Nik Rabinowitz's best holiday ever? His entire life before kids
Describing yourself as 'a traveller' in 2025 is like putting 'photographer' in your LinkedIn bio after you bought an iPhone, although I've been to six continents, so maybe I can. Come to think of it, I'm one continent away from the full box set. Hopefully my friend Riaan Manser invites me to Antarctica because I'm not willingly paying 200k to freeze my arse off.
Three words that describe my travel personality: adventurey, outdoorsy, off-the-beaten-tracky.
I grew up on a farm in Cape Town and for the holidays we'd often camp on the farm Boontjieskloof (subsequently gentrified to Bushmanskloof) in the Agter-Pakuis Cederberg mountains. I remember campfires, condensed milk, moerkoffie, pothole swimming, rock-art hunting, sleeping under 500-million-year-old rock overhangs, watching sparks float up towards stars ... and the time my dad dropped the matza balls.
My first trip abroad was to Sea Point. From Constantia. To see my Great Aunt Sarah. My mom packed me a little suitcase full of matchbox cars, my parents loaded the car full of supplies and padkos and off we went.
My first overseas trip was to the UK on a school cricket tour. I remember my teammate 'Festicles' buying a magazine full of images unlike anything we'd seen in Scope. Our coach Christoffel arrived looking like he'd wrestled a brewery and lost. And we drank Bristol Exhibition cider like it was apple juice — until Dovvi vomited all over our host family's house. 'Cultural exchange' sometimes just means learning how to apologise in a foreign language while your parents work out whether travel insurance covers diplomatic embarrassment caused by fermented fruit products.
My most remote destination was Cordillera Blanca in Peru. I learnt that sharing a tent with Jon-Jon-Keegan at 5,000m while one of you has violent vomiting and diarrhoea is a real test — especially with only Spanish-speaking donkeys for moral support. My most difficult was Kilimanjaro at -10°C, with acute pulmonary oedema. And there's nothing cute about it.
I'm not an adventurous eater on holiday. Though I did eat flambéed pigeon shin in Peru, followed by Arequipan guinea pig. It was either that or Alpaca testicles.
Best place for a night out? Upington. There's a club called Plan B; 60% of the town enjoys being tied up. They don't have a Plan A. Also Amsterdam — bikes, dykes and Hollandse Nieuwe Haring [young herring, a traditional Dutch delicacy].
One thing I always do on holiday is try to disappear in the morning to 'explore' — that is have a midlife crisis. Then attempt the 'Great Holiday Seduction' on my wife, usually met with the enthusiasm of someone who's been applying sunscreen to toddlers all day.
When travelling, I am a sucker for malaria. Got it in Malawi. Didn't die, so that was a good outcome. Also, I once dug my boss a long drop in Mozambique. That's the day you become a man.
Best holiday ever? A mokoro safari in the Okavango. Also backpacking through Mozambique before it was cleared of landmines. I once survived a cyclone and clubbed a fish like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, except with more guilt.
Most relaxing destination? Churchhaven, on Langebaan Lagoon in the West Coast National Park. You rent a house for the price of a small European nation, but it reminds you what 'free' feels like.
Tourist attractions that surprised me? Bredasdorp: window view of a brick wall. Malindi, Kenya: too Italian — rather just go to Italy.
Must-see before you die? West Point, Liberia. Because you probably will. Kandahar, Afghanistan — terrifying but beautiful mountains.
Favourite museum? Cradle of Humankind. Nothing makes you feel more evolved than seeing your ancient grandmother in a glass box while someone explains evolution like it's Survivor.
Favourite hotel? The Drake, Toronto. Cool vibe. Theatre. And every room has a book titled God is Very Disappointed in You. Inspirational.
What I think when I see South Africans abroad? 'I hope they talk smack about me in Afrikaans.'
Bucket-list destinations? North Korea; Lithuania (grandfather's expropriated house, ideally with EFF support); the NG Kerk in Comodoro Rivadavia, Patagonia; the Great Wall of China — for my 50th, with my favourite chinas.
Places I'd return to? Lamu Island, Kenya; Hydra Island, Greece; Delta Camp, Okavango; Joshua Tree, California; the Transkei's Wild Coast — it's mystical and has a wall with a hole in it.
