Happy Thanksgiving to all our dear friends and family in the US!!
Knysna is a totally charming, seaside town with something for everyone. Eating, shopping, hiking, boating, sightseeing, zip lining, kloofing - kloofing? A kloof is a high, rocky outcropping, and one of the more popular 'extreme' sports is abseiling down a kloof. (The same adrenelin junkies who do this also dive off the highest bungee jump in the world.)
We've had unseasonably cold and wet weather while here and scrambled out as soon as the sun made an appearance. One of our first destinations - the Knysna Heads, a picture postcard setting.
The open sea between the two 'heads' is a very perilous passage; nonetheless, a local businessman and timber baron, George Rex, persuaded the Crown that it should be declared an official port in the late 1700's, all the better to export the seemingly endless supply of gorgeous timber in the nearby virgin forest.
And George Rex and Knysna are inextricably linked and a bit of a mystery. Is George Rex, the illegitimate son of an English king, or is George Rex (sometimes spelled 'Rix'), simply the clever son of a London distiller who was in the right place at the right time and, as a result, became incredibly successful? Whichever way you lean, George Rex is generally given credit for setting the stage for today's Knysna.
Legend . . . George Rex's purported papa was George III; his mama a commoner and a Quaker named Hannah Lightfoot. Needless to say, this union and the three children of same didn't go over well at court. Their marriage was annulled, and George III was subsequently married off to some European princess. His children by Hannah were reportedly pensioned off, never to be heard from again. The End. Not quite.
Their oldest child, George Rex, although never acknowledged as having any royal blood, was somehow appointed to a lovely sinecure in the Cape Colony - of which Knysna is a distant part - and pensioned off at the princely sum of 1,000 British pounds a year! What we do know, from contemporaneous accounts, is that old George's arrival in Knysna was accompanied with more pomp and circumstance and carriages and 'stuff' than anyone in this remote corner of the world had ever seen. He never (re)married, had four children by a local black woman and, after her death, had eleven more children by one of her daughters. Incredibly, despite all these offspring, not one survived to carry on the family name. On his deathbed, George Rex is reputed to have said 'Never marry. Never declare any legitimate heirs.'
Whatever the truth is, George Rex put Knysna on the map for all time, and it is now one of the 'must see' places on the Garden Route. It's easy to see why. The town is chock-a-block full of restaurants, nifty little shops, waterfront dining options, and drop dead views.
We're standing on the East Head; opposite us a national park, accessible only by ferry and tram (you can just make out the ribbon of track in the distance). An all-day excursion is a ferry to the park, being hauled up the hill by tram, and then hiking down to be retrieved by the ferry. Watching these treacherous currents, we all marvel that any ship was able to make it into the calm waters of the Knysna Lagoon. A lot of them didn't, including the very first one which had to be towed and beached to clear the passage. We hike down for an up close look at the harbor entrance. Impressive!
And then back to the waterfront for something to eat and drink!
I think Chicago was the second most distant point from the Knysna waterfront (more than halfway around the globe!).
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We're here on 'Remembrance Sunday' which for you non-Brits is another time to celebrate 'Poppy Day', the official commemoration of the lives lost during World War I. Officially, Poppy Day is recognized on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month; here in south Africa it's been moved a bit to Sunday, November 13th. Tim and I have had our 'God' time at the local Catholic Church and are due to meet Debbie and Paul downtown. Walking down the main drag, we see that it's been cordoned off, and there's not a vehicle in sight. When we ask the local gendarmes what's happening, we are convinced their response is 'We're clearing the streets of squatters or Scottish.' Huh?
It turns out we are headed right for the Remembrance Day ceremony complete with a local marching band and a group of young soldiers.
Following a short ceremony and the requisite mournful bagpipers, the marching band and troops paraded smartly up and down the main street (which was devoid of squatters and Scottish), and the ceremony was complete.
Tomorrow we're off to Oudsthoorn, the ostrich capital of South Africa!
