Sun in Soweto and Giraffes in Groenkloof

I'm finally coming out of my sun and wine induced stupor. I am no longer suffering from headache, but still sporting a pair of practically burnt-raw shoulders. And that's after applying the spf 100 sun block both Saturday and Sunday mornings. Hmm, perhaps my skin color is not genetically suited for this part of the world. Hmm, perhaps there is another skin color that is more suited for this environment. Hmm, I must ponder this question further at some point... 

Yesterday, we shipped our visitor to the wonderful Cape Town, where she is happily convening with the cape penguins after our jam packed weekend. And what a weekend it was!

Since she only arrived on Friday, late morning, we decided to take it easy that day. She had, after all, spent the previous 30 hours traveling a distance that should not take more than 20 hours, all in exchange for some seriously cheap flights. For a moment there, especially since she did not emerge from the plane á la moi with puffy eyes, perma-slobber on the chin, a spotted menu on the front of the shirt, and severely swollen extremities, I truly envied her flight-travel stamina, as well as her more airplane-suitable size (both in my case to be found in the 'remembrances of things past' file) but then I remembered my philosophy is not about wanting to be more patient or smaller but wanting to travel in first class instead. Take that you envy monster! 

Anyhow, on Friday we lunched in one of my favorite restaurants, Cape Town Fish Market, before touring the local sights per her request - Woolworths food market and Pick n Pay. I always thought I was alone in my wish to soak up the local 'atmosphere' in the form of visiting grocery stores, post offices, train stations, doctor's practices, or the dentist's for that matter. I have an aversion to visiting any kind of doctor's if the visit entails more than just your general ogling and pointing (by me), but one of my coolest experiences from Mexico is my trip to a Mexican dentist who told me to ignore the burning smell as it was only the generator for the drill. That's hardcore, and the tooth still holds! I also now have breast-ultrasound experiences from three different continents and have to admit, also based on my talks with other women here and abroad, that in such issues Mexico (and paid for health insurance) rocks. Still, I much prefer visiting grocery stores. 

After getting completely sidetracked there, a couple of words on the night's entertainment: Braai and wine. Good, solid, thoroughly South African choices and fun had by all (we hope) combined with a new taste experience for our visitor - pork rashers on the braai. Didn't go down as well as the wine, but I still feel that scorched fat is an under-appreciated pleasure. However, that could just be me.

Early Saturday morning (far too early was the guest's opinion) we headed out towards Soweto and one very cool backpacker lodge and one even cooler shebeen (this link explains so much better than I ever could). Lebo's Soweto backpacker lodge is always our starting point in Soweto and if I was a tourist in Jozi Lebo's is definitely where I would stay. As on our previous visit we got to meet some cool Sowetans, discuss the upcoming election and the quite frightening possibility of the Zuma presidency, drink the local brew, sorghum beer (turns out we Finns have something similar explaining my not minding this stuff perhaps) from a shared mug, eat burn-your-finger hot vetkoeks, and walk the busy streets of a couple of Soweto neighborhoods while listening to kwaito blaring from all directions, and just enjoy and soak up the atmosphere. Cool stuff and severely burnt shoulders! 

As a fitting contrast to Soweto's wonders we headed out to lunch to Montecasino. After cringing at the fake sunset meets sunrise that is the ceiling of Montecasino, the fake pigeons and cats on the as fake windowsills, the suspicious looking 'laundry' hanging over the wannabe alleys, the painted cracks and ware on the walls, the plastic ducks in the moat/stream, and taking our visitor's or our photo with said details, we decided to lunch outside, in the actual real sunshine, in a place called Metropolis. The food wasn't anything special and some of our guest's health chicken (whatever that is) was actually undercooked, to which the waiter responded with a shrug and weird gestures that could have either meant 'we can cook it more for you' or 'up yours stupid tourist'. We'll never know for sure. However, we tried a wine I'd never had before - chosen purely on being not too cheap and not too expensive - Rijk's Sauvignon Blanc. A lovely new acquaintance. Almost sweet with a pleasant acidic aftertaste (how snooty do I sound). I'll definitely be having more of it in the near future. 