Never again? Holocaust memorial in Riga, Latvia. Cathartic, but not for the faint-hearted. Also, Europe. So many languages. €8 sandwiches. You won't like it. Trust me.
Best holiday ever? My entire life before I had kids.
Worst hotel? Formula 3 in Nairobi. They gave us flip-flops for the bathroom.
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TimesLIVE
a day ago
- TimesLIVE
Nik Rabinowitz's best holiday ever? His entire life before kids
Hi, I'm Nik. I'm a hunter-gatherer, Xhosa-light, forest-farm boy, raised on the mean, green streets of Constantia, Cape Town. I went to a Waldorf school, where I learnt to sew felt elephants and crochet my own underwear. My new show Geriatric Millennial is very funny. How do I know that? I checked with multiple audiences that didn't include my mother. Describing yourself as 'a traveller' in 2025 is like putting 'photographer' in your LinkedIn bio after you bought an iPhone, although I've been to six continents, so maybe I can. Come to think of it, I'm one continent away from the full box set. Hopefully my friend Riaan Manser invites me to Antarctica because I'm not willingly paying 200k to freeze my arse off. Three words that describe my travel personality: adventurey, outdoorsy, off-the-beaten-tracky. I grew up on a farm in Cape Town and for the holidays we'd often camp on the farm Boontjieskloof (subsequently gentrified to Bushmanskloof) in the Agter-Pakuis Cederberg mountains. I remember campfires, condensed milk, moerkoffie, pothole swimming, rock-art hunting, sleeping under 500-million-year-old rock overhangs, watching sparks float up towards stars ... and the time my dad dropped the matza balls. My first trip abroad was to Sea Point. From Constantia. To see my Great Aunt Sarah. My mom packed me a little suitcase full of matchbox cars, my parents loaded the car full of supplies and padkos and off we went. My first overseas trip was to the UK on a school cricket tour. I remember my teammate 'Festicles' buying a magazine full of images unlike anything we'd seen in Scope. Our coach Christoffel arrived looking like he'd wrestled a brewery and lost. And we drank Bristol Exhibition cider like it was apple juice — until Dovvi vomited all over our host family's house. 'Cultural exchange' sometimes just means learning how to apologise in a foreign language while your parents work out whether travel insurance covers diplomatic embarrassment caused by fermented fruit products. My most remote destination was Cordillera Blanca in Peru. I learnt that sharing a tent with Jon-Jon-Keegan at 5,000m while one of you has violent vomiting and diarrhoea is a real test — especially with only Spanish-speaking donkeys for moral support. My most difficult was Kilimanjaro at -10°C, with acute pulmonary oedema. And there's nothing cute about it. I'm not an adventurous eater on holiday. Though I did eat flambéed pigeon shin in Peru, followed by Arequipan guinea pig. It was either that or Alpaca testicles. Best place for a night out? Upington. There's a club called Plan B; 60% of the town enjoys being tied up. They don't have a Plan A. Also Amsterdam — bikes, dykes and Hollandse Nieuwe Haring [young herring, a traditional Dutch delicacy]. One thing I always do on holiday is try to disappear in the morning to 'explore' — that is have a midlife crisis. Then attempt the 'Great Holiday Seduction' on my wife, usually met with the enthusiasm of someone who's been applying sunscreen to toddlers all day. When travelling, I am a sucker for malaria. Got it in Malawi. Didn't die, so that was a good outcome. Also, I once dug my boss a long drop in Mozambique. That's the day you become a man. Best holiday ever? A mokoro safari in the Okavango. Also backpacking through Mozambique before it was cleared of landmines. I once survived a cyclone and clubbed a fish like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, except with more guilt. Most relaxing destination? Churchhaven, on Langebaan Lagoon in the West Coast National Park. You rent a house for the price of a small European nation, but it reminds you what 'free' feels like. Tourist attractions that surprised me? Bredasdorp: window view of a brick wall. Malindi, Kenya: too Italian — rather just go to Italy. Must-see before you die? West Point, Liberia. Because you probably will. Kandahar, Afghanistan — terrifying but beautiful mountains. Favourite museum? Cradle of Humankind. Nothing makes you feel more evolved than seeing your ancient grandmother in a glass box while someone explains evolution like it's Survivor. Favourite hotel? The Drake, Toronto. Cool vibe. Theatre. And every room has a book titled God is Very Disappointed in You. Inspirational. What I think when I see South Africans abroad? 'I hope they talk smack about me in Afrikaans.' Bucket-list destinations? North Korea; Lithuania (grandfather's expropriated house, ideally with EFF support); the NG Kerk in Comodoro Rivadavia, Patagonia; the Great Wall of China — for my 50th, with my favourite chinas. Places I'd return to? Lamu Island, Kenya; Hydra Island, Greece; Delta Camp, Okavango; Joshua Tree, California; the Transkei's Wild Coast — it's mystical and has a wall with a hole in it. Never again? Holocaust memorial in Riga, Latvia. Cathartic, but not for the faint-hearted. Also, Europe. So many languages. €8 sandwiches. You won't like it. Trust me. Best holiday ever? My entire life before I had kids. Worst hotel? Formula 3 in Nairobi. They gave us flip-flops for the bathroom.