Knysna is a totally charming, seaside town with something for everyone. Eating, shopping, hiking, boating, sightseeing, zip lining, kloofing - kloofing? A kloof is a high, rocky outcropping, and one of the more popular 'extreme' sports is abseiling down a kloof. (The same adrenelin junkies who do this also dive off the highest bungee jump in the world.)
We've had unseasonably cold and wet weather while here and scrambled out as soon as the sun made an appearance. One of our first destinations - the Knysna Heads, a picture postcard setting.
The open sea between the two 'heads' is a very perilous passage; nonetheless, a local businessman and timber baron, George Rex, persuaded the Crown that it should be declared an official port in the late 1700's, all the better to export the seemingly endless supply of gorgeous timber in the nearby virgin forest.
And George Rex and Knysna are inextricably linked and a bit of a mystery. Is George Rex, the illegitimate son of an English king, or is George Rex (sometimes spelled 'Rix'), simply the clever son of a London distiller who was in the right place at the right time and, as a result, became incredibly successful? Whichever way you lean, George Rex is generally given credit for setting the stage for today's Knysna.
Legend . . . George Rex's purported papa was George III; his mama a commoner and a Quaker named Hannah Lightfoot. Needless to say, this union and the three children of same didn't go over well at court. Their marriage was annulled, and George III was subsequently married off to some European princess. His children by Hannah were reportedly pensioned off, never to be heard from again. The End. Not quite.
Their oldest child, George Rex, although never acknowledged as having any royal blood, was somehow appointed to a lovely sinecure in the Cape Colony - of which Knysna is a distant part - and pensioned off at the princely sum of 1,000 British pounds a year! What we do know, from contemporaneous accounts, is that old George's arrival in Knysna was accompanied with more pomp and circumstance and carriages and 'stuff' than anyone in this remote corner of the world had ever seen. He never (re)married, had four children by a local black woman and, after her death, had eleven more children by one of her daughters. Incredibly, despite all these offspring, not one survived to carry on the family name. On his deathbed, George Rex is reputed to have said 'Never marry. Never declare any legitimate heirs.'
Whatever the truth is, George Rex put Knysna on the map for all time, and it is now one of the 'must see' places on the Garden Route. It's easy to see why. The town is chock-a-block full of restaurants, nifty little shops, waterfront dining options, and drop dead views.
We're standing on the East Head; opposite us a national park, accessible only by ferry and tram (you can just make out the ribbon of track in the distance). An all-day excursion is a ferry to the park, being hauled up the hill by tram, and then hiking down to be retrieved by the ferry. Watching these treacherous currents, we all marvel that any ship was able to make it into the calm waters of the Knysna Lagoon. A lot of them didn't, including the very first one which had to be towed and beached to clear the passage. We hike down for an up close look at the harbor entrance. Impressive!
And then back to the waterfront for something to eat and drink!
I think Chicago was the second most distant point from the Knysna waterfront (more than halfway around the globe!).
-------------------------------------------------
We're here on 'Remembrance Sunday' which for you non-Brits is another time to celebrate 'Poppy Day', the official commemoration of the lives lost during World War I. Officially, Poppy Day is recognized on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month; here in south Africa it's been moved a bit to Sunday, November 13th. Tim and I have had our 'God' time at the local Catholic Church and are due to meet Debbie and Paul downtown. Walking down the main drag, we see that it's been cordoned off, and there's not a vehicle in sight. When we ask the local gendarmes what's happening, we are convinced their response is 'We're clearing the streets of squatters or Scottish.' Huh?
It turns out we are headed right for the Remembrance Day ceremony complete with a local marching band and a group of young soldiers.
Following a short ceremony and the requisite mournful bagpipers, the marching band and troops paraded smartly up and down the main street (which was devoid of squatters and Scottish), and the ceremony was complete.
Tomorrow we're off to Oudsthoorn, the ostrich capital of South Africa!
