An interesting... bastard on the verandah

I am not the b ravest oke around when it comes to creepy-crawlies. I can remember at about age 8 getting my 3-year old sister to come and get the insects out of my room before I went to sleep. I have shat myself with regards to beetles, cockroaches, snakes, spiders, earwigs, over-sized moths. I turn into a complete screaming pathetic idol of uselessness whenever I come across one.

But there is nothing in the world - and I include famines, earthquakes and cluster bombs - as a crawling, evil, snarling, over-sized piece of rotten Parktown Prawn. These things are so ugly, but so tough that whatever wiped the dinosaurs out still couldn't finish them off. They are indestructible. DOOM and Raid just get them stoned, and then they care even less about eating me and infecting me with their horribleness.

And so I was sitting on the verandah last night sipping a cuppa with the folks when I lookjed behind me after I heard a noise (probably those bloodthirsty jaws snapping together) and saw one of the filthy buggers just behind my chair. I didn't move as much as leap the other side of the table with a chihauhau-like yelp for help.

I stood there whimpering while Wonderwoman (my mother) showed the guts not seen since Dunkirk in removing the enemy with a bowl and a piece of paper. With eyes focussed like Jean Reno in The Professional, she courageously went for the bugger, scooped him up with a deft flick of her hand - this while I was enduring a seizure in the corner, praying to God, Jaweh and Allah for my mother's protection - and plopped him over the wall. (I wanted it dead, but nothing kills them.)

Andnow, tonight, for retribtion, I am sure he is hiding in one of my shoes or something, ready to infect me with poison which will make me edible for him and his hungry chums.

Aaaaargh!

An interesting... integration of cities

In the last few weeks I have travelled to the four most important cities in the country: Pretoria, Johannesburg, Durban and Cape Town. (Ja you Bloem and PE okes keep it down).

Being away for two and a half years makes it easier to see differences in South Africa from then until now. This is not a new philosophy – if you watch our hair grow you will never think it is getting longer – stop watching it for a year and then see where it’s at.

And with this kind of perspective, I want to hand out massive kudos to Pretoria, which I feel is the most black-empowered city in the country. As much as people may disagree with the BEE and AA philosophies, we do know that South Africa’s future rests upon black empowerment, and empowered black people is a superb sign that we are heading the way of a non-racial democracy, which was kind of what we were aiming for when de Klerk managed to cross the Rubicon at the second NP attempt. Note that I mean black empowerment, not white disempowerment.

A few weeks ago I went to meet up with some buddies on the other side of the Boerewors curtain in Pretoria. I was due to meet them in a shopping centre there and as I strolled through I was amazed at the amount of empowered black people shopping. Understand that by “empowered” I mean earn enough to have cars, actually be a customer in a fancy clothes shop or restaurant, piss money away on R30 coffees and pretty much behave like white people. I am not talking maids and gardeners here, I mean people who are earning enough to live as what one could callously term “the way us white people do” (<--- that's a mass generalisation, I know. I take it back).

I was blown away. I honestly thought that Pretoria (which I last went to five years ago) would be one of the stumbling blocks of the country, where racial integration would really struggle. And how wrong was I? I apologise unreservedly for prejudging the people of the Blou Bulle Biltong City. The community in Pretoria deserves accolades for empowering the workforce, not just to be able to live in shacks and take taxis to the Madam’s house, but to be able to make something of themselves economically. Of the big four cities, I am most impressed with Pretoria. Veels geluk mense. I really think we ought to give credit where credit is due. In terms of empowering people, Pretoria is well ahead of the other cities.

And, knowing that Pretoria had done well (in my opinion, obviously), I schlepped off to the other side of the country down to the Cape where I expected all of the Zille plaudits to ring true, and some did. The city functions well, the robots all work, it is well sign-posted, it is clean, and I admired this over a chat with a friend at the Waterfront. And then it hit me... where do they hide the black people that aren’t waitering or cleaning the floor? And then I thought, ah, perhaps the majority of the population down here is coloured. But I couldn’t see any of them in the restaurants or shops either, unless they were working there. So I assumed that perhaps the Waterfront just didn’t cater to the tastes of the black and coloured people living in Cape Town – and then I realised that the Waterfront caters for the tastes of people around the whole bloody world. It is highly unlikely that Capetonian black and coloured customers are the only people who don’t like it there.