TimesLIVE
a day ago
- TimesLIVE
'When Irish Eyes Are Not Smiling' by Anne Lapedus Brest
About the book Anne Lapedus Brest writes with exquisite empathy for herself and others as she relives her carefree life growing up in Ireland. She retells the anguish of her dad's ophthalmologist offices burning down and of children at her school telling her her parents had died in the fire. Her dad's office had burnt down but her parents were alive. This taunting triggered a deep-seated anxiety in Brest. Anne emigrated to South Africa at the age of 14 during the height of apartheid and she found the laws incomprehensible. She writes about starting over, dealing with a school bully, her dad's depression and untimely death, her friendships and family and falling in love for the first time. EXTRACT THE SOUTH AFRICAN LIFE Eunice belonged to her own church called 'Apostolic' and would go off every Sunday in a huge blue cloak with a big white cross stitched onto the back of it. Sometimes she had her church meetings in her room, and she would sing with her friends. Ma would send in Lecol and sandwiches and biscuits, Robert and I would sit by the back door listening to them singing, enthralled. Their rich and melodious voices would rise and fall, their harmonies were something so beautiful, I had not heard anything like it before, and the men have rich beautiful deep voices, and the women have strong clear voices all blending so beautifully together. Eunice made our school lunches, polished our shoes, did the cooking, and washed the windows. We knew she had two small children from a little framed photograph in her bedroom, but other than that we knew so little about her. When Ma would go to the OK Bazaars to buy food, Eunice would never mention that sugar was finished, as long as there was still one tea spoon of sugar in the jar - that meant the sugar was not finished. It took us years to get used to that. Our ironing lady was a Xhosa named Catherine. She came from the Transkei in the Cape. 'You give-eh me schooleh dress-eh, and me, I iron-eh for you'. African people are not allowed to be in the cities unless they are working. There is a 'curfew' for them to be off the streets at a certain time. They have to have a 'Pass' to show they are working for an employer. Eunice has a Passbook, and she calls it a 'Dompas' but at that time I wasn't yet aware what it meant nor the horrors associated with Africans not having their Passbook on their person at all times. Our belongings had arrived from Ireland in a 'lift', a few months after we moved into Becker Street. Huge crates made of rough wood, and all of us help with the unpacking. Ma says we keep them as something to sit on, as we had absolutely no furniture at all. They were not comfortable and we got splinters from them, but Ma said it wouldn't be for long. Just until Da got on his feet. Da had a great job at Selwyn Super, an optical shop in the Noord Street station. He loved it, went in every morning without fail, he was in great form all the time, and he and Ma feverishly wrote letters to the family telling them everything about our new lives. Ma lands herself a wonderful job with 'Springbok Safaris' in Eloff Street corner Commissioner, working for Bill Olds, the owner, and she learns how to handle tours and the tourists. She was very good and very efficient and Mr. Olds gives her an increase before she even gets her first salary cheque. She comes home with brochures and pamphlets of wonderful places around South Africa, and beyond, the Garden Route, Durban, The Eastern Transvaal, and outside South Africa, Rhodesia and the Victoria