After a much needed nap for our guest, four cups of coffee for the hostess (how old are we), and no rest for the chauffeur a.k.a. the hubby, we headed out to dinner at tried and tested excellent Karoo Cattle and Land. Food was excellent, regardless of some of it being pap, which should not be classified as food but rather as edible wall paper glue. Excellent red was also had from the excellence that is the excellent Karoo wine list. The name of this particular excellence escapes me though, but I can tell you it was excellent. Excellent. And in case you were wondering the experience was excellent. However, before I had a chance to devour half of our guest's excellent malva pudding (thus hopping on the sugar train headed for crazy), the hubby steered us into the direction of Fashion Cafe, as we had promised this type of distraction to our single friend. Not so excellent. This bar is somehow in cahoots with Fashion tv channel, but since the music on their website annoys me too much to look further into this connection, I'll just give you my personal impression of the place. I don't think I'll ever be going back to this particular bar, seeing as I'm at least 10 years too old, don't like my drinks all fruity and pink, my shoes are far too flat and last year, my hair is too short, my hubby too bearded, and my ears too sensitive. Either I'm old and boring, or Fashion Cafe sucks. No need to comment on this specific point, especially if you know me. Excellent, thanks. 

On Sunday morning it was time for some wildlife. We headed out to Groenkloof Nature Reserve, a favorite destination, and this time around I was not left behind, but got within 15 meters of a real live giraffe. A giraffe is a beautiful being, and I only wish my eyelashes came anywhere close to the ones on these creatures. For almost half an hour we hung out with our new friend and his/her spouse or partner, who refused to face us but kept glancing at us over his/her shoulder very nonchalantly. To top off the experience, right before taking our leave we were introduced to a baby giraffe hiding behind a bush. Cool as ever. We also saw quite a few wildebeest and some zebras. The wildebeest were kind of aloof, but the zebras actually posed for us, making all the sweat and sunburns worthwhile. And I'm talking serious burns here. Permanent sun damage. Damn. Still points to SA.

After our hike and hangout with the local inhabitants we were ready for a braai. Many of our friends were there and as usual, whenever wine is drunk, the discussion turned to politics, race, and other such harmless small talk topics. I appreciate people's willingness to discuss, even if I cannot for the life of me understand where they are coming from or ever give any credit to some things they have said. I must admit some of it is taking quite a toll on me and on my love affair with this country. Perhaps I should just stick to easier topics for a while, and give my moral compass a break. Still, I could not have asked for a better immersion for our guest into the institution of the braai, or into the South African tradition of hospitality. Opinions aside, people are just really welcoming, friendly, and nice!     

Our visitor is due back on Thursday night and on Friday we are off to see some more wildlife, have awesome, non-draining discussions over good food and wine, lie by the pool but in the shade and hopefully not burn any more. This time around we are hoping to spot elephants, lions, rhinos, and cheetahs. And as I now sit around recharging my mental as well as physical batteries the snap-happy hubby is acquiring a lens the size of my thigh for his camera. Should make for better photo content on this blog. We'll see.

Playing the hostess

Hurrah! Something different is on the horizon.

A guest is arriving tomorrow, all the way from the, apparently still freezing north. You may remember me mentioning a potential visit before, but as of couple of weeks ago the 'potential' part was discarded, and she is taking off as we speak, to spend a whopping 12 hour lay-over at a bigger European hub, but on her way nonetheless. 

I am seriously excited to show off this wonderful country. Be it my late lack of excitement (or the 'excitement' having been limited to a trim at the hairdressers and a breast ultrasound at the gynecologist's. Fun.), I am brimming with hostess-like grace (or as close to grace as I ever get), anxiously awaiting the maid who was supposed to be here between two hours ago and now (new service, more on it later) and is supposed to iron the guest sheets and wash the still lingering results of a pork rasher cooking extravaganza off of the surfaces. 

This just in: The company called with profuse apologies. The lady hadn't had her ID with her so the guards had not let her in... She must look threatening, since they didn't call me to come and pick her up. Hmph.

I am officially on my tippytoes out of sheer excitement.

What do we have planned then? Lots and lots of stuff, more than enough, all crammed in the two weekends she will be spending with us. From Monday to Thursday she will be living it up in the amazing Cape Town Waterfront per my instructions titled 'If I was a thirsty-for-South-African-wines single girl'. Through this part, I will live (and drink) vicariously.

