There’s a sweet simplicity, a nostalgia, even, to the pace of life in this quaint village-like city-town that lends itself the time to cherish old music playing like a feedback-stricken, crackling radio in a café on the corner. Come with a friend or for a pause yourself; sit here with a table-top candle to mesmerize your eyes and a kopje koffie – or a fresh mint tea if you fancy – to warm your hands and settle your inner being with each sip. You’re thankful to be here, and aware even of the serenity that is this space: you choose to either observe in silence, tuning out the sound and merely listening to the pulse of this life, or sit amidst the buzz and chatter of people stopping for a break, watching them kiss three times and catching up before stepping outside for a cigarette and a glass of wine as the sun begins its steady decent over the canal just outside the front door. Why should this be anything other than routine? This treat is to me ever so special; still feels sacred in its somehow now normalcy. And I wonder how, if even possible or acceptable, to replicate these moments once I step beyond the utopian canal rings within which I have found the greatest sense of stillness in each day. Perhaps I cannot, but I then still find happiness and a deep sense of appreciative joy in the assured continuing existence of these places and the doors supposedly eternally open for my revisiting such moments; I will have to find a time to return but will until then ride away on my squeaky green bike into that quiet setting sun, chasing it for three weeks more. I will forever cherish my pen’s scripting of this scene in a memory box of sweetness.
