Place

I’m going to try and write this without sounding like a brochure.

There’s this place that I consider my place and that I consider myself belonging to. It's such a lovely place, that thousands of people have shared my sense of belonging over the years. It has so many stigmas attached to it and is often surrounded by controversy, but to me it is simply my favourite place in the whole world.

Stellenbosch.

There are so many reasons why I love this town. I love how the green oak trees seem to envelop you in the summer. I love how, when it rains, everything seems illuminated. I love the vast selection of coffee shops, where the waiters don’t hate you for ordering drinks only. I love the surreal blue backdrop of mountains, with endless neat rows of vineyards creeping over the hills.

I love Dorp Street, Victoria Street, the Botanical Gardens, Café Creme, The Birdcage gift store, Stellenbosch Moedergemeente church, Jonkershoek, the tiny Exclusive Books store in Andringa Street, The Apprentice restaurant, Eikestad Mall’s Ster-Kinekor, Aandklas, The Brazen Head, Hillcrest Berry Farm, The Deli-cat-essen restaurant at Tokara Wine Estate, my parent’s house in Bosman Street, the Arcade Fire-like feeling I get when I drive by the school I went to, my student res or an old friend’s house where we used to hang out.

Having lived outside Stellenbosch for four years now, I’m starting to feel like an unfaithful wife who has abandoned her one true love. As is the case with most twenty-something Stellenbosch locals, my world started to feel awfully small. I said earlier that Stellenbosch belongs to me. That’s because Stellenbosch let’s you own him. He lets you in completely, sharing every nook and cranny, every interesting shop, every new restaurant, every walking trail, every street, and every dirty secret.

The problem is that after a while, you get tired of having nothing left to discover. So, bored housewife that I was, I ran off to an exciting new lover - Cape Town.

The Joburgers are probably rolling their eyes at this point. As one of my lecturers eloquently remarked, “Cape Town is a town in love with the idea of a city.” Fair enough. Let’s call Cape Town a town, then. It doesn't change the fact that it’s a damn exciting place to live. Life in this tiny coastal metropolis is large, colourful and never, ever boring. There’s always one more place you haven’t been to or one more shortcut you never knew you could take home. The people are a diverse bunch of hipsters, yuppies, creatives, executives and bums that challenge your world view on a daily basis, even if a lot of them leave you shaking your head in annoyance.

Much as I love Cape Town, though, I cannot claim ownership. Yes, I do call myself a Cape Tonian now, but it is not my city. I know this because of the way I feel every time I return to that other town that has always taken me back with open arms. As soon as I pass the Durbanville turnoff on the N1, and see Simonsberg, Botmanskop, the Pieke and Stellenbosch Mountain in the distance, the fog clears from my fatigued mind, and I start to feel calmness spread through my body. And as soon as I turn right at the Klipheuwel/Stellenbosch turnoff and the road becomes lined with vineyards and my beloved mountains (like spectators at a bicycle race cheering me on through the last stretch) I know, I realise it utterly and completely:

I am home.

Travellers well worth their salt might not agree with this sentiment, but after a few travels of my own, and despite loving discovering new places, my sincere love for Stellenbosch has lead me to believe that each of us has only one place we can truly call home. I say this while living a blissfully happy life 40 minutes away from the place I call home.

Because home isn't necessarily where you’re happiest, or where your things or even your people are. It is – as the old cliché goes – where your heart is. And even though I love nothing quite as much as travelling, my heart is definitely a home body.

My heart lives in Stellenbosch.

I can imagine that some who read this might feel sad for me, but don’t worry. I’m quite good at burrowing and chiselling out a lovely living space for myself wherever I go. I am always happy just to have my own beautiful space, be with people I love and explore new places.

I’m also happy to know that if life gets too hectic and I need to remember who I am, I can always, always go home.My heart will be waiting there with all the answers I already have.

I leave you with this poem by a fellow Stellenboscher, Philip Nel:

Oor akkerdrome rys
geklimde berge
waar my spore tussen fynbos lê
waarna ek my lewe lank verlang
seun
wat wou uitwyk
ver weg
om sy moeilike lekker jare
met iets beters te vervang
nou kruip my oudste eikewortels
onkeerbaar terug 
na fietse sonder modderskerms
donker winteroggende
met dae lange motreën
en dan
op ’n windstil dag
trek die Pieke oop
teen helder blou
vergewende vergetende nostalgie
die witste witste sneeu

Above oak dreams rise

climbed mountains

where my footprints lie among fynbos

that I long for all my life

son

who wanted to go

far away

to replace his difficult fun years

with something better

now my oldest oak roots

inevitably creep back

to bicycles without mud guards

dark winter mornings

with endless days of drizzle

and then

on a windless day

the Pieke appear

against bright blue

forgiving forgetting nostalgia

the whitest whitest snow