120. Honeymoons
The word honeymoon is taken for granted, like so many other words that have crept into our language. We understand it to be the time immediately after the wedding where newlyweds go away together to consummate their marriage and get to know each other without the distractions of their usual daily lives.
There are various references which attempt to explain the word ranging from the 1500s’ idea that the days after the wedding were the sweet honey moments which cemented the relationship over the period of the moon’s cycle of a month. The Swedes understood it to mean that mead, which is fermented honey, would be taken by the couple for a month (moon cycle) to improve the chances of conception.
Honeymoons in recent years vary according to the wealth of the couple or lack of it and time available to get away from their careers. Hero’s parents, Zacharias and Athena, took a six-month honeymoon travelling from Johannesburg to the coast, then taking a liner to Europe where they roamed across the continent from France, Spain, Germany, Austria and Greece, and eventually to the island of Cyprus, Zach’s birthplace and from where Athena’s parents originated.
My parents, Pat and Bob, also travelled to Europe from the UK. My dad bought a car from some dowager lady. It had a Chrysler body and a Daimler engine. He got it cheap because the old girl didn’t like the sound of the horn or something equally ridiculous. They also spent some weeks travelling around until their car was forced off the road on a mountain pass by an oncoming truck, ending up in a ditch with a broken suspension. The honeymoon was cut short. With both sets of parents living an affluent lifestyle (in both cases the wealth initially came from the bride’s side), I wondered, when it was our turn, how I could possibly compete.
In the event, apart from the lavish wedding at the five-star Luthje’s Langham Hotel, Hero’s parents also paid for our honeymoon. I’ve written about the wedding before, but to recap, it was a splendid affair with 350 of Hero’s closest friends and relatives and all five of mine! My dad rose to the occasion by learning a speech in Greek. He mispronounced some of the words causing great hilarity among many of the guests. I have to take my hat off to him. It was brave effort by a very English gentleman made even more difficult by the hot summer’s evening. He sweated somewhat and the monocle he used to read with kept slipping out of his eye socket.
After the splendor of the bridal suite at the hotel for the first night, we quietly drove away in my Volkswagen Beetle heading for the Drakensberg Mountains about 250 miles away. We spent the first night at the Sani Pass Hotel at the foothills of the spectacular Sani Pass which was one of the few routes into the mountainous kingdom of Lesotho. A unique feature of the pass was a number of hairpin bends which were so constricted that all vehicles had to maneuver back and forth to negotiate the bends. After discovering that only four-wheeled vehicles were allowed on the pass, we booked a ride with the Mokhotlong Motor Transport and took a nine-kilometer ride to the Lesotho border at an altitude of over 9,000 feet.
The drive was both exhilarating and at times terrifying. When our Land Rover reached one of the tight bends, the driver would have to back up towards the edge of the dirt road, with a drop of hundreds of feet or more if he reversed too far. He would then turn the vehicle a little further around the bend and on occasions have to reverse again before getting around the bend. I asked him whether any of their vehicles had gone over the edge. He grinned and shook his head. “That’s why we’ve still got the contract to handle all the transport up the pass. We don’t make mistakes!” I asked my new bride how she was doing. She gave a brave grin and responded that the driver’s words were reassuring – but it wasn’t exactly what she had dreamed about for her honeymoon. I think it was only then that I realized that my life “on the edge,” so to speak, which was normal for me, was not exactly what the average person experiences. To Hero’s great credit, she never really complained. Little did she know I had an even scarier adventure ahead for us!
After reaching the top of the pass, we drove a few miles and reached the border post between South Africa and Lesotho. The driver picked up some parcels and post from the diamond mine at Letseng, a short distance further. It is the highest diamond mine in the world at 10,000 feet; but visually it is the mountain pass that offers the stunning views as well as the scary ride.
The following day we drove along the edge of the Drakensberg range to another place I knew well, Cathedral Peak Hotel. In many ways it was a far more beautiful setting than that of Sani Pass Hotel. I had stayed there a few times before I met Hero and was determined to show her around. Previously I had climbed the two highest peaks in the area, both over 12,000 feet, but I hardly expected to haul my new wife up either of them. There was by my standards, however. a gentle little mountain close to the hotel with the provocative name of “Try me.”