Naturally we will be taking her on one of my preferred routes: From a Soweto shebeen to the fake skies of Montecasino. This route is a true personal favorite. It lets the guest see the two extremes of South African living, and also sample local beer and lots of other drink, which is always a bonus in my books. Drink will also be sampled on Hatfield square and in it's varying bars and clubs (new for us, but feeling the pressures of entertaining a single person with something besides our lovely faces), as well as in the wilderness of Groenkloof nature reserve. First we'll hike and hopefully spot some creatures, and then we'll open bottles over a nice traditional braai. Yum. Some of my favorite restaurants will also be on the visit list, and their wine lists will certainly be ogled.

For our visitor's second weekend here with us we have a special treat in store, for ourselves as well as for her. We'll be spending two nights in a five star lodge in a nearby big nature reserve, complete with a bath tub overlooking a watering hole, lions and elephants, 2 daily game drives in an open vehicle, delicious meals, and plenty of South African wine (in case this was not obvious already). As odd as it may seem coming from a woman who manages to do nothing all day long, I really need to get away, to have a little vacation and see something else besides the 'Mexican Sand'-colored walls of our house! Isn't it ironic? The flippin' color is actually officially called just that. 

   

I hope our visitor likes it all. 

I hope I like her... Oh man. I haven't seen her in six years and the last time I really talked to her was probably 15 years ago. I do remember liking her a lot when I was 10. Man, oh man. 

Facebook is a wondrous thing. 

 

Adopted at 30

For the past weekend I was in fact the third child of a possibly slightly loopy (otherwise why would they adopt me), but thoroughly lovely South African couple. Since my husband was away (and still isn't back yet), and everyone seems to be in on the 'she seriously cannot or will not cook, or drive for that matter' trait in my sparkling personality, I was taken in by this pair of Jozi-based (potentially out of their minds) Capetonians. 

My being adopted luckily did not involve anything boring or horrific such as chores or Sunday service. Instead, on Friday, I enjoyed a lovely dinner with the family, while watching the boys build me and the hubby a magnificent mansion on Sims, only for it to be destroyed an hour later in a fire, as my character just sat around upstairs reading a book. Even the game knows me too well... Several bottles of the always nice Durbanville Hills Sauvignon Blanc were also consumed, but not until we had suffered through a bottle of Dalla Cia Sauvignon Blanc 2007, that had supposedly gotten four stars in Platter's. I think the wine must have turned, because delightful it was not.  

On Saturday I was asked to make a green salad for the braai I and my adoptive family had, in our Friday night vinoed-out state, invited ourselves to (a South African custom I have been told, since apparently you only get one invitation and the rest is up to you, for all eternity. Good to know). Making the salad was a rather daunting task, but I eventually managed, and no one has been sick yet. So I think I'm home free. I also brought with me a bottle of Durbanville Hills Cabernet Sauvignon, which goes with anything and is a great 'getting sloshed slowly but steadily' beverage. And my coup de grâce I delivered with two bottles of the Chilean Casillero del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon, one of my favorites from Mexico, which I had managed to find in Makro (a real task, since foreign wines are throughly snubbed here). Everyone seemed to enjoy it. I know I did. Felt a little home sick for Mexico and envious of my better half, who is currently cavorting away in the city of 25 million people, hanging out with my BFF. Triple sigh.

As the discussion undulated from movies and books to racial issues and politics I truly enjoyed myself, and was unable to keep my controversial (in the South African sense that is) views entirely to myself. No one came to blows, or even spat at me (even though my adoptive brothers have recently been grounded for doing just that at each other), so I consider the night a raving success. I'm hoping after our two years in SA I'll have turned a few potential liberals to my brand of ultra-super-duper-and-then-some liberalism. Who knows what will happen. All I know is that I'm done keeping quiet.

On Sunday more kitchen miracles were required of me for yet another braai. This time with family. I managed to come up with a beet casserole, that tasted much better than the greyish mess it looked. Again I was very positively surprised by how included I felt and how cool and fun the day turned out to be. Not that I was expecting not to have fun, but it always amazes me how hospitable South Africans are towards someone they barely know. Judging by the razor wire fencing so abundant here, one would never guess. 

As I had already quaffed my fair share of different wines throughout the weekend I decided to keep it simple and only sampled a bottle of Lanzerac Merlot. As I paced it with plenty of mineral water I greatly enjoyed it, and eventually it made a wonderful companion to the Portuguese espetadas - special rump prepared on a sword-resembling skewers over a braai. Yum! 

