I quaffed the coffee in my hotel room, shrugged into my late father's suede blazer and walked out into an icy London in December. I had a morning free before flying back to Cape Town out of Gatwick, and a list of places to see.
The blazer had been a conscious choice for the trip, a homage of sorts to my father. Dad had bought it during his first winter in London, in around 1950.
He'd studied nursing at Bethnal Green Hospital and then taken time off to hitchhike, cycle and walk around Britain and Europe, journaling and sketching as he went.
He seldom wore the blazer after he'd returned to Africa. Working as he did in Nyasaland, malaria, heatstroke and homicidal hippos were more of a hazard than hypothermia, so the garment was in pretty good nick for its age.
Dad believed in what would now be called immersive travel: living and eating like a local. Once, on a hot day on the Cornish coast, he was served and quaffed what he assumed was fresh apple juice. Too late, he realised it was Scrumpy, a cider that's nearly 8% alcohol. Immersive travel indeed.
I kept the blazer after Dad died suddenly at age 60 in 1985, and it has hung in the cupboards of my various homes.
Some years ago, I took it to a tailor, who did some minor repairs and marvelled at it: real suede, with original buttons made of wood and leather. With care, it could last a couple of lifetimes.The night before my long walk, we'd gone to a jazz club. The walk between hotel, Tube stations and nightclub had been pretty chilly. But, stepping out early on Saturday morning, with music swirling in my head, full of caffeine, and a pilgrimage ahead, I might not have been entirely weather-centric.
Under the blazer I wore a fleece that's seen me through nippy beach walks in Cape Town, but I soon realised I was underdressed. By that, I mean I started to go numb.
I'd planned to walk up to King's Cross, then muck around the landmarks of Southwark that Dad had mentioned. From there, I planned to head south across the Thames to the Imperial War Museum.But it was not so simple: first, I'd opted to not load data on my phone, as I had maps downloaded on it, as well as a paper one from the hotel. So far, so Boy Scout-ish.
But it was so icy and windy that I struggled to operate the phone and fold and unfold the map. No problem, I thought. It's nice and early and the streets are quiet. A brisk walk will warm me up.
I set off, fast enough to create my own freezing slipstream. I wondered whether the few passers-by were being typically reserved Londoners, or whether I just looked odd: the fleece under the blazer may have made me look like a balloon trapped in a string bag, and my face was a refrigerated rictus.The sun rose and airliners drew white jet-trails in the clear sky. Weirdly, it got colder still. I ended up in Islington, then Finsbury Park before finding a coffee shop and thawing enough to origami-fy the map the right way up.
What I didn't know was that a snowstorm was about to blanket London, hours after we flew out. When we landed in Cape Town, a sunny 30°C, I regretted missing the spectacle.I'll pass the blazer on to my son, along with the advice that my father would've given me: part of immersive travel is doing as the locals do. In the UK, this means keeping an eye on the weather.
And Son, if you wear this distinguished garment in London when there's snow on the way, add thermal underwear, gloves, a beanie and a hipflask, perhaps with some Scrumpy in it.
• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photograph of yourself for publication with the column...