Blue sky illusions

From Mpumalanga province and it's sweltering bushveld to subtropical but drought-stricken KwaZulu-Natal and Durban.

Durban. Childhood-friendly and childhood-embracing Durban.

For a conference on the very edge of the Indian Ocean, and a gobsmacking view from the 11th floor of a hotel that was always on my horizon as a kid, but seemed impossibly accessible.

Friendly, expansive people. If that's what's called 'provincials', then I'm much happier in the provinces, and with them.

Finished the 'paper; with an hour and a half to go before presenting it; I'm no longer one for stress, not even when it's self-perpetuated. I'm not that gung-ho student working through the night on caffeine or booze anymore, thankfully.

Then, but only then, could I relax, walking kilometres along the beachfront, on golden sea sand and in the pleasant water of this ocean, which is so different to the ocean I tentatively experience at home: icy, frigid and reeking of plankton and seaweed.

Here not only is the air different and laden with subtropical exotics but is reminiscent of growing up barefoot, with bubblegum and ice cream splattered on the scorching tarmac, seagull shit too, in what was a (seemingly) safe and secure world. For sum. Most definitely not for all.

Sunshine. Seagulls. Summer. Sea and sand.

Long walks down going nowhere piers and (seemingly) endless horizons.

Colour blue.

No thoughts of the climate crisis, sharks, SPF50, Isis or Trump.

Just like when we were kids.