The Cradle

Apologies for the blog title, but no need to worry, Marnie is not “with child”. For too long we have put off a trip to the Cradle of Humankind, a mere hour outside Joburg, and home to some of the oldest hominid remains ever found. As an anthropologist, neglecting this visit would be unforgivable in the eyes of Marnie’s physical anthro colleagues, whom I affectionately refer to as the “bone nerds” (no need to take offence, as Marnie is assuredly a “culture nerd”).

So Friday morning we puttered off westward in the Barney-mobile towards Maropeng, a museum chronicling the history of mankind. If nothing else, it was a great opportunity to escape the chaos of the city, and breathe some clean country air. In a lot of ways, the communities just outside the Joburg outerbelt remind me of Windhoek in Namibia—tidy clusters of upscale housing and shopping centers in the middle of nowhere.

We arrived at Maropeng a half hour after opening, with only a few cars in the parking lot. I read they’d had some financial difficulties of late, with rumors of government mismanagement (In South Africa? Never!). Some larger arrived later. The tour begins with a boat ride representing the elements that formed the universe. Unfortunately, the curtain of water flowing across the tunnel didn’t quite stop dripping in time, and the walls protrude a bit too much for a large mammal like myself, leaving me with a damp head and a sore back. We continued across a bridge inside a swirling tunnel, the “vortex” of the forming universe. The vertigo effect just about put both of us on our backsides.

As we were to find out, these were not the only attractions at Maropeng intended for people smaller than ourselves, and I don’t mean midgets. A lot of the exhibits, with their animated and interactive displays, are aimed at kids. That said, the displays on hominid remains and the evolution of man have a more mature bent, and the reminders about how we are harming the world and ourselves don’t exactly let you leave feeling all warm and fuzzy about the future. Speaking of, the exit itself is symbolic, the modern façade at the rear contrasting with the rustic entrance at the front, demonstrating man’s evolution through time. Nifty.

We headed south to the Sterkfontein Caves, excavation site of Mrs. Ples and Little Foot, hominid fossils aged 2.5 and about 4 million years old, respectively. It turns out that Mrs. Ples is actually a juvenile Mr. Ples, our guide taking pains to point out that fully developed male brains are larger than females’. This was to be an unfortunate running joke, each sexist comment followed by the sound of Marnie’s teeth grinding softly in the dark of the cave beside me. Having been mined out, the caves aren’t so spectacular in terms of formations, but watching the larger members of our group play Twister through tight crevices proved entertaining enough.

Marnie may have come to the Cradle for the bones, but I came for the booze and grub. Roots restaurant, at our hotel Forum Homini, is rated in the prestigious Eat Out magazine top ten. In addition, a wine tasting is held the first Friday of every month—Oak Valley winery in our case.

Our accommodation was one of the fifteen “caves” built into the mound surrounding the pond next to the main lodge. The rooms are super sheik, the highlight being the enormous glass encased shower. One wall of the shower features doors that you can open out onto the lawn, for showering “au naturale”. Since the gloomy weather wasn’t favoring tanning by the poolside, we made due with pickling ourselves with scented salts and oils in the room’s enormous bath.

I really thought I loved to gorge on good food and drink, but the wine dinner at Roots and breakfast the following morning have caused reason for doubt. We were told to arrive for dinner at seven, but an hour and several glasses of wine later we hadn’t been served a lick of food. Oh how that changed. After an “amuse buce”, three white wines and accompanying courses, a palate cleanser, three reds and three more courses, our bellies had swollen to planetary dimensions, our eyes floating in their sockets. Finally, at 11:15 PM, we staggered back to our rooms and collapsed on the bed.

Our five course, hour and a half long breakfast the following morning proved equally daunting. Some of the food was amazing, like the duck breast and confited leg in smoked cherry sauce that perfectly complimented the Pinot Noir, or the smoked salmon blinis with caviar at brunch. At some point, however, Marnie and I agreed that we’d rather have one big plate of something to gnaw on and be done with it. I used to think the French and Spanish had the right idea with their long leisurely meals, but having done it, I venture they just have too much time on their hands.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rub some lotion on my newly formed stretch marks…