Falls, Swaziland, Basutoland, South West Africa. The Victoria Falls look spectacular. The 'new life' Da promised us, was really great. Da bought us new furniture, slowly but surely. A lovely yellow melamine kitchen table and chairs to match the melamine cupboards in our kitchen. Some armchairs for the front room, or lounge as they call it here. The house is taking shape, lovely bedspreads now on our beds and our ornaments are on the mantelpiece, and pictures are up on the walls. I love my bedroom. I have a small record player in it and I have started buying records with pocket money Da gives me. The first few months had been hard, we had to make do, but now our little house is perfect. Jenny comes home with me one day after school. I tell her about the boat trip over, and how hard it was to leave Dublin, and all the time she is saying 'Shame, Annie-get-your-Gun, shame hey?' She tells me her Mom works as a hairdresser and sometimes she has to stay very late at work, or even go away to work in hair salons out of Johannesburg, and how hard she has to work to keep their little family going now that they are all living together again as a family. And her Mom being sick and in and out of hospital a lot of the time it is so hard for the family. She said that the twins had hardly known the older children by the time they had all moved from various family homes in Bertrams back into their new home in Bellevue East. 'But what is actually wrong with your Mom, Jenny, is it her heart?' I asked her one day. 'No it isn't, Annie, it's not her heart.' She didn't say more, and I didn't ask ~ but I did want to know, because whatever it was, it still kept Jenny and Adelaide away from school. Sometimes it was a day, sometimes more. Jenny and I love tanning. We spend weekends at the Yeoville Baths together. We can talk and talk for hours, or we can just lie reading our books and not talk at all. Sometimes we lie on our backs and listen to the music on peoples' transistor radios. One day some girl there playfully teased me and says that I must be using 'Tanorama' which was a kind of fake-tan girls used, as my legs were so brown. I started to laugh but Jenny almost attacked them. She was furious. 'Don't you dare say anything about my friend's tan, hey?' They backed off immediately and I asked her what that was all about, as I had been flattered by their assumption, it meant I had a good tan. 'I suppose so, Annie-Get-Your-Gun, you right, hey, but if she had said that to me, I would have gone mad, but it's different for you.' I wasn't sure why it was different, but I kept quiet. People are still asking me how I can be Irish and Jewish. 'How can you be Jewish if you come from Ireland?' 'T never heard of an Irish Jew.' 'Have you not?' My answer was always the same. 'Well, just because you haven't heard of Irish Jews, doesn't mean that they don't exist, poephol!' I loved throwing in that word, and though it is a playful insult, they laughed when I said it, and regarded me as one of them. Some of the 'in' girls would also ask me about Ireland, and if we have cars there or if we went by horse and cart. But they asked me in fun, not like Helena used to do, and now it didn't upset me at all, I loved to talk to them about Ireland. I missed Ireland, and longed for the day I could go back and visit everyone again. But the longer I was in South Africa, the further away Ireland started to become. It was like another life. As though a million light years were in between the time we left and now. But Pop and Granma were in special places in my heart, and my soul. I missed them and little Fluffy terribly.
