*
Up until now we had been eating fresh food bought by Peter from the local markets and everything had been fine. Now, after our night in a 'good hotel' three of us had stomach problems in varying degrees of unpleasantness.
I ate a full English breakfast on the balcony of the restaurant but almost immediately knew that I was going to regret it. Sheila failed to show for breakfast at all, already suffering. David ate only toast and black tea, stoically ignoring his condition. Afterwards everyone apart from Sheila assembled for a walk. Immediately outside the hotel were a number of the local entrepreneurs selling carvings. Geoff picked up a table, the three legs of which were carved from a single piece of wood, the circular top being carved into a series of pictures of animals.
"This has been painted," he said "And it's spoiled it completely. You'll see the same sort of thing done much better and much cheaper later on." He put it back. The salesman seemed unperturbed by the criticism.
Further down the path two teenagers ran up and thrust a large piece of quartz into Geoff's hands. He turned it over.
"They get this from the quarry," he explained "But this piece is no good, the facets are cracked and scuffed and all of the points are blunted."
He dropped it into his pocket and went to walk away. The teenagers were outraged.
"You must pay," they cried "Three hundred kwatcha."
He feigned innocence.
"You gave it to me. A gift."
"No, no. Three hundred kwatcha."
He took it out again and frowned.
"But I didn't ask you to give it to me."
"Only to look. To see if you buy." they said.
"OK, I've looked."
He tossed it back to them and they went off in search of easier customers.
We strolled on down the hill leaving them behind. Soon we turned off the road onto a narrow path that ran alongside a river. The trees and plants hung out over the clear water in which we caught occasional glimpses of brown trout. A bright flash of scarlet darted between the trees.
"Livingstone's Lourie," said Geoff "That bright red is only visible when they're in flight."
At a waterfall where the banks of the river opened out onto a broad expanse of flat white rocks we took a break before beginning to double back towards the hotel. A large bird of prey flashed down from the trees and skimmed the surface of the water with its talons before disappearing into the undergrowth on the far bank - but it was too fast for the bird watchers to identify. There was a palpable sense of frustration from them.
David spotted a Simonga Monkey, sitting in a tree watching us. We managed to get quite close before it was overcome with shyness and leapt from branch to branch deeper into the forest to escape our attention.
At a junction we took the opposite fork to the one we had approached by and headed past a derelict trout farm. The chain link fence had long since been appropriated by some needy farmer but a hand painted sign still proclaimed. "Trout Farm - Entrance 12 Tambala". Geoff told us that though the place had now been closed for years there was still a man employed to look after it.
Back on the main road we were approached by more teenagers with quartz. When Geoff had had the last piece in his pocket a tiny splinter had broken off. As they approached he fished it out and held it up to them.
"I sell you quartz" he said "Only one hundred and fifty kwatcha."
They looked baffled.
"No," they said "You buy quartz."
"No, no, no, no, no." he said, rolling his eyes theatrically "I already have quartz. I sell to you."
"But we already have quartz." they responded.
Geoff smiled.
"Good. Good. We all have quartz." He dropped his piece back in his pocket and walked away. The teenage salesmen stood where they were wondering what had just gone on.
Lunch was an enormous and varied open air buffet spread out on tables in the grounds of the hotel. There was turkey, chicken, beef, pork, fish, fifty different vegetables, stews, fricassees, cakes, trifles - everything that anyone could want - and I couldn't have any of it. During the morning I had been to the toilet six times. Eating anything at all was not a good idea. While the others went to the party I went to sit on the patio of my room and read a book. There seemed no sense in making myself unhappy by watching everyone else eat a good meal. When I judged that they would have finished eating I went to join them in watching the entertainment that the hotel had laid on for Christmas.
A dance troupe were there, entertaining an enormous crowd of guests, accompanied by half a dozen drummers pounding out hypnotically complex rhythms on traditional instruments. Afterwards there was a Santa Claus in the shape of a large black African in red robes with a white Ku Klux Klan style hood cut into strips at the bottom to represent a beard. He looked extremely sinister and evil and unsurprisingly the children for whom he had presents had to be dragged to him in terror.