But I kept my eyes open wherever I went, which, in fairness, wasn’t an amazing amount of places, but hardly anywhere was there a decent percentage of customers who were not white.

I do try to take cognisance of a few things:

- I understand that what I am saying here is not a study. I walked through a shopping centre and looked at who as driving next to me. Not exactly foolproof

– I geddit. - I do not acknowledge that there is a smaller black population in Cape Town than in the other three cities to affect it that way. There seem to be plenty of non-white people working in the shops and as waiters and cleaners and car guards.

- I am not pissing over the blue-collar jobs out there. All work is honourable work, but I think we would be foolish to think that a housekeeper can get her children educated to the same degree as someone who can afford a car, overpriced clothes shops and a R60 green salad at some snooty eatery.

I am open to correction here. If anyone can tell me where the empowered black and coloured populations of Cape Town are, I will take back what would therefore be a false allegation.

(And obviously, I don’t mean that there are NO non-white people flittering around shops and restaurants in CPT, I mean there are very few).

An interesting... journey through the Transkei

(this image has been sneakily borrowed from www.everytrail.com).

Yesterday was only the second time that I have driven right the way through the Eastern Cape along the N2, which, implicitly, was my second trip through the Transkei. On the previous occasion I made this trip I was astounded at how the two main cities there, Butterworth and Mthatha (you may know it as bastardised colonial spelling of Umtata), were dirty, disgusting and had poverty etched on every building. Throughout this beautiful countryside, these two cities were eyesores; like specks of dirt on a plain white curtain.

Yesterday, though, prepared to go through these derelict destinations, I was pleasantly surprised to see how clean, brightly-coloured and functioning Butterworth was. The roads were in great nick, the shops all seemed to be buzzing, police were present every few hundred metres, there was no litter – Butterworth deserves some plaudits for the successful changes that have been made there. And because of this I was excited to see what changes had been made to the Transkei’s real metropolitan centre: Mthatha.

And was I disappointed? That would be this year’s ill-fitting understatement. I have driven 4x4s up mountains with easier manoeuvrability than the roads in Mthatha – ridiculous when one considers that the N2 going in and out of the city is in fantastic nick. There is more paint on my window-sill than the entire walled surface of the Transkei capital, and more rubbish lining the streets than Julius Malema can talk in a lifetime. Although there is a buzz present, I wasn’t really able to pick up on what it was as I was distracted by burnt-out buildings, abandoned shops and a melee of people scattered everywhere. This drew my attention away from the four traffic lights at the intersection which unfortunately requires a serious amount of attention to decipher what one should do upon arrival – the only bulb working was one of the red ones, when this disappeared, the implication is that it was green.

I find it barmy that money is being spent in the Eastern Cape, like in Butterworth, and I drove through roadworks aplenty from PE all the way to the Kwa-Zulu/Natal border, but somehow none of it has made it to a city where so many people live. And, within 100m of leaving Mthatha, the road becomes double-lane, has fresh paint, newly-laid speed bumps and so on.

It is a city that South Africa has forgotten.

Shame on those in charge.

An interesting... explanation for the lack of parking here

(Image courtesy of the BBC)

While Queen Helen sat in her castle in Cape Town and stared over the Land Of The Western Cape, she knew that she had problems. She summoned her concubines and said to them “go unto the rest of the lands and bring me the cleverest people you can find so that we can maketh the roadworks finished and build more parking because there is bugger all in Cape Town”. And so the concubines triumphantly left the Land Of The Western Cape and caught a bus to the wealthy kingdom of Johannesburg in the Land Of Gold. To celebrate, Queen Helen danced and sang in Xhosa which was weird because the concubines only spoke English and Afrikaans.