As the day neared its end, regardless of my new sisterly status I was not, as opposed to my not as fortunate bros, forced to get a hair cut to ready myself for school starting on Wednesday. Regardless of the financial side of things - the haircuts at this kitchen 'establishment' are free of charge - I'm still opting for my fancy salon, and the relaxing scalp massage. Furthermore, luckily I'm on permanent vacation, and can sport a shaggy look whenever I feel like it (more often than not). On a side note, I sincerely hope the beginning of the new school year signifies the disappearance of the dirty mess on my wall. The neighborhood nuisances (from next door) keep scaling our garden wall and leaving their business cards in the form of several different sized black and brown foot prints. Go to school already.

Unlucky wildlife meets the braai

Last night at a braai I tasted some or other bok's liver, and surprisingly it was very good. 

I can't quite remember which bok it was, and Wikipedia is seriously confusing me by introducing me to the non-South African names for all the different kinds of bok rampant in these parts. You don't hear the locals ever mention antelopes, gazelles, impalas, or oryxes. Instead the locals hunt and consume the gemsbok, the rooibok, and the springbok, which is also the national animal and the name and the symbol of the national rugby team. There are also plenty of other kinds of bok, running loose in, and near my hood, but as usual their names elude me. As long as they don't get too close while still breathing, I'm cool with just calling them bok. 

Other than the bok liver I'm also experiencing the beginnings of a possibly very long love affair with the taste of lamb chops on a braai. I never understood how good charred fat could actually be. The same goes for my long forgotten, but recently newly found affection for pork rashers. Starting to sound pretty gross, eh? All in all, I think a side of a shoe would turn out nicely if it was meticulously (as they do here, since we're talking of an art form) seasoned, and braaied to simple perfection on the fire. 

'Hiking' in Groenkloof

Some months ago, while leisurely sitting in someone's backyard enjoying a glass (or two) of wine that same someone (and no one is exactly sure who that was) came up with the idea of all of us going hiking together in the Groenkloof nature reserve, situated not far from the country's capital, Pretoria. Naturally, everyone laughed and laughed and laughed, especially us two - the complete city slickers. Granted my native country could seem to exist as pure county side, but I maintain I was born and bred in a city. Also, our little family's previous address was none other than the biggest city in the world, Mexico City. Furthermore, how was hiking to fit into my wine-fueled and relaxed to the extreme lifestyle? As you can imagine I had more than enough reasons as to why any hiking was completely out of the box: I'm overweight, I drink too much, my knees hurt, I burn in the sun, wildlife freaks me out, etc and some more etc...

But... because you always need to say yes to all invitations if you want to make friends, not to mention to make the most of your expat experience, this morning (a Saturday mind you) we got out of bed at 7AM and were soon on our way towards Groenkloof. The ride from our estate does not take long, so before we knew it we were headed up a trail with giant wildebeest hoof prints going the same way as us. There were also quite a few curious, or perhaps put off (or at least they stared at us a lot) ostriches by the trail. These birds are huge, and when there is no fence between you and them somehow they seem to double in size. Or, I'm just a big baby - something that seemed to be the general consensus amongst the others in our hiking group.

Reaching the top of the first hill we actually came across four wildebeest hanging out only 10 meters into the bush by the trail. After ignoring us for the whole of two seconds they took off in a hurry. These creatures also seemed pretty huge. At that point I was happy I was in a big group. A bunch of guinea fowl followed the wildebeest sighting as did five giraffes from quite a distance. Or,  to put it honestly, others in the group saw the giraffes, I on the other hand apparently need glasses.

The group was pretty excited about the giraffes and hoping to spot some zebras as well, so we decided to make a beeline for the next ridge. Without me being fully aware of what a 'beeline' actually entailed, we soon found ourselves cutting through grass higher than any of us and a murky stream of water at the bottom of the valley. Walking through the grass was pretty cool, I have to admit, as was crossing the water had my sneakers only stayed dry, but at the same time this 'hiking' was getting pretty creepy. I'm glad the park does not have a lion population. 

