Somewhere along the way in sticky-hot Singapore, I had slightly over-romanticised the Johannesburg summer. I remembered my holidays as hot but windy days, where I sat out on the back veranda drinking homemade rooibos ice tea and reading a book. Perhaps it was my wishful thinking gone wrong, or perhaps it was climate change, but somehow I found myself in the sweltering December heat wondering how I could get around Joburg without ever leaving air conditioning. Ever.
It was a nearly impossible feat, as our days were spent in amusement parks, street markets in braamfontein, al fresco cafés in rosebank and doing our nails in the sunroom of my aunt's bachelorette pad. It was the type of summer that you can't help but be obnoxious about, the type that makes you lose it slightly and actually hashtag your photos on Instagram so that some miserable popsicle in the North will see it and hate you. It was the type of summer that you kick yourself after for not remembering to take enough photos.