In the late afternoon we rounded off the day by driving up to the Emperor's viewpoint and watching the sun set over the valley before returning to the hotel.
I ate a full English breakfast on the balcony of the restaurant but almost immediately knew that I was going to regret it. Sheila failed to show for breakfast at all, already suffering. David ate only toast and black tea, stoically ignoring his condition. Afterwards everyone apart from Sheila assembled for a walk. Immediately outside the hotel were a number of the local entrepreneurs selling carvings. Geoff picked up a table, the three legs of which were carved from a single piece of wood, the circular top being carved into a series of pictures of animals.
"This has been painted," he said "And it's spoiled it completely. You'll see the same sort of thing done much better and much cheaper later on." He put it back. The salesman seemed unperturbed by the criticism.
Further down the path two teenagers ran up and thrust a large piece of quartz into Geoff's hands. He turned it over.
"They get this from the quarry," he explained "But this piece is no good, the facets are cracked and scuffed and all of the points are blunted."
He dropped it into his pocket and went to walk away. The teenagers were outraged.
"You must pay," they cried "Three hundred kwatcha."
He feigned innocence.
"You gave it to me. A gift."
"No, no. Three hundred kwatcha."
He took it out again and frowned.
"But I didn't ask you to give it to me."
"Only to look. To see if you buy." they said.
"OK, I've looked."
He tossed it back to them and they went off in search of easier customers.
We strolled on down the hill leaving them behind. Soon we turned off the road onto a narrow path that ran alongside a river. The trees and plants hung out over the clear water in which we caught occasional glimpses of brown trout. A bright flash of scarlet darted between the trees.
"Livingstone's Lourie," said Geoff "That bright red is only visible when they're in flight."
At a waterfall where the banks of the river opened out onto a broad expanse of flat white rocks we took a break before beginning to double back towards the hotel. A large bird of prey flashed down from the trees and skimmed the surface of the water with its talons before disappearing into the undergrowth on the far bank - but it was too fast for the bird watchers to identify. There was a palpable sense of frustration from them.
David spotted a Simonga Monkey, sitting in a tree watching us. We managed to get quite close before it was overcome with shyness and leapt from branch to branch deeper into the forest to escape our attention.
At a junction we took the opposite fork to the one we had approached by and headed past a derelict trout farm. The chain link fence had long since been appropriated by some needy farmer but a hand painted sign still proclaimed. "Trout Farm - Entrance 12 Tambala". Geoff told us that though the place had now been closed for years there was still a man employed to look after it.
Back on the main road we were approached by more teenagers with quartz. When Geoff had had the last piece in his pocket a tiny splinter had broken off. As they approached he fished it out and held it up to them.
"I sell you quartz" he said "Only one hundred and fifty kwatcha."
They looked baffled.
"No," they said "You buy quartz."
"No, no, no, no, no." he said, rolling his eyes theatrically "I already have quartz. I sell to you."
"But we already have quartz." they responded.
Geoff smiled.
"Good. Good. We all have quartz." He dropped his piece back in his pocket and walked away. The teenage salesmen stood where they were wondering what had just gone on.
Lunch was an enormous and varied open air buffet spread out on tables in the grounds of the hotel. There was turkey, chicken, beef, pork, fish, fifty different vegetables, stews, fricassees, cakes, trifles - everything that anyone could want - and I couldn't have any of it. During the morning I had been to the toilet six times. Eating anything at all was not a good idea. While the others went to the party I went to sit on the patio of my room and read a book. There seemed no sense in making myself unhappy by watching everyone else eat a good meal. When I judged that they would have finished eating I went to join them in watching the entertainment that the hotel had laid on for Christmas.
A dance troupe were there, entertaining an enormous crowd of guests, accompanied by half a dozen drummers pounding out hypnotically complex rhythms on traditional instruments. Afterwards there was a Santa Claus in the shape of a large black African in red robes with a white Ku Klux Klan style hood cut into strips at the bottom to represent a beard. He looked extremely sinister and evil and unsurprisingly the children for whom he had presents had to be dragged to him in terror.
In the late afternoon we rounded off the day by driving up to the Emperor's viewpoint and watching the sun set over the valley before returning to the hotel.
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