My Restless Spirit

I have a restless soul and I am at my happiest when I am in a car, on a train, or sailing the seas. I am not that crazy about planes. Being stuck for hours and not being able to move tends to drive me nuts. But it is not enough of a reason to keep me grounded.

The journey is as much fun as the destination.

In 1963 my father arrived home with our first motor car. I was 8 years old and we lived in Durban. It was an enormous black Plymouth which we named Matilda. I was beside myself with excitement. I literally did cartwheels. Matilda (cars are always girls, I don’t know why) had to be started not with a key but by using a crank handle stuck through a hole in the bonnet.

Matilda had to be big. There was Mom, Dad and 6 daughters ranging in age from 4 - 16 . Dad built a wooden car seat that hung over the backseat for my baby sister, Iris. The rest of us drove our parents mad fighting about whose turn it was to sit next to the window.

Sundays were always the same. Church, Sunday lunch comprising roast chicken and vegetables followed by pudding and custard. Pack the picnic basket and pile in the car for THE SUNDAY AFTERNOON DRIVE.

This was family time and attendance was non-negotiable. My parents had also adopted an old couple living two houses away – Mr and Mrs Murphy a couple well into their nineties. We lived in terror of Mrs Murphy so it was a relief when she went to live in an old age home in Kloof about 30kms inland.

Why am I telling you this? Mr Murphy, a retired lighthouse keeper, needed to visit his wife once a week. Guess who got to transport him there and back each Sunday afternoon? Yes, we squashed up a little bit more and he became our VIP passenger.

We would drop him off and we would go exploring and have a picnic.

My love for travel is deeply ingrained in me.