.

Parks and pencils, a lesson in colour

Sprocket Rocket, Fujifilm Superia 200

I sat beside a rock, switching between quick-sketching passers by, and slowly detailing a drawing of the skyline that I returned to every time I visited the park. It had been my neighborhood retreat; a patch of green overlooking the bustling grey city. Overlooking it, but removed from it, as if offering perspective and distance from the trudge of the high-rise life. Here I could escape into a novel, disappear behind a lens, or immerse myself in my own pencil-point world.

On this particular winter afternoon, I had retuned to my skyline drawing after a considerable interlude, and I was lost in the shadows and the trees. A small girl appeared beside me, maybe three or four years old, a dummy throbbing beneath her sweet little nose. She must have been standing there for some time, because as I looked up she was ready with her question; head tilted to one side, “What are you drawing?” I held my sketchbook up to the horizon, expecting she would make the connection. Still she looked perplexed. I pointed, “The city skyline. Can you see?”

“But why are there no colours?”

I was enchanted by this little sprite of a child. She plonked down beside me and watched me draw. I had many pencils, but she was right, I had no colours. Nonetheless, she accepted my offer of joining me. Her nondescript lines and shapes, the innocent interpretation of her surrounds was far more imaginative than my own. I was transfixed.

Unabashed and unconstrained, she assumed a connection with me in a way that is all too uncommon amongst adults; a momentary friendship requiring only the acknowledgement that we are both human. We shared each other’s company as if we were lifelong friends with nothing left to tell, leaving only common knowing and common being, quiet and content.

In the midst of this magic, a close friend of mine arrived to meet me, and found me sitting cross legged on the grass with a glowing bundle of freedom. She had brought me an apple, which my new friend was also eager to share. And so we sat, three girls, eating apples and enjoying the last rays of sunlight, until the little girl disappeared again, just as quickly as she had arrived.

Lomo LC-A+, Kodak 200

The Irony is This

Fujifilm 100, LC-A+

An Afternoon on the River

The best adventures are often just around the corner, especially when you live in South Africa. This one took shape on the Kleinemonde river in the Eastern Cape, something of a second home for me. The sky sang, and the water listened, and all the answers danced in the breeze.

Kodak 200, LC-A+

Bathurst: A Dusty Treasure Trove

We sett off as the sun was peeping over the hill.

Snacks in our saddle packs, the wind at our backs,
We cycled through the winding passes,

Grass whipping past, hearts beating fast,
Whistling through the crisp morning air.

An uphill here, a downhill there,
We rolled up to a dusty intersection.

Slow breakfast,
Introspection.

And a treasure trove of someone else’s dusty memories.

Bathurst is a small farming village in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. A concentration of creativity, it epitomizes the word quaint. My favourite spots are the Wiles Gallery, home to the work of the lovely Lucy Wiles, and her creative ancestors and offspring; The Corner Gallery, playground of the endearing Tori Stowe and her eclectic craft team; resident potter, Richard Pullen’s Open Studio; and The Workshop, a warehouse-style collective space for established and aspiring local artists. It’s also home to a few adorable antique stores, the quirky and bizarre Big Pineapple, and the famous Pig ‘n’ Whistle, South Africa’s oldest pub.

The thing I like most about Bathurst is that it reminds me that you don’t have to be an acclaimed artist selling work to top national galleries in order to make things. It challenges me to be less afraid of my own desire to create.

Fujifilm 100, LC-A+

South Africa, Beloved Country

Camps Bay, Cape Town (Kodak 200, Sprocket Rocket)

Whenever I’m abroad, I am reminded of just how incredible South Africa is as a travel destination. From high end tourist types to grungy, hippy backpackers and dreamy nomads, I find myself telling all types of people that I meet on my journeys just how wonderful my home country is, and how appropriate it would be as their next travel destination.

It’s not a conscious thing, I don’t actively promote tourism in South Africa for any particular reason (although the benefits of tourism to any country are real), I simply keep finding myself in conversations with people where they’re describing what they would like from their next adventure, and feeling like Mzansi can offer them all the experiences they’re yearning for, and more. I find myself getting so excitable and passionate as I regale them with elaborate descriptions of the opportunities awaiting them in SA, and I get a real thrill when I watch their eyes sparkle as my contagious enthusiasm for my country takes hold of them.

I have flights booked back to South Africa in December, and I’m so excited to be heading back to such a vibrant and unique country for part of the summer. Visiting home aside, I feel as lucky to be returning as I would to be travelling for the first time to any exciting new country. There’s always so much exploring and discovering to do in SA, and so many old favourites to keep returning to. The more I travel in the world, the more I learn to appreciate just how fabulous South Africa is. How lucky I am to love my country so much!

I recently got a whole lot of photos back from the lab, all of them taken back home. Yes, that’s right, I’m still shooting film. Going through the pictures reinforced these feelings, and reinvigorated my passion for exploring South Africa. Over the next few posts I’ll be sharing them with you, celebrating some of the little adventures I had in South Africa in the months leading up to my departure. I’m a fervent advocate of spontaneous or planned local adventure (read more on my views on this in my piece for Urban Times), and South Africa is wonderfully rich with hidden mysteries and intriguing gems waiting to be discovered; I’m really looking forward to popping in again for a little visit. Mzansi, ndiyakuthanda*.

*Mzansi, ndiyakuthanda is isiXhosa for ‘South Africa, I love you’.

Once Upon a Bus Stop

Buses are a great way to travel in Tanzania; you get to see so much of the countryside, meet engaging people and observe interesting parts of everyday life along the way. It takes some skill and determination to find the right bus company and get a good deal on your tickets, but if you’re up for the challenge, it’s well worth it.

On our three week trip in Tanzania, we took four 10 to 12 hour bus rides on four different carriers. Our experiences ranged from a terrifying trip on a rattling, dilapidated tin can that was something out of Jurassic Park, to a cushy, spacious coach with an onboard magazine, television entertainment and a complimentary beverage. In spite of the variety in coach quality, the competence of the drivers was reliably consistent. Their frenetic hooting and violent swerving around the shoddy roads was alarming at first, but once we realised the sheer skill of these drivers, we learned to trust them completely.

The best part of travelling by bus in Tanzania is the bus stops; they’re such vibrant, colourful places. I love the contrasting energy of departing travellers waiting anxiously for their journeys to begin, and arriving travellers excitedly hurrying off to their final destinations, glad to be safely back on terra firma. And then there are the vendors, entrepreneurial traders, frantically peddling their wears, even banging on the sides if busses to get the attention of passengers, and running alongside moving buses with baskets help precariously above their heads. Samosas, cassava chips, cashew nuts and cold drinks, sunglasses and trinkets, bottles of cooking oil and hand crafted wooden spoons. Finally, there are the taxi drivers, waiting like vultures to catch the next arrival and seize the business of an onward journey. I like to just sit still for a while, and watch the never-ending activity bubble and simmer around me as I await the start of my own journey.

Portrait of a Boy