We're jammin'...

I'm not really all that keen on jam.

I had to get that off my chest right from the get go, just in case anyone happened to stumble across here expecting to find grandma's recipe for loganberry jam from the 1950s. Jam is fine - I'm not particularly adverse to it but to be honest, my real passion isn't found inside a jar of farm-style fig preserve.

What I am really keen on is travelling. Especially the hop-in-your-car-on-Friday-and-head-off-to-a-little-town-just-three-or-four-hours-away kind. And herein lies the undeniable, inextricable link to jam. All of these towns invariably have a little country shop, or as we like to call it in SA, a padstal, with rows upon rows of jam. Glistening glass jars, with handwritten labels, canvas-wrapped lids and rustic string ties - even those who aren't usually remotely tempted by a buttery piece of toast heavy with sugary fruity jelly will find themselves piling up their shopping bags.

So although jam is certainly no the motivation behind my travelling - it is the only constant to be found in this amazing country that's absolutely jam-packed (ahem) with diversity and variety.

What I hope to create here is an account of all of these trips as they happen and judging by the plans jotted down on my boyfriend's proudly mounted wall calendar - that should be pretty much every weekend. All the sticky situations preserved forever on this blog (okay okay, I hear your groans, I finally have all the jam puns out of my system).

It should be fun - hope you guys come along for the ride!