TRAVEL Cradle of Humankind
The trusty old Land Rover, resplendent in pastel green, shuttled me onto the farm that Friday morning. I'd left my car and civilisation behind at the Nirox Sculpture Park. It was a marvellous feeling, unshackling from the dictates of a daily routine that felt ill-equipped to serve any further good, juxtaposed with the unexpected melodic ensemble of creaks and groans. The 10-minute drive offered space for reflection, something I would later learn would become a regular feature of my stay at Farmhouse 58 in the Cradle of Humankind.
The winds of change were gathering momentum in my life, nagging little clues being dropped at indeterminable intervals as my days played out. While travelling and exploring are my passions, the pursuit thereof does not aA never-ending array of deadlines, partaking in some of the best gastronomic offerings available (and the fruits of the vine that pair so well with them) and my dislike for exercise all jumbled up to serve what some would call a ticking time bomb.