Daily Maverick
2 days ago
- Daily Maverick
Dine like Madiba: Culture and cuisine in the shoes of two great men
Two great men? The other man is my dad, my hero, but of course the shoes we are talking about in this story were worn by one great man: Nelson Mandela, with whom my dad happens to share a birthday. Last Sunday, we dined like Madiba on a very special day in our lives. My family's dining room table in our home in Jersey City is not only reserved for plates and utensils, but for my father's copy of Long Walk to Freedom. For as long as I can remember, the historical text has had an assigned spot on the table right next to his laptop, his unofficial workspace. The 500-page book chronicles Nelson Manelda's road to liberation before, during and post apartheid. The autobiography details his childhood until adulthood, with his continued fight for freedom. In November 2009, the United Nations recognised 18 July as Mandela Day, celebrating his life and legacy. Some people choose to observe the day by engaging in acts of service for 67 minutes. Across the street from my new internship at Market Photo Workshop, I watched community members pick up garbage to clean the premises. Dave Moletsane, digital communications officer of the Market Theatre, Aneesa Adams, social media and content manager, and Xoliswa Nduneni Ngema, CEO of the Joburg City Theatre could be seen walking around organising with a team as their commitment for Mandela day. 'We came out in large numbers to honor Tata and to work as a collective as a city and the Market Theatre as well,' said Ndudeni Negma. Though 'Tata's' (isiXhosa word for father) birthday was on Friday, it was also the birthday of an important man in my life, my father Roger Campbell. To pay homage to the humanitarian and create a memorable 60th birthday for my dad, we 'Dined like Madiba' at Insights Restaurant inside Sanctuary Mandela on Sunday, the result of an invitation by their marketers to dine there and write about it for Daily Maverick. Sanctuary Mandela opened in September 2021. Prior to the public reveal, the tranquil hotel was known as Mandela's first home in Johannesburg after his prison release in 1990 until 1998. The now reimagined home is a curated room boutique owned by the Nelson Mandela Foundation, a nonprofit aiming to uplift humanity through social change that honours the life of Madiba through the preservation of furniture, photographs and even a curated menu. Inside the boutique-style hotel is Insights Restaurant — and the Dine like Madiba experience, an opportunity to reintroduce traditional South African cuisine to locals using native spices while also introducing the Xhosa culture to tourists through the recipes of Xoliswa Ndoyiya, Nelson Mandela's cherished chef. Upon arrival, my parents and I took pictures of the Sanctuary Mandela sign outside of the gated restaurant while waiting to be buzzed in. I looked over at my father, a history enthusiast and Mandela admirer, to see if he approved of his birthday surprise. Truth be told, he has experienced a few of the Mandela gems in South Africa such as his home on Vilakazi Street and even Nelson Mandela Square, but not Robben Island due to maintenance issues, so I was eager to see his reaction to the Madiba-inspired restaurant in his former home. What I was not expecting was the in-depth historical tour of the country's beloved former president. After my parents and I entered the tranquil garden, including the pillars of Mandela's values such as freedom and democracy, we walked up the steps of the boutique. Our host, Tshepo (meaning 'hope' in Sesotho) Kunene greeted us. 'Welcome home,' Tshepo said. On my first day in Johannesburg, I went on a tour of Soweto. Walking around Vilakazi Street is when I heard 'Welcome home' for the first time since walking through customs in this country. How do I explain to people that a country that I have no residence in feels like home? You have to visit the country to experience the warmth for yourself. Hearing an unfamiliar voice warmly embrace me into their homeland was all of the comfort that I needed to feel as though I belonged, and that perhaps living in a new country for three months wouldn't feel so foreign after all. I smiled and shook Tshepo's hand. As I mentioned, I truly wasn't expecting a tour of the premises. Instead, I was prepared to sit at a table for three with my parents and try the dishes the humanitarian once ordered. Guests at the hotel are not the only customers who have the opportunity to receive a tour of Mandela's former home — diners also get a glimpse of the estate. After we were seated at our table, Tshepo asked if we were ready to begin our tour, and we surely were. The four of us walked back outside the boutique to start from the beginning. Reading the artefacts and scanning the photographs paled in comparison to Tshepo's ability to articulate the culinary and living experience available at Sanctuary Mandela. Each hanging painting tells a story about the significance of the room. The room called 'Mr President' has a painting of Mandela greeting children, showing his love for young people. Beyond the paintings and photos, the boutique attempts to resemble the original structure of the house. The fireplace, foundation of the pool and the famous balcony of the house have been preserved to represent the essence of Mandela's former residence. After the tour, your experience doesn't have to end with the admiration of an artwork of Nelson Mandela made out of wood — at 'Dine like