The Franschhoek threesome

In the early days of our relationship,  Ally and I escaped to Franschhoek for a romantic weekend. We’d found a cute, secluded cottage on a farm—the kind of place designed for long, slow mornings.

Our first day began exactly as planned. We woke up in a sprawling, comfortable bed and spent the morning enjoying the rare luxury of being able to laze around. We canoodled, cuddled, and did exactly what loving couples do when they have nowhere else to be.

At around 10:30 AM, we finally decided it was time to face the day. Ally stood up and peeled back the heavy duvet to let the bed breathe.

There, nestled in the warm hollow where we had just been lying, was a scorpion.

It was a small, brown fellow—exactly the kind you don't want to find in your linens. As every South African knows, there are two main types of scorpions: the big, black ones with impressive pincers but a relatively mild sting, and the small, brown ones with tiny pincers and a massive, potentially lethal sting.

Our uninvited guest was the latter.

We stood there in horrified silence, realizing we had spent the last several hours sharing our most intimate space with a high-velocity venom delivery system. The "romantic morning" was instantly replaced by a frantic search for a glass jar.

We eventually caught him, escorted him to a far-off corner of the farm, and asked him very politely to never seek a "threesome" with us again. Thankfully, he took the hint, and it remains the only time in our relationship where we’ve had to worry about a third party in the bed—especially one with a tail.

Memorable moments: The cockroach koan

In Sydney, the cockroaches aren't just pests; they are armored invaders. They are enormous, incredibly fast, and—for me—a source of primal horror. They seem to possess a sentient malevolence that defies the usual "it's more scared of you" logic.

One afternoon, I found a particularly large specimen lying belly-up on the kitchen floor. It was perfectly still, its legs stiff and its antennae frozen. It was stone-dead. I saw this as a golden opportunity. I decided to use the power of mindfulness to finally conquer my phobia using this harmless, discarded shell of a creature. I would be the "aware space" for my fear.

I hesitantly scooped the carcass up and placed it on my upturned palm. I stood there, breathing deeply, feeling the tension drain out of my shoulders. I felt the dry, brittle sensation of the legs against my skin—a mere physical sensation, nothing more. I focused on the horror, welcoming it, observing it without judgment. Breathing in, breathing out. Gradually, a great, meditative calm washed over me. I had done it. I had transcended the insect.

And then the sucker moved.

It didn't just twitch; it wriggled violently, its prehistoric legs suddenly churning against my skin with a frantic, tickling energy. The "corpse" was suddenly very much alive and clearly offended by my spiritual experiment.

The "aware space" collapsed instantly. Like a scalded cat, I let out a blood-curdling shriek. My hand whipped upward with the force of a spring-loaded trap, launching the creature into the stratosphere. My journey into Zen ended in a frantic, undignified dance across the kitchen tiles.

People say mindfulness can change your relationship with your fears. They're right. Before that day, I was merely horrified by cockroaches; ever since, my horror has been massively compounded by the knowledge that they are capable of playing dead just to mock my progress toward enlightenment.

Memorable moments: The crown jewel crisis

Back in 2014, I joined a Meetup hike in Berowra—a rugged stretch of bushland just north of Sydney that looks peaceful until it isn’t.

In a moment of questionable judgment, I wore open shoes.

About halfway up a steep climb, I suddenly felt a hot, searing stab in the side of my foot—as if someone had driven a red-hot needle straight into it. I looked down and found the culprit: an enormous bull ant, radiating menace and what I can only assume was quiet satisfaction.

The pain was so intense that I briefly began planning my medical future.

Thinking practically (or so I believed), I killed the ant, wrapped it in a hanky, and put it in my pocket—just in case I needed to show a doctor what had nearly ended me.

Fifteen minutes later, now descending the hill and feeling rather pleased with my resilience, I experienced a second, even more alarming sensation.

A hot. Sharp. Stabbing pain.

This time… uncomfortably close to my groin.

There is a very particular kind of panic reserved for moments like this.

It turns out the bull ant had not, in fact, been as deceased as I had confidently assumed.

I learned two very important lessons about Australian bush survival that day.

Firstly, in a land of giant bull ants, open shoes are not so much footwear as an invitation.

Secondly—and this is critical—if you put a bull ant in your pocket near your crown jewels, you must be absolutely certain it is dead.

Memorable moments: Three times I nearly became part of the food chain

I love wildlife reserves. There’s something magical about them—vast landscapes, incredible animals… and the constant, underlying possibility that something might kill you. From the deserts of Botswana to the shower blocks of South Africa, these three encounters taught me that nature doesn't care about your dignity, your itinerary, or your rental car’s insurance excess.

The Botswana Scorpion Siege

At sixteen, I learned that Botswana doesn't just have sunsets; it has traps. When our tyre exploded in the pitch-black desert on the way to the Okavango, we had no choice but to pitch tents by the roadside. As we fumbled in the dark, someone casually remarked that something "soft and tickly" had just brushed his bare foot. I realized, with a sudden jolt of electricity, that I’d felt the same thing.

We flicked on the torches, and the ground didn't just move—it heaved. It was like the snake pit in Indiana Jones, only the snakes had been replaced by a carpet of scorpions the size of human hands, all tails up and ready for war.

We immediately initiated a frantic "military operation" to reclaim our territory, shaking scorpions out of tents and—to our horror—finding them already nestled in our sleeping bags. In the ensuing struggle, we suffered one very unfortunate casualty: a sting to a little toe.

