Here It Seems To Me Nearly
Perfect - Too Windy For My Pleasure, But Then The Sun Would Be
Overpowering Without A Fresh Breeze.
Every one agrees in saying
that the winter in Capetown is delicious - like a fine English
summer.
In November the southeasters begin, and they are
'fiendish'; this year they began in September. The mornings here
are always fresh, not to say cold; the afternoons, from one to
three, broiling; then delightful till sunset, which is deadly cold
for three-quarters of an hour; the night is lovely. The wind rises
and falls with the sun. That is the general course of things. Now
and then it rains, and this year there is a little south-easter,
which is quite unusual, and not odious, as it is near the sea; and
there is seldom a hot wind from the north. I am promised that on
or about Christmas-day; then doors and windows are shut, and you
gasp. Hitherto we have had nothing nearly so hot as Paris in
summer, or as the summer of 1859 in England; and they say it is no
hotter, except when the hot wind blows, which is very rare. Up
here, snow sometimes lies, in winter, on the mountain tops; but ice
is unknown, and Table Mountain is never covered with snow. The
flies are pestilent - incredibly noisy, intrusive, and disgusting -
and oh, such swarms! Fleas and bugs not half so bad as in France,
as far as my experience goes, and I have poked about in queer
places.
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