Madiba', expect a five-course meal filled with history, culture and good company. Sanctuary Mandela is also the home for black and locally owned wine brands, including Carmen Stevens, who is the first black female winemaker in South Africa, inspired by Mandela himself; she includes his quotes on the back of her bottles. Tshepo wiped a bottle of Stevens' to show us — and behind the bottle was this quote: 'If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.' At first, I was hesitant to ask for a glass of wine or recommend we also try the wine pairing since I'd be dining with my parents, but when my father, who seldom drinks, and in his words 'only on special occasions', asked for another glass of the Boschendal Vin D'Or Noble Late Forest, I knew he felt the same way that my mom Joryn and I did — can a glass of wine really be this sweet? Wine it is. It was time to order our food after touring. On our tables were sealed white envelopes with the rusted-brown initials at the centre, SM, for Sanctuary Mandela. After opening the envelope, the five-course meal options were available as promised. 'Our menu is a historical 'food-print' of the modest tastes of Nelson Mandela, whose passion and integrity are reflected in the dishes that were inspired from Africa and beyond,' reads the menu. Recipes from the cookbook Made with Love, by his personal chef of 22 years, Xoliswa Ndoyiya, are also included in the menu selection. The cherished chef not only cooked for Mandela, but also his family. Our complimentary bite arrived first — homemade bread, which is freshly made every day, was placed on the table along with a mini board of three options for the spread — salt, black pepper and hemp butter. Although I am a pescatarian, I am quite the experimental person. I applied a thin layer of hemp butter on the bread and then sprinkled salt and black pepper before taking a bite into buttery and seasoned heaven. Let's just say, my dad asked for more. Next was the appetiser: mushroom and samp arancini with aïoli base topped with rocket microherbs for the garnish, paired with Boschendal Brut. The garlic base and the egg-white batter used to cook the crispy appetiser allowed us to taste hints of lime juice with the sparkling wine. As someone who is not a fan of mushrooms, the appetiser had me second-guessing the judgement of my taste buds. Next, we were served the starters: Cape Malay-style fish, butternut and saffron soup, and seared ostrich (all including rocket for the garnish). I am not the only one with a dietary restriction, though my mom's needs aren't by preference — she is allergic to fresh fish. She selected the butternut and saffron soup, which was paired with Carmen Stevens' Chenin Blanc. Tshepo shared with us that butternut squash was Mandela's last meal. Since my mom's dish was a vegetarian option, I picked up my spoon to try it. The creaminess of the soup was met with the immediate sweetness on the toasted slice of bread. Before I got carried away, I put the spoon back on the table. No one ordered the seared ostrich, which was plated with chakalaka, charred onion and an onion purée, not for any particular reason but my guess is none of us had ever tried ostrich, leaving my dad and I with the Cape fish: the crispy top layer of the kinglip, paired with the pawpaw curried salsa, pumpkin seeds and shavings paired with a Paul Cluver Riesling. Tshepo was right, the hint of sugar from the wine soothed the slight spice. Though I was craving more fish, I decided to switch up my order for my main course — buttery samp and mfino 'risotto', a dish inspired by Xhosa cuisine. The maize kernels, sliced carrots and creamy spinach topped with parmesan shavings with a Boschendal 1685 Chardonnay complemented the creamy dish while also cleansing my palate in time for the dessert. My parents both ordered the fillet on the bone, which was crusted beef with pink peppercorn, garlic mashed potatoes, finely trimmed carrot shavings, creamy Béarnaise sauce and port jus, soy sauce topped with rocket and a glass of Cederberg Cabernet Sauvignon. In case you were wondering, the other main dish that was tempting to order was the coconut and lime sea bass, which would have been paired with the Boschendal 1685 Chardonnay. We all had a different dessert to satisfy our sweet tooths: my dad had the sticky toffee pudding, I ordered the poached pear and amasi ice cream or sour milk with homemade breadcrumbs for the base, and my mom had the creamy pear custard, almond and barozzi cake, which she took to go. Even with the hints of sourness, the breadcrumbs, and slight spice from the peach pudding, the Boschendal Vin D'Or Noble Late Forest makes you forget that you are eating fermented milk. Before we left the restaurant, in my father's traditional fashion he asked to have his photo taken with the staff at Sanctuary Mandela. If you know my dad, you become his friend after one interaction — his kindness and personality draws people to him. The group of us posed for the photo, and you would think we were regulars. From reliving history through a tour of Mandela's previous residence to tasting the meals his chef would cook for him, Dine like Madiba at Insights Restaurant inside Sanctuary Mandela is a unique experience of Tata's once-cherished cuisine and beloved home. 'The whole concept of their house is to give you the whole reflection of Tata's love for having people around. Hence you say 'Welcome home. You are more than welcome at home,'' said Tshepo with a bow, as we departed. DM
