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.

Blue Bulls vs. Stormers

In case you are not totally into the South African sport-scene, we are talking rugby here. Yes, possibly the most important as well as popular, and at the same time the most controversial, sport in South Africa. In the least, rugby is one of the popular top four, alongside cricket, hockey, and soccer. 

Last Saturday the Blue Bulls from Pretoria beat the Stormers from Cape Town, and I and the hubby as well as a group of drunken people whom we like to call friends were there at Loftus Stadium to witness it. And I must say, as much as I knew I would be bothered by the extremely violent nature of the game, not to mention the racial issues surrounding this sport, in the end I'm glad that I decided to go. The game provided me with a rare glimpse into the Nation's soul.

So this is what went down: 

After my 10k race in the morning (bettered my time by 9 minutes, thank you very much!) I and the hubby headed out to finally pick up his car - a huge honkin' 4x4 gas guzzler that honestly makes me ashamed, but at the same time able to travel to places like Kruger National Park and Mozambique. Unfortunately, as you probably guessed, regardless of our deal to only drive the 4x4 if we really need to and otherwise make use of the 'practically runs on air' Daihatsu, the hubby decided to drive the new vehicle to our friends' house where we were meeting the rugby enthusiasts. I hope this does not become a trend.

After several minutes (possibly 30-40) spent ogling our new car (Where is the sensitive environmentalist I married?) we all packed into one, even more monstrous, SUV, and headed towards the stadium. This took place sometime before three in the afternoon and the game was set to start at five. I asked no questions, but decided to go with the flow (i.e. get a drink and yabber about irrelevant issues) and take in the experience.

As we got closer to the stadium, but were still at least 1,5 kilometers away we began to pass people in all shades of blue clothing sitting on camping chairs, drinking beer, and tending to something resembling a cast iron pan attached to a tank of gas. The latter turned out to be a skottel, which boils down to, once again, a form of braai. As you all must have understood by now meat is the perfect accessory to everything, and I do mean everything. 

Luckily, since we decided to arrive only some hours before the start of the game, one of our friends had scored himself a parking pass. We must have driven past hundreds of the impromptu sidewalk braais in more or less appropriate spots, as we drove all the way into the heart of the event. Thanks to the parking pass, we found a good spot not too far from the stadium and abracadabra, from the trunk of the car out came a skottel, some boerewors, beer, wine, sosaties, and rolls. We were set for our pre-rugby lunch - beer-fried boerie rolls enjoyed sitting on the fender of the car and drinking ice cold beer (or if you are me someone else's wine. Sorry W!).

The sun beat down, and I found myself wishing we had arrived in time to snag ourselves one of the prime spots underneath the trees. After all, I was wearing my nigh only piece of blue clothing - a cardigan. However, I was quickly informed that if I wanted shade I would have to have arrived not some hours before, but hours before. Apparently a rugby game can easily be made into an entire-day happening, starting at dawn and stretching all the way into the wee hours of the next morning. Never say South Africans don't know how to party.   

After the quick (in relative braai terms) bite, we were ready to head towards the stadium (at this time we were also equipped with energizer drinks secretly mixed with vodka, see my previous comment on partying). We found our seats, luckily on the shady side and began to soak in the atmosphere. The stadium was sold out and pretty much all in blue. Even the one Stormers fan in our bunch had not dared to wear his team colors. There was electricity (and beer fumes) in the air. 

After a short (thank Zeus) stripper act that officially went under the banner of cheerleading the game started. Now, I've never even pretended to understand rugby, and can honestly say I am now even more confused. The game wasn't nearly as physical as I had feared, and a lot more kicking of the ball (is it called that?) was involved than I had expected. The Blue Bulls won. How? I don't know. Something they call a try took place a couple of times and both teams accumulated points. What I do know is that the players wore nice uniforms, had good muscular legs, and both teams combined only two of the players were older than I am, which made me feel very old, and sip the berry flavored vodkaizer at an increasing pace. 

During the game, I also participated in the Mexican wave, which was a lot of fun, but not the booing chorus that erupted every time Stormers number 8 had the ball. Luke Watson is called 'Puke', and widely hated amongst South African rugby fans. This hatred is due to a comment he allegedly made regarding the emblem of the South African national team 'The Springboks'. On being picked for the national team he supposedly had said he had a hard time not vomiting on the jersey. Now, as harsh and unwarranted as this may seem, the comment should be decoded through the current debate raging around the symbol of the national team, as well as the past (and quietly also the present) of rugby as a 'whites-only' sport. 

The symbol of the South African national teams during the apartheid era was the springbok. Understandably enough, alongside the renaming of towns and streets and such to reflect the rainbow nation as opposed to retaining reminders of the horrors of apartheid, the symbol and the name of the teams were to be changed from the bok to a protea. In the case of rugby, due to massive resistance, especially from the Afrikaner population, this didn't quite work out at the time. Mandela put a lid on the discussion, but now the demand and the debate have resurfaced. 

This is just my two cents, but looking at the crowd, the players, and hearing the two Bulls fans