When you’re a South African run­ning in Cen­tral Park

CityPress - - Trending -

Ermahgerd, run­ning around in track pants with paint splat­ters on them and a grey­ing Uni­ver­sity of Stel­len­bosch hoodie. Akin to a scruffy vagabond and com­pletely out of place on the span­dex mile among all the fit New York­ers in their ac­tive wear.

I was se­cretly think­ing back to those pa­parazzi snaps of Taylor Swift and Jake Gyl­len­haal in Cen­tral Park, she smil­ing widely in a beanie with those golden ringlets peek­ing out. He too was beam­ing in the au­tumn park, as they co­zied up to each other. One of them was cradling a take-out cof­fee, as I re­call, and there was much me­dia spec­u­la­tion about a par­tic­u­lar Burberry scarf. Point is: this is a beau­ti­ful place to be in love. Which, for the record, I am not.

On to the ducks, ponds, statue of Hamil­ton, tourists, dogs great and small, a Chi­nese monk in mus­tard robes check­ing his phone, finches, signs for Bri­dle Lane, then a Rus­sian mother push­ing her new­born in a stroller while talk­ing to her own mother, two Yorkies – or is it York­ers here – scut­tled along­side in lit­tle wind­break­ers. Even the dogs wear The North Face here.

And trees in all the colours. The leaves be­neath clouds of grey were in spicy hues: pa­prika-dusted ones with wide canopies; thin, spindly ones with tumeric leaves like baubles on the tips of nee­dle branches; deep auburn leaves of saf­fron on tall, old trees; and then, mag­i­cally, the soft de­scent of salt crys­tal snowflakes.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from South Africa

© PressReader. All rights reserved.