It was a fantastic experience (the bits I can remember at least considering that nine is fairly young) except for the camping. Crazy bugs, foam mattresses, bush loos, washing your hair in glacier water (think permanent ice cream headache for two days), being squashed between two older brothers while braving the Patagonian winds in a three man tent… suffice to say I have been put off camping and any derivative thereof for life.

The one good thing about not growing up in 5 star luxury, is that you get to appreciate it so much more when you do have the chance to experience it. Of late, I have been very lucky. Last year for our three year anniversary Parri and I stayed at the Vineyard Hotel and just two weeks ago we stayed in the 2Oceansvibe Suite at the Cape Royale in Green Point – a real treat considering I had just returned from camping at the Oppikoppi music fest the weekend before.

My most recent rendezvous was at an African Pride establishment, the Melrose Arch Hotel, during a business trip to Johannesburg. I follow @ProteaHotels on Twitter and have entered almost all their competitions without any luck. So when my super hero cheekily asked his contact if I could spend a night in one of their hotels and they obliged, I did a cat-in-the-cradle move and jumped over the moon.

My favourite bits:

• Being greeted by name when I reached the reception desk. The sneaky doorman got me to pronounce my surname when I checked my car in for valet parking. It is pronounced Look-hoff and not Luck-hoff for those who bother with that kind of thing.
• Checking in with a Mont Blanc pen. Have I mentioned that all I want in life is a Mont Blanc pen to go with my stationery fetish?
• The complimentary olives, mixed nuts, Ferrero Roche chocolate and bottled water. Perfect at 6pm after a long day and a dehydrating flight.
• The suite. Plush, stylish, understated, beautiful, quiet, with all the bells and whistles you could ask for including a king size extra length bed; cloud soft duvet and pillows with the covers tucked in just right so that your feet can move; ample closet space with lighting, a minibar to die for; tissues; a coffee and tea station that includes hot chocolate and biscuits; the latest girly magazines; slippers; built in speakers and a dvd collection ranging from Zoolander to yes, you guessed it, Barely Legal.
• But the bathroom is the best. Heated floors so your toes don’t freeze; a bath that could fit four and yellow ducks to keep you company; a shower with a handy step up when you need to shave on the run; a thermo water flask by the basin; a phone in the loo (I’m still trying to figure this one out) and lighted candles to go with your turned down, rose petal adorned bed.

The not so good bits:

• Spending a night alone in a luxury suite.
• Dinner at The Orient across the square. The waiter was rude, the food was average and when your bill arrives itemizing a glass of Pinotage at R75 that noone warned you about, it’s enough to get your blood boiling.

The extras:

• The Library Bar is fantastic. Clearly all the Jo’burg suites like it too and I could imagine a Lost in Translation moment if I was single.
• The lifts. Star gazing or retro lumo – take your pick.
• The pool looked inviting despite the weather not playing along. I hope to go back in summer to try out the Moroccan inspired day beds and the in-pool dining.
• The menu. Although I didn’t order room service and left bright and early for a breakfast meeting, the menu looked scrumptious. I even managed to pick up a brochure for the March Restaurant that details the recipes for some of their signature dishes. 10 points for great interactive marketing.
• Location. It’s just a hop skip and a jump away from OR Tambo if you know the back roads, and Melrose Arch itself is as convenient a location as you can get in Jo’burg.

A BIG thank you to @ProteaHotels for a fantastic experience. I promise I paid for the duckies!

Next goal: Drive enough blog traffic so that I too can have a permanent suite in some swanky 5 star hotel.

Some of these pics were taken with my iPhone the rest are courtesy of Protea Hotels.

I write this post sitting on a freezing cold low cost flight with an eclectic mixture of French toast, fried Chinese noodles and salt & vinegar chips coursing through my metabolic system, washed down neatly with a Triple XXX Glaceau Mineral Water (as if I haven’t had enough of the stuff over the past two weeks – the double vodka infused version last night at the JHB 27Dinner was particularly noteworthy).

It’s perhaps worth mentioning that I started this trip on Tuesday afternoon by downing a half cup of airport coffee (hazelnut flavour with foam nogal) – my first shot in 10+ years. I’m not usually prone to consuming foodstuffs to be polite as my out right refusal to eat sushi will attest, but the person I was with was so chuffed that they had ordered me a beverage in my two-prong-plug-searching absence that I simply couldn’t say no.

