More than fifteen years ago my sister and I were doing one of the things that we did - holidaying by staying with friends and acquaintances. Some might call it freeloading, but I like to think of it as taking people at their word.
One incredibly rainy afternoon we found ourselves near lake Geneva with no bed. I tried to explain what we were after in a hostely type place: "zvei" "zimmer". I do not know to this day whether they did not have a room for two or if I was in fact asking if the president had abdicated. We ended up sitting in Kate's Ford Fiesta outside a flash hotel in the thundering rain as we contemplated sleeping in the car. Then Kate suggested we go crazy and have one night in the hotel. Both.... careful with money by nature, this was a truly radical suggestion, and I was still very much on a student budget. But the rain did not let up and there was no way that my sister was going to traipse around in it with her German language deficit, more profound even than mine, to find a bed, and so I agreed.
We had a great night: Kate went down the road for cheap takeaway and brought it back to the hotel where I was running a bubble bath. We giggled and skipped round our room, with it's audibly cleaned sheets and MTV on the telly and legion little bottles of bathroom joy.
Although she was not willing to look a fool by clearly being very bad at German, so bad that she couldn't bring herself to roll out even a word or two from my phrase book, she had no shame when it came to breakfast pilfering. I know we were not the first and will not be the last to live like this, but if we did ever stay anywhere with a buffet, Kate would insist on our filling our pockets with bread rolls primarily, but with whatever might just still be edible at until lunchtime. I was never as easy with it as she was, I have a terrible fear of getting into trouble, but she would merrily take plenty. While a student for a long time she had lived on jam sandwiches at lunchtime, made from breakfast materials from her hall of residence.
Today I'm sitting on the second floor of our Durban hotel looking out at the ocean with Martin and Jacques. Staff are bringing me tea, if I so desire, someone will toast me toast and another person will make me an omelette from a dizzying array of ingredients right in front of my amazed face. It would seem that I have arrived. Of course I overeat and when Martin asks what I would like to do with my day - obviously we have to tech the show and I have to perform it later - but what else I'd like to do with my day, I am in no doubt that I want to go and spend some quality time with Indian Ocean.
But first we have to tech the show. We meet Lloyd in the hotel lobby, he is here with a Zimbabwean company, Zim being the other country to provide international work. He's waiting for a lift, so we take him to the theatre and do the tech. It's a lovely place, right by the sea and Martin is very pleased with the lights. We are both a bit concerned, though, about the air conditioning. It is a sight to see, Martin's face, when the technician tells us it's not the air con, it's the fan from the restaurant below. It's loud. It's really loud. I am going to be using plenty of voice for this show. Everyone at the theatre is so lovely, but I am longing to get onto the beach and then get on with some serious siesta time - I'm still very tired.
I was last in Durban 16 years ago with my friend Caroline. It was then I discovered that you don't want to go swimming in Durban in a bikini. The sea is vicious, and the gaps where you are actually allowed to swim are a few metres wide, but I am determined. It's all a bit of a shock, to be honest, it's very humid, the sand is so hot even my goaty-leathery hooves cannot handle it, and the sea is even noisier now we are nearer to it. I get into the water and have a fabulous wrestle with it anyway, then lie on the beach.
I'm really rather stunned to be here at all, not even 48 hours from London with it's fresh covering of snow. I feel grey and exhausted and am struggling with the idea of doing the show in South Africa, a feeling I have been trying to suppress for a while. We've been planning this trip for ages, but I really am here. And I really am so stressed I cannot think how I will physically be able to perform tonight. But help is at hand, Jacques, who is here to film the documentary of the show as it tours South Africa, also happens to be trained in massage. And so by lunchtime my day goes from really quite odd to thoroughly bizarre as I lie on the beach while Jacques tries to get some of the last 40 years - and the last two months - out of my muscles.
No comments:
Post a Comment