From where I'm sitting…

Today marks five years since Andrew and I started going steady. The incident that precipitated that decision was both alarming and hilarious, and ended with me trying to lean against a fence which was really a gate and falling backwards down 3 steps where I landed flat on my back in a giant puddle while a cold February rain poured down on me.

What do I do in such a situation? I laugh at myself. I have trouble taking things, even serious personal things, too seriously. I’m far too lucky. In America most people would swap out lucky for blessed. But I think we are all blessed, so something else needs to explain why I have so many privileges and other people have so few. And in the meanwhile, I think it’s important to treat those with fewer privileges with dignity and compassion and not to take too much notice of the minor misfortunes that might beset me. I’m reminded of a passage from Howards End (my favourite novel):

“But after all,” she continued with a smile, “there’s never any great risk as long as you have money.”

“Oh, shame! What a shocking speech!”

“Money pads the edges of things,” said Miss Schlegel. “God help those who have none.”

“But this is something quite new!” said Mrs. Munt, who collected new ideas as a squirrel collects nuts, and was especially attracted by those that are portable.

“New for me; sensible people have acknowledged it for years. You and I and the Wilcoxes stand upon money as upon islands. It is so firm beneath our feet that we forget its very existence. It’s only when we see some one near us tottering that we realise all that an independent income means. Last night, when we were talking up here round the fire, I began to think that the very soul of the world is economic, and that the lowest abyss is not the absence of love, but the absence of coin.”

“I call that rather cynical.”

“So do I. But Helen and I, we ought to remember, when we are tempted to criticise others, that we are standing on these islands, and that most of the others are down below the surface of the sea. The poor cannot always reach those whom they want to love, and they can hardly ever escape from those whom they love no longer. We rich can. Imagine the tragedy last June, if Helen and Paul Wilcox had been poor people, and couldn’t invoke railways and motor-cars to part them.”

“That’s more like Socialism,” said Mrs. Munt suspiciously.

“Call it what you like. I call it going through life with one’s hand spread open on the table. I’m tired of these rich people who pretend to be poor, and think it shows a nice mind to ignore the piles of money that keep their feet above the waves. I stand each year upon six hundred pounds, and Helen upon the same, and Tibby will stand upon eight, and as fast as our pounds crumble away into the sea they are renewed–from the sea, yes, from the sea. And all our thoughts are the thoughts of six-hundred-pounders, and all our speeches; and because we don’t want to steal umbrellas ourselves, we forget that below the sea people do want to steal them and do steal them sometimes, and that what’s a joke up here is down there reality.”

Anyway, Andrew and I are looking for a flat to buy. I have a strong preference to stay in our neighbourhood (and indeed in our building if we can), but real estate websites have an amazing ability to pull you just a little bit outside your ideal (both on location and price), so I’m trying to be disciplined. I’m also writing to everyone in the building that owns a 3 bedroom flat and asking them if they’d be interested in selling (thanks, land registry!).

Everyone here has warned me that estate agents are awful, and the process is awful, and it will make me want to shoot myself in the foot before long. I hope they’re all exaggerating. But I also suspect that they’re all way more particular than I am. I went and saw a massive four bedroom flat yesterday, for example. Massive. Currently has four undergraduate rugby players living in it (yes, it might be heaven). The owner has been renting it to students for the past 5 years, but we could easily gut it, reverse the direction of the staircase, and make it habitable. I guess what we (read I) really need to decide is how much work I’m willing to have done on a place, and how flexible I’m really willing to be on location.

And I’ll keep hoping that someone with a 3-bed duplex on our floor is looking to sell in the next few months. Because that would really be the bees knees.

So…the funny thing about being at a resort and doing very little other than lying on the beach (in the shade, obviously) reading between meals is that time rather collapses. It’s been a few days since I posted, but there’s not been all that much going on to put together an update. Here’s my best effort:

On Monday: Andrew went water skiing. In the process, he lost one of his contacts. That’s bad in the short term for obvious reasons, but good in the long term because he’s finally agreed to have his eyes lasered. He also stepped on a sea urchin, which put two spines into his left food. He had to go to the infirmary so they could pull them out. He was much less complainy about it than I would have been.

On Tuesday: We went snorkeling. Which was fun, but my back got a little sunburned despite putting on waterproof SPF 30. Oh well. It’s already just tan, so it wasn’t a real sunburn. We saw lots of cool fish, but the coral itself wasn’t nearly as pretty as when we snorkeled at the Blue Hole near Dahab.