As they stepped out of the bus, they expected to see pavements made of gold, but they realised that the ground was indeed made of tar and bricks, similar to Cape Town, but, somehow next to the tar and bricks were funny lines painted in the road. Concubine Athol said “Gentlemen, what the devil is this?”. Concubine Joe replied “I do not know. Why do people paint lines on the side of the road?”

Then, because their arrival had been unannounced, Police Commissioner Cele got there, shot five concubines and then said “who are you chaps and why are you looking at those parking bays?”

“Ah” said Concubine Athol, “that’s what these things are” and he walked toward one of them. Before he had even taken a second step he was shot and then Police Commissioner Cele shouted “no sudden moves”. Concubine Joe said “We come in peace from the Land Of The Western Cape to find people help us complete the roadworks and make parking, because there are only like five parking bays in the whole of Cape Town and no one can actually afford to park in them”.

“Come with me” said Cele, “let us go to find these roadworks experts” and they drove on the N1 whose speed limit had dropped from 120 to 60 while it was in one lane because of road works. And then they arrived at the traffic department and met Jeff Radebe who said they should go back to CPT with one of his experts.

When they returned, Helen shrieked “NO! This is a woman. Women know nothing about parking. Go back and get me a man!”

So the concubines returned unannounced to the Land Of Gold but they never found someone to make parking because Police Commissioner Cele shot them all.

And that is why there is no parking in Cape Town.

An interesting... rewarding culture shock in CPT

Cape Town is so far removed from the other places I have been in South Africa that I can’t quite believe I am in the same country. As far as I can tell, the whiteys fled the highveld for Perth, London and the Western Cape: I find that the colour spectrum here is much paler than it is in Johannesburg, Durban or, most notably, Pretoria. I have had some interesting conversations with Cape locals and they tell me that it is due to the places I have frequented, which is a fair enough point of view, but I don’t find that the spread of people in the other three cities is selective to any particular establishments.

That being said, I don’t think that there is a more beautiful place to live in the world. I can understand completely why people who live here obsess over the mountain – I do and I have only been here for a week. Just driving around is a treat, and one can gaze from mountain to mountain to valley to wine farm – the only problem is the come-down when you smack the car in front of you.

I also find that this myth that CPT people drive badly is completely untrue. I have an KZN numberplate which basically means I have a licence to drive as slowly as I want, and people here don’t vloek me like they do in Johannesburg, nor do they drive up my arse, nor do they overtake when they shouldn’t. I am actually impressed. I don’t think people here drive exceptionally slowly either – in fact, people here drive as fast and break the speed limit as often as other cities in which I have lived.

Capetonians, on the other hand, are their own people. They differ greatly from Johannesburg and Durban people and I find that they subscribe to British social etiquette: basically, don’t speak unless you are spoken to, say nice things like “come over sometime” without meaning it, but be very polite. I don’t mean this observation to come over rudely, nor do I think Capetonians are unfriendly, but I think there is a different set of social manners down here, not a wrong set.

I think the beaches in this city are quite splendid too. Good god, Camps Bay and Clifton look as if they have been bleached. And the people on them look as if they have been designed by Dolce and Gabbana. I feel like a giant pale pig when I am within 250m of other people adoring the sun. Gym motivation extraordinaire... The fact that a portion of the population of this have their heads wedged firmly up their arse is kind of deserved with the beauty that walks around. I think that if I was that beautiful and rich I would do the same.

Oh well, I am off to go try and find some black people now. Chat soon.

An interesting... SA travel recommendation.

Something quite astonishing about South Africa is the reams and bucket-loads of places to visit, which are remarkably different.

For example, one can explore the dry Karoo, or go further south and connect up with the Garden Route.

A dusty and cold Johannesburg winter can be offset by the always humid, always moist Durban “winter” season where, kicking and screaming, those poor sods have to miserably bear temperatures which drop below 20 degrees for the week during which the winter hits its tumultuous peak (You can easily tell; the ice in your Jack & Coke doesn’t melt as fast as it usually does).