I came to Jo’burg for business, but no trip to this grid locked city is ever only for capital gain. The visit to the Chinese shopping market near EastGate where Jesus lights and red patent leather body suits are a must buy and the ‘celeb’ (and I use this term loosely folks) studded 27Dinner are only two examples of how one can keep busy without putting too much effort into it.

I do fly home victorious though having secured our biggest client in the online space to date, and with the knowledge that Rocking the Daisies is going to be bigger and better than ever before.

*Shuts mouth on account of important yet pesky NDA*

That said my body aches, my head is spinning and I feel 10 years older – if only for knowing that even in the Twitterverse there is politics and that a bankie now costs 100 bucks a pop.

Good thing my green days are long gone.

While in Europe I:

• ate McDonalds at least three times;
• checked email almost every single day;
• took photos in a cathedral where photography was banned;
• watched at least 8 episodes of CSI and a minimum of 3 movies;
• considered screwing with Catholic guilt and taking a candle without paying for it. (I actually only wanted to see if a lightning bolt would strike me, and then got scared – I hear they can cause some serious damage to the soles of your feet.);
• gossiped about the Italians and the French in Afrikaans;
• wished I could have stayed in Amsterdam and given up my responsibilities up at home;
• only really missed my cat;
• grew tired of old towns with big squares and ancient churches;
• thought the Stellenbosch Winelands are more beautiful than Tuscany (and still do);
• only went as far as the entrance hall of the Louvre and then walked straight back out (I have been into the Louvre before though…);
• ate croissants (custard ones if I could get my hands on them) every day;
• stole bread rolls and ham and cheese from the breakfast buffet to make lunch boxes for our day trips;
• gave in to the cold and wore every layer I owned (sometimes for more than two days at a time) and ended up looking like a tourist;
• never bought by 3oo British Pound boots;
• spent enormous amounts of money on French wine and food;
• never read a book, or a newspaper and only the occasional in-flight magazine;
• watched 8 hours of solid in-flight entertainment;
• enjoyed my airplane food;
• was more intrigued by food markets than dusty art galleries
• and realised I prefer third world travel.

While in Europe I:

• ate McDonalds at least three times;
• checked email almost every single day;
• took photos in a cathedral where photography was banned;
• watched at least 8 episodes of CSI and a minimum of 3 movies;
• considered screwing with Catholic guilt and taking a candle without paying for it. (I actually only wanted to see if a lightning bolt would strike me, and then got scared – I hear they can cause some serious damage to the soles of your feet.);
• gossiped about the Italians and the French in Afrikaans;
• wished I could have stayed in Amsterdam and given up my responsibilities up at home;
• only really missed my cat;
• grew tired of old towns with big squares and ancient churches;
• thought the Stellenbosch Winelands are more beautiful than Tuscany (and still do);
• only went as far as the entrance hall of the Louvre and then walked straight back out (I have been into the Louvre before though…);
• ate croissants (custard ones if I could get my hands on them) every day;
• stole bread rolls and ham and cheese from the breakfast buffet to make lunch boxes for our day trips;
• gave in to the cold and wore every layer I owned (sometimes for more than two days at a time) and ended up looking like a tourist;
• never bought by 3oo British Pound boots;
• spent enormous amounts of money on French wine and food;
• never read a book, or a newspaper and only the occasional in-flight magazine;
• watched 8 hours of solid in-flight entertainment;
• enjoyed my airplane food;
• was more intrigued by food markets than dusty art galleries
• and realised I prefer third world travel.

TODAY I…

• Watched a child dance to the notes from a busker’s trumpet.
• Navigated my way through Amsterdam without a map.
• Paid the infamous sex museum a visit and learned, amongst other things, that Marilyn Monroe was paid $50 for the pics that made her famous. The photographer was paid $500 and according to TIME Magazine, the client earned an estimated $750 000 from that one shoot alone. In Monroe’s era, that was a wad of cash and it proves one other point – the client always scores.