Hero is not very good with heights, but I persuaded her that there was only one small patch on the trail to the top that could alarm her and promised that I would guide her carefully across it. Bravery is not so much tackling something tough that you are not afraid of but rather tackling something you are terrified of but do it anyway. So, I give full marks to Hero, who earned her name in spades that day. When we rounded a corner on the trail and she saw that the path narrowed down to about 18 inches wide, with a sheer drop on the one side and a cliff face on the other, she freaked out and asked to go back. I promised to stay close and hold her if needed. I reminded her that as an exceptional dancer she had really good balance on the feet. I did not insist that she do it, but I did point out that I hadn’t married her to lose her on my honeymoon. Basically, she cannot resist a challenge and, despite her terror, she crept across the narrow part and had a big win by achieving it.
There was one aspect of the aftermath of our little expedition that mortified her. The following morning after a good dinner and long sleep, she woke up mentally refreshed but physically her legs and body had practically seized up. We went down to breakfast and Hero hobbled, red-faced, to our table. I couldn’t understand why she was so embarrassed until she pointed out that as a honeymoon couple, no doubt the other guests would think that her stiffness came from another kind of excessive nocturnal activity! Frankly, at a hotel famous for its hikes and climbs, I doubted if it would cross anyone’s mind.
A couple of days later we carried on down to the city of Durban, the largest port in southern Africa and renowned for its glorious beaches. In line with my philosophy of living on the edge, we had arranged to spend a few days with my close friends Dennis and Devi Bughwan, who owned a large and ultra-modern house right on the border between the designated up-market white suburb of the Berea and the Indian area adjoining it – courtesy of the Apartheid laws. Legally there was no way we could stay with the Bughwans without contravening the law, but in practice it was unlikely that anyone would report us. This was the sort of “in your face” thing that delighted Hero’s sense, ignoring ridiculous laws. She was completely unconcerned about the risk, but I wondered how my new in-laws would react if we spent the latter part of our honeymoon in jail!
It all worked out fine, except for an uneasy moment when Dennis, Devi, their three children, a couple of cousins, Hero and I went for a walk along a beach road after dinner. Hero had chosen to wear a sari, which well suited her Mediterranean looks. We walked along hand-in-hand enjoying the cool evening breeze from the sea and the scents of summer flowers and bushes. Suddenly a police car drove up behind us. I dropped Hero’s hand like a hot brick and moved across to chat to Dennis. Staying with people of color was one thing but having relations with a person of color called for a minimum of nine months’ prison under the infamous “Immorality Act.” The police drove past without slowing down.
The final act in our honeymoon adventure came while driving back to Johannesburg. Dennis had given us, from memory, a modified carburetor for the Beetle, a new invention in the 1960s, which he fitted into the car for us. It boosted the power of my little car, and I was delighted – until our engine blew up just outside Ladysmith, less than halfway to Johannesburg. So our honeymoon ended rather forlornly with a train trip home and a broken Beetle. Come to think of it, I was just emulating my dad whose honeymoon also ended with a wrecked motorcar. Other than that, Hero and I agreed that we had had a fabulous time, as I wondered whether I should take Hero skydiving for our first wedding anniversary. Joke!
Today in our eighties we’re content to confine our adventures to such things as being part of the ExoBrain team, which is far less hazardous to life and limb and far, far more rewarding!!!
An ExoTech Ltd shareholder, Chris is currently authoring two of the four books to be published the day ExoBrain launches and has helped to create ExoBrain’s introductory video to the Confidential Technical Briefing. Chris has spent his working life in the film and television industry, starting with BBC Television in London, then ATV in Birmingham becoming, at the time, the youngest Studio Manager in Britain.
Later, in South Africa, he wrote and directed film and TV commercials, having four South African entries at the Cannes Advertising Festival. After a number of years of writing and directing or producing documentaries (eight international awards) and corporate videos, he concentrated on writing feature film screenplays (five screened) and television series (seven screened). He has a novel, ”Pursuit of Treachery,” with a literary agent and is currently obtaining finance for an action adventure feature film he has written and is co-producing. He is a published poet and has given many readings.