The wailing humidity and constant Vaalie-infested December heat in KZN can be dodged with a simple trip back the other way, towards the Highveld shopping district, where less humid but glorious thunderstormy weather can be located in Jozi or Pretoria – which are desolate every year between 16 December and the week before school starts as the locals flood toward the coast and piss off all the KZNers by driving at the actual speed limit.


And then there’s glorious Cape Town. Beautiful Cape Town. The Mother City. Wonderful Cape Town. Nowadays, I hear, one requires a passport to enter as the foreigners who own it all want to keep the South Africans out (exclusivity is key for celebrities). Lucky Michael Jackson died, so it is improbable that anyone is going to purchase Table Mountain anytime soon. The weather there is nice if you are English, or don’t actually know what happens the other side of the clouds. Oops! My bad. I forget there is a summer in CPT which is when all the foreigners come to stay in their swanky Camps Bay mansions and the rest of us are priced out. God forbid we get to buy things at normal value in rands. At least there’s always tik at a decent price.

You could always just go to and stay in Johannesburg, where the traffic ensures a brilliant chance to chill and do nothing for two hours as you attempt to navigate the four kilometres between you and 34789 shopping centres, where all you need is moisturising cream to sooth the perpetually dry skin you are bound to have.

If the big cities aren’t your thing, try Pietermaritzburg. You may have seen it on the way to Durban. You most definitely have a record of it in your mail box if you’ve driven through because of the confounding average speed cameras which ping you for going over 100kph. I have made a bigger contribution to the national GNP navigating that portion of the N3 than to SARS.

Why not PE? Maybe because of the thundering wind that never goddam stops. I can’t believe it is even safe to land a plane there. The runway, surely, must be wider than the entire set of six runways in Amsterdam. You would have to drive there to be safe. In a heavy car. Like a truck. Carrying concrete. And lead anvils.

Then there’s always the picturesque happy town of Knysna, so stunning you actually feel better just looking at it. And then you prance over the hot beach sand toward the Indian Ocean, and dip your toe into the sea as you gaze upon the scenic cliffs names The Heads. Then you realise the temperature of the water there and immediately phone 10111 before you eventually die of hypothermia.

Rather avoid that by going to nearby Plettenberg Bay, where you will be able to discuss, in depth, the crime in Johannesburg with all the eGoli expats.

An interesting... departure from Jozi

Before the sun woke up, we set off from Johannesburg and began negotiating our way through the roadwork-infested Gauteng highways with the famously beautiful Eastern Cape our objective.

It always amazes me just how interesting our country is to look at – even eyesores like Sasolburg must fascinate visitors to the Highveld, and that’s a mere blot on the stunning landscapes located outside just about any city in the country. Johannesburg seems to roll on forever, but finally we felt like we were making journey progress, and soon after we reached the Free State which often fields accusations of the most boring, flattest, straightest roads ever – almost an art class in perspective.

I, for one, think the Free State is beautiful. After spending time in London, one is constantly aware of how one should appreciate space, and the Free State offers plenty of it. I still love the barren expanses between cities and towns and can gaze forever at the horizon which seems further away in this province than at sea.

Should you ever tire of the constant farmland, fear not. Just short of Colesburg we headed off to drive along the wall of the country’s biggest dam. In what seems like nanoseconds, the flatness of the terrain becomes hilly around the Gariep Dam, and this is where we begin getting excited about our arrival in another province, the Eastern Cape.

Cradock is our final destination, and we will explore the areas around the town properly from the Fish River’s perspective with a canoe marathon going on. The river bisects Cradock and, before reaching the town, it swirls around farmland, under thorn trees, beneath bridges, over rocks and rapids and carries a load of excited canoeists down a stretch of South African water which has views which are enjoyed by so few so rarely.

One can fully value the beauty of South Africa with a journey from Johannesburg to this quaint little town.