• Today I took the #5 tram to Vondelpark – rather apt considering I had just left the Sex Museum.
• I was asked to speak at a conference (daunting),
• and I fell in love with Van Gogh’s Starry Night over the Rhone. Did you know that he painted in excess of 900 paintings between the ages of 26 and 35?

• Today I ate apple pie and whipped cream for breakfast.
• I skipped a comedy show at Boom Chicago and decided to stay in and cook dinner instead.
• I took over 150 photos,
• most of which included edgy Dutch street art

• and then I opted to walk instead of taking the bus.
• Today I stayed abreast of emails, wrote two postcards and took an urgent phone call in the shadow of the Rijksmuseum.
• I walked the 9 straatjies and discovered the ultimate book store. Here I paged through a 4000 Euro book while stealing a sneak photo of the shop’s interior.

• Today I was given a bottle of Veuve Clicquot by my oldest, soon to be married, brother which has been safely secured in my over stuffed bag until Parri and I arrive in Venice.
• While walking up the Prinsengracht late this afternoon, we stopped for a pint of beer and a cup of tea and my tea bag read: “Although your hair is a mess, and you wear a silly dress – I will never love you less.

• Just before, I scoffed the reddest, juiciest cherries which stained my lips and made me happy.
• Today, I watched the sunlight refracting on the water and saw what could be my future.

Perched on a couch in the most beautiful apartment, I look out over Reestraat and down on to a paper shop, a bakery, a cheese boutique, a candle shop and bolt upright buildings that lean ever so slightly forward.

This place is alive. And I am in love.

Here everything works – from the fully integrated transport system to the daily markets and the ever tolling clocktowers that keep watch over the city and its people.

According to my guide book (yes I have embraced my inner tourist – although I still refuse to dress like one) Amsterdam has approximately 1.5 million inhabitants, 600 000 flower bulbs, as many bikes of which 150 000 are stolen each year (yes they have crime), 2 500 house boats, 1 402 bars and cafes, 206 Van Goghs, 165 canals (15 more than Venice), 22 Rembrandts, 26 markets, eight wooden drawbridges and six 7th- and 18th-centuary windmills (+ if I speak Afrikaans really slowly, they understand me!).

Parri and I have covered miles and miles in just two days and still we can go on forever. There is so much to see and do and when not avoiding  the thousands of cyclists that come from every direction, you find the most incredible street art (sculptures and grafitti included), boutique shops, art galleries, pancake shops and bakeries, wine bars and if you’re anything like me, even the super market is an experience (ready made pancake mix anyone?)

I have literally taken thousands of pictures which I will upload soon. For now, I am getting ready for a night out on the town and if Alex and co have anything to do with it, I may rise just a little later tomorrow morning and doctor myself back to life with a chocolate and banana filled crepe.

Bedankt.

(Sunny! WTF!)

Needless to say there ain’t no way I am going to the airport in woolies today, so my carry on bag looks like a dolmade.

Am I excited for the trip? Yes. Am I stressed Eric? Yes. (Losing 3kg’s in a week is enough of an indication.)

You see, I am going away for a month, which is a heck of a long time to leave your own business. I have considered cutting my trip short a gazillion times, but the reality is this: Since I started working in 2004, I have always worked for myself and never taken time off. There has never been a ‘right’ time. There have always been demands, work that needs to be done, clients who need my undivided attention, staff, partners you name it. As a result, my 20′s have passed in a blur and Parri and I have never traveled together apart from our honeymoon.

This trip is for us. But mostly it’s for him. Because despite how pissed off I get at him (and here I must apologise for my inappropriate venting session online), he doesn’t deserve to have my manic obsession with keeping everyone but myself happy, mess with his dreams.

Bon voyage

X

PS: It was 42 degrees today when we left for the UK on 5 March.

It’s about bloody time too. We have never traveled to Europe together before and this trip promises to be a paradigm shifter.

Think London as a local with your best mates; Amsterdam for a debauched girls night out; Brugge for my oldest brother’s wedding; Ghent for some real Belgium beer (I plan to acquire the taste at some point); Cologne to see my boetie (the middle one); Venice to fall in love; Florence to ogle David; Bologna for a culinary orgasm; Chamonix to master the art of snow boarding; and Paris, because I love Paris at any time of the year (+ there is a croissant with my name on it).

