Oppiwa = #%$^&*@!!

We have just returned from a somewhat shortened trip!

Read on!

Once a year over the first weekend in February, (apart from those manic few weeks over Christmas), Jacobsbaai becomes a frenzied village, so we do the right thing and leave!

It always amazes me how, once people have moved here exclaiming loud and long about how quiet and peaceful it is, they decide that it all must be changed and that Jacobsbaai 'must be put on the map'. So a few years ago, a few people (hoteliers and estate agents mainly...) put their heads together and 'Oppiwa' (meaning 'on the wagon') was born! This festival consists of some obscure singers and the odd poet or two, each sitting on a wagon being pulled by a tractor, singing or reading or quoting or whatever, while a bunch of visitors and villagers, who have paid handsomely for the privilege, sit in awe on said wagon, drinking their wine and getting covered in dust from the road, especially if the wind blows! While they are being trundled around the village they stop off at various demarcated homes for coffee, a braai, a loo stop, tea and biscuits etc, and then on the Saturday evening they all end up at one of the Guest Houses for dinner and more wine.

On Sunday they all go home.

So, in order to avoid all this unpleasantness, we head off on the Thursday and stay away until it is safe to return.

What Big Teeth You Have!

Remember the picture from last week?

Leila and Alfie with Rob comparing sizes!

One of the things that I remember clearly from the first time we stayed at Fynbos Farm, was The Dog!! Not just a dog, but a DOG. An Anatolian Shepherd, to be precise, originally from Anatolia (where else?) and bred specifically to protect livestock in the fields.

Just like Leila (Pic thanks to Google)

Leila (her name) would loom out of the darkness like a friendly ghost, say hello, have a chat to Alfie, devour some wors, lie with us for a while, and then disappear. We never saw her during the day, and I just assumed (as would you) that she was off with the horses in the field, doing her job and chasing off predators, keeping her eyes peeled for any danger, before rounding them up and bringing them home at dusk. I had visions of her sitting on the top of a rock with her paw to her eyes, whistling at a horse who ventured too far from her protection, and drinking water from a cool stream running through the field. (I did stop at imagining cold meat sandwiches wrapped in a spotted handkerchief though, but only just.)