Today (Wednesday): We hired a driver to take us all over the island. We went to the botanical gardens (to see the ivy, obviously). Then we went to The Adventure of Sugar, where we learned more about sugar than we ever needed to know. Also a lot about the history of Mauritius. I, for example, didn’t know this is where dodos had lived. Please can someone genetically re-engineer them? Also that there were no native inhabitants. So that was pretty cool. There was TONS to read though. And, at the recommendation of the BA High Life magazine, we went to the attached restaurant, which was good though the service wasn’t great. Andrew had tuna carpaccio and a local sausage dish. I had an aubergine/mozarella thing and then a dry curry with local venison (was this chicken born on this plate? because if it’s any less local than that I can’t eat it).

After lunch we headed to Port Louis, where we visited an old British fort, and the market, and then took the scenic route over the mountains back to the hotel. Now we’re just chilling out before dinner.

So far on this trip, we’ve not had more than 3 days in one place. This has been good for Andrew, who likes to have new things to do, but it doesn’t satisfy my deep desire to do absolutely nothing. In my daily life I spend so much time doing things (rushing places and moving around and getting sh*t done) that I really do value some down time on holiday. Reading for hours at a time. Maybe going to the gym every morning before breakfast and taking a nap every afternoon.

What’s that you say? It sounds like Oxford? Yes, I suppose you’re right: it does. Remind me again why I didn’t take a fourth year to finish my D.Phil.

Anyway, today we left South Africa for Mauritius. We got up at 6am and Rita took us back to the airport. We hung out in the lounge for a bit, and then went to get Andrew some new sunglasses. The flight was long, but BA gave us each a deck of cards to pass the time, so I’m going to (finally) teach Andrew to play Grandpa’s Game, our family version of solitaire, which is awesome.

We arrived and my cheapness paid off, since the group transfer I bought ahead of time actually ended up being a private transfer. I’m very glad we didn’t rent a car, because the roads here are awfully narrow and full of people and animals. So that worked out.

Something else that worked out? The resort we had booked burned down (oops), and so they gave us a choice of 4 other hotels to stay at. A quick tripadvisor search led me to the Beau Rivage but since then it’s been refurbished and brought under Lux Resorts as the Belle Mare. Turns out it’s pretty awesome, even though we seem to be the ONLY gay couple here.

Rather boring evening. We went to dinner at the resort’s Indochinese restaurant (wait? dinner was included in our room price? sweet!) and then sent off our dirty clothes to be washed, and now we’re about to watch Portlandia.

So begins the penultimate leg of our honeymoon. Today we flew from Cape Town up to Johannesburg. We’re here for two nights before we head to Mauritius on Saturday.

We got up at about 8 and read for a little bit before packing and then heading to breakfast. We’ll miss Franschhoek a lot, but move we must. Our only complaint, in the end, was that the A/C in our room didn’t work all that well, so it was hot sleeping. First world problems. Sigh.

Anyway, we drove back to Cape Town airport and listened to a Savage Love podcast. Always enjoyable. That said, it served as a reminder of why, next time we rent a car on holiday, we’ll get something with a rather bigger engine. It would have been nice to have been able to accelerate enough to pass people.

When we got to the lounge, we each had a massage. That was nice. And then we hung out until our flight, which was pleasant and relatively empty. On the approach to Joburg we flew through/into a really cool thunder storm.

Johannesberg is much much greener than I expected. Our friend (and coworker) Julie recommended a driver for us, who took us along to the Westcliff Hotel, which is awfully nice in an old-worldy sort of way. Bizarrely, they thought we had booked two hotel rooms (we hadn’t). On the plus side, they knew it was our honeymoon and we had a bottle of bubbly waiting for us in our room when we got there…we also had a nice card addressed to Mr & Mr House (win!). Anyway, the room is nice, and the view is lovely, but the decor might not be exactly our style:

Andrew went to the gym, and then Keats came and met us at the hotel and helped us drink the bubbly, and then he took us to Thomas Maxwell in Parkmore. The food was very good, but Andrew wasn’t feeling so hot, so he didn’t eat much. He had a salad with halloumi to start, followed by a rabbit & sausage pasta. I had gazpacho and a fillet. Keats had steak tartare and something else I obviously wasn’t paying enough attention to.

Anyway, despite Andrew not feeling great, it was a very nice meal.  Joburg…jury is still out. It seems one must drive everywhere in this city, and that’s one of my least favourite things, but the food was great and it’s wonderful to see Keats.