San Marco - Venice

Our possie in Amsterdam

During lunch with Feisty last week, I realised that I go to certain places for specific dishes and rarely, if ever, order anything else from the menu. The list below is a work in progress and is only a sample of the restaurants I frequent, however, they have made a mark on my culinary existence and deserve a raised glass and a hearty ‘cheers’!

So, in no particular order, herewith my one hit wonders list:

• Salushi, Wembley Square – Flat rice noodles with chicken and tofu
• Mano�s, Green Point – Chicken limone with avo on the side
• Caf� Neo, Mouille Point – Lamb moussaka
• Buzz, Kloof Street – Medi wrap
• Lazari, Vredehoek – Pink cup cakes
• Cassis, Garden centre – Macaroons
• Sinns, Wembley Square – Potato balls with cheese and chicken skewers with peanut sauce
• Asoka, Kloof Street – Porn star martini with a shot of champagne on the side followed closely by the classic mojito
• Carlysles, Vredehoek – Lamb shank with pesto mash
• Saigon, Kloof Street – Yellow chicken curry with garlic egg fried rice and for starters, vegetable crystal spring rolls
• MissK, Green Point – Their dish up lunch is amazing and kicks Melissa’s ass
• Origin, Hudson Street – Forrest berry tea (I love the whole ritual with the timer and the hot water to keep your cup warm)
• Bardellis, Claremont – Hawaiian pizza with feta and fresh basil
• Kauai, country wide – Royal Hawaiian smoothie with no coconut (Hawaiian seems to be a trend ?)
• Nice, Parkhurst – Crumpets with bacon, mascarpone, fresh strawberries and honey
• Fork, Long Street – Tiger prawns wrapped in parma ham
• Primi Piatti, countrywide – Chicken campagnola (This converted me to mushrooms earlier this year. Never use to eat them cause they keep them in the dark and feed them sh*t)
• Raith, Gardens Centre – best beef fillet medallions in town
• Ooskus Vissery, Gordons Bay – best calamari and chips ever!
• Neighbourhood, Long Street – Beef burger with feta, avo and curly fries
• Sinful, Camps Bay – white chocolate ice-cream with poppy seeds

Firm favourites we make at home:

• Avo, chicken, feta, pear and lime (cordial) salad – it’s a secret recipe
• Lasagna – Lucy taught ignoramus how to make it so thanks Lucy!
• Roast chicken
• Strawberries with balsamic vinegar and mint served with Madagascan vanilla bean ice cream from Woolies
• Sun dried tomato and chicken pasta
• Chicken schnitzel with home-made cheese sauce and baked potatoes
• Any kind of mezze snack
• Parri’s smoothies and duppa (lemon, honey, ginger and mint tea)

Feel free to leave suggestions!

This place knew me before I knew myself. It was built in the forties, has a green exterior and a flat roof and is aptly named Platdak. This place is steeped in history – it’s book shelf laden with National Geographics that date back donkey years, paint that peels of the sea sand walls and our names etched on the pantry door frame to mark our yearly growth spurts.

It’s old and creaky and perfect.

In this magical place we have fought, played and made love. We have sqeezed in three families at once and have come here one by one to seek solitude and space.

I have layers upon layers of memories that try to disentangle themselves from my dreams, but never quite succeed. Reality is blurred. Long hazy days on the beach surrounded by extended family pile one on top of the other  while long, dark and creaky nights, threatened by crashing waves and howling black South-Easters, taunt at my childhood fears. But the waves never quite reach the lawn and the house still stands steadfast in its tracks.

My favourite nights are those lit up by the phosphor that invades the coast with the advent of the red tide. Stimulated by movement, the phosphor saturated plankton in the water illuminate like millions of tiny spotlights that make the sand tingle under your feet, expose the hide-outs of the fish as they scatter in the tide pools and provoke the galloping horses that run along the edge of the waves as they crash on the rocks.

This is the place I have known the longest, the place in which I want to come to rest. But first, I want my kids to seep into its walls, to soak up the sun, to feel the love of family concerts and extended New Years’ Eve’s and to compete on who has the least sand stuck to their skins after a gas heated shower.

And tonight, as we drove out the gate after yet another perfect weekend, thousands of fireflies danced.