When we finally made it to the foot of the hill where the giraffes had been, they were of course nowhere to be found. The most athletic guy in our group decided we could climb a straight line up the hill, and catch up to the elusive long necks. At this point, the less enthusiastic hikers (read: all of the ladies) thought it was time for a break and some shade. The group split, the guys and the kids sprinted (I'm totally being nice here) up the hill and would call us if there was anything to see. As we enjoyed some shade no call came and we happily yapped and yapped about books and our book club and the usual, such as what to do with a very nasty looking boil in a 13 year old boy's lip, and how hot is the guy who stars in the movie Australia. You know, the usual ladylike stuff. Finally we decided too much time had passed, we had thoroughly exhausted the interesting boil discussion, and decided to call the guys instead.

The call was answered with a whisper, since they guys were watching seven zebras and five giraffes up close, from about 30 meters away (this however might be a case of the catch getting bigger with every story). My husband was too busy taking pictures to call me and later iterated that 'So and so was going to call you', as did all the other guys, with only the 'so and so' changing from comment to comment. So zero zebras and giraffes for me, lucky we still have two years left in the lovely, if somewhat too wild, South Africa. 

Finally, after tramping on and off the trail for some hours without seeing anything more exciting than running guinea fowl and a yellow butterfly, there was nothing else to do except for head back to the picnic area and start a braai. As I've mentioned before, the braai truly is an institution, and can apparently be attached to any activity (I've so far heard of such oxymorons as church braais and Cricket braais). Again the people were awesome, the discussion was interesting (the guys gave their views on the boil issue), and the food was great. Had there been more wine we would still be in Groenkloof. 

Braaivleis

"What is a braai, is it painful?" asked one of my American friends on my facebook wall recently. I had apparently been gushing about all of the braais we had been invited to and which we had gladly attended. I had also always commented on the seriousness of my hang over the day following the event. I counted the mentions of a braai, and wine drinking in my facebook status updates and the tally might just signify borderline alcoholism and the beginnings of a serious meatitis. And I'm not even going to think about scurvy. 

What exactly is a braai? I guess, you could just say it is a barbeque, but to me (and possibly most South Africans) that definition just comes up short. Braai is about so much more than cooking. Yes, it is about meat, some more meat, and on top of all that meat, more meat still, and washing down all the meat with wine, beer, cider or a 'tizer. In our circle of friends, the drink of choice is cheap white wine with lots of ice in it. Hold on, before you gasp at my heretic ways, add the heat into the mixture and understand the value of a cool, refreshing beverage. However, the braai would only be a barbeque if it wasn't for the spending time with your friends and family under the lovely South African sun, children running around barefoot, everyone relaxing, while amicably debating the pros and cons of wood, charcoal, and gas (apparently the two latter are widely considered cheating). Braai is a South African institution even celebrated yearly on 24th September on Heritage day. A day, which in reality goes by the name of 'National Braai day'.

Some months ago, when we were looking for a house for our two year stint in Joburg, my husband decided he would not look at any houses sans a built in braai on the patio. This request, which I first thought would annoy the poor real estate agents to no end, earned us the goodwill of every single agent and landlord we came across on our house hunting adventures. General feeling seemed to be that no credit checks were needed since we understood the importance of the braai. My husband also garnered some admiration by insisting on a traditional, as opposed to a gas, braai. He had never before made a fire in his life, but we decided to leave that detail out. We have since hosted three braais for our friends, and have had an incredible amount of private ones, with just me and my husband in attendance. Most of the friendships my husband has formed have come through engaging in deep discussions about the braai, both physical and abstract. 

As per custom, I never touch the braai. I make the salad, while I'm opening a bottle of wine (which means that most times there is no salad, also a traditional option). The braai is for men to fuss over their meat and their fire, and to talk rugby after the wood-charcoal-gas topic has been exhausted. During the rugby off season camping out in the bushveld is also an acceptable subject. While the men fuss and stand around tending to the fire and then to the aged (sometimes this means green and moldy) rump steaks, and the boerewors-sausage, the women sit around drinking and eating biltong and droëwors, tasty versions of jerky. In a way the braai is a nice way of making life more equal for South African men and women, as men are taking over the 'kitchen' for a change (for us this is normal, since I don't cook anyway).

Indeed, the braai is all about meat (not Nokia) connecting people, and we can definitely say that the tradition of the braai is one of the big parts of our crush with Joburg and South Africa. We are falling in love and looking forward to many more braais yet.