that weekend I was talking about

There's a farm in the Cederberg mountains, about 3 and a half hours drive from Cape Town, which my family has been visiting for decades. It's a big farm, set in a region which gets cold and very dry in winter, and hot and very, very dry in summer.
But inbetween, in those now fleeting seasons which do a below average imitation of what we once called autumn and spring, this area is Heaven.

The air up there has a texture. The feel of it against one's skin and coursing through one's lungs is a caress, a deeply satisfying tangible experience, a feeling one's body remembers and can recall even when back in the crowded, stinky city.

It's a place to recharge, to relax, a place to wallow in. And so we did, once more, this last weekend.

The part of the farm we stayed on is called Sevilla. Thus named because the current farmer's father bought it for her while she was travelling through Spain as a young woman. I think knowing that adds to the specialness of the place.

Completely out of character I forgot to take my camera (doh!), so these are some shots borrowed from others.

One of the cottages near ours (ours was nicer : p)

29 degrees on Saturday necessitated some river time.

A novel way to heat croissants without an oven.

Some more of those crazy rock colourations.

Omg, two concurrent posts. Wtf?

One word: Firefox. Why has it taken me so long to accept it?