The "surgery" that followed was pure frontier melodrama. With a twig between his teeth for the pain and two pretty girls holding his hands for moral support, his toe was sliced open with a sterilized blade. I’m still not sure what hurt him more—the venom or the fact that his life was in the hands of a group of teenagers with a campfire aesthetic and a very sharp knife.

The Mkuzi Naked Exodus

Years later, I was heading for a quiet shower at Mkuzi National Park. I was five metres from the block when the screaming started. Suddenly, naked bodies began flying out of windows and doors like a synchronized swimming routine gone horribly wrong.

The cause? A Black Mamba. It’s one thing to face a predator when you’re armed and booted; it’s quite another when you are at your most vulnerable, clutching a towel and a bar of soap, facing a snake that can outrun a professional sprinter.

The Kruger Standoff

Finally, there was the Elephant. With the Kruger gates closing in twenty minutes and a hefty fine looming, I found my path blocked by a massive bull elephant munching on a freshly toppled tree.

Every time I edged the car forward, he stopped eating and flared his ears—the elephant equivalent of a "Keep Off the Grass" sign backed by lethal force. It was a choice between a one-hour detour or a leap of faith. Reminding myself that fortune favours the brave (and the budget-conscious), I floored it.

As I sped past, I could swear he feigned a lunge with his tusks. I didn't look back to check. I was too busy calculating the insurance excess on a "tusk-shaped hole" in a rental car door.

I’ve since learned that several motorists have had their cars flipped by those very bulls. If I’d known that then, I probably would have just paid the fine—or moved into the park permanently.

Blue Mountains Long Weekend

A lovely long weekend with the hiking gang, hiking in The Blue Mountains, staying at The YHA.

Memories

• The drive up with Kate
• Raining at the start of our first hike, then stopping (much to our relief)
• The mist and cloud over the valley
• Getting to meet Liz's new man, Mark. He's wonderful!
• Martin coming up to join us for Saturday night and Sunday. Everyone loved him of course.
• A hilarious game of Trivial Pursuit
• A fun game of Taboo
• The delicious pizza at the local bakery
• Restaurant in Leura
• A veritable feast of soup and chicken and cheese on the last night
• Visiting The Botanical Garden at Mount Tomah in the sun on the last day.

First day hike (Katoomba)

Day 2:  Evan's Lookout to Pulpit Rock

Day 3:  Botanical Garden

Kirstenbosch

A lovely walk at Kirstenbosch in the late afternoon.

Highlights

• The light as the sun got lower
• A curious robin who came very close
• The beautiful statues
• Lady Ann Barnard's Pool which I always love
• Photographing the bees
• Getting a uber home

Hike through Shoalhaven Gorge

I spent a lovely weekend spent with South Coast Campers, hiking along the Shoalhaven Gorge.  I love hiking along rivers where you can swim anytime and this was an absolute beauty.


Highlights of the weekend included ...

• Lovely people as always on South Coast camping trips including the wonderful regulars; Kim, Chris, JC, Anne Marie.
• My first delicious swim in the river after our hot descent into the gorge from Longpoint Look Out.
• The amazing place where we had our first group swim - a huge expanse of water, so deep we couldn't touch the bottom.  The only drawback of this perfect spot was the boiling hot sand that scalded our feet!
• Doing several exciting river crossings. On the first day, many of us did it bare foot (ouch, the rocks hurt!) but on the second day, we wizened up and kept our boots on (much better!!)
• Our great camp site in the trees on soft grass by the river.
• Launching ourselves down a little stretch of rapid on Jimmy's lilo; a lot of fun!
• The relief of sitting my burning posterior in the river after sitting on the top of an ant nest and being bitten to smitherines!
• Great French movie recommendations from Rahima.
• A great night's sleep - I don't usually sleep so soundly in my coffin of a tent!
• Very wisely getting up early (6 am) to get an early start on Sunday morning to try to avoid the coming heat (35 degrees by noon!)
• The beautiful reflections in the river as we hiked.
• A last dunk in the river to cool ourselves down for the mega climb ahead.
• The elation at the end of the steep and exhausting 90 minute climb out of the gorge in the sweltering heat. 
• The stupendous view from Badgery Lookout, looking down on the big climb we'd done.
• A delicious (and very good value) meal at the pub in Marulan and feeling so dehydrated that I forsook delicious cider for copious glasses of orange juice.
• Laid back Ben, who looked like Ryan Gosling's younger brother.  Sorry, Jo, he's taken!
• Some great philosophical discussions with Howard.

All in all, another fantastic weekend.

The hike into the valley from Lonpoint Look Out

Arriving at the Shoalhaven River.  I was the first in!

Enjoying the river, eating our lunch.

The Spring flowers, still out in abundance

Our first group swim at a perfect swimming spot.

 

Hiking on to our camping spot.

Our first two river crossings, sore on the feet!!

What a great spot to camp!  Just don't sit on the ant nest!

Local wildlife. The blue dragon flies were exquisite, but I didn't manage to get a great photo of it unfortunately.

The section of river where we camped was fast flowing ..

... perfect for some fun in the rapids

Beautiful reflections in the river.

Crossing the river on the second day, wearing my boots this time.  

Kim wearing her yellow socks, Rahima crossing the river

The hot, steep climb out of the gorge.

The beautiful view from the top (Badgery Lookout)

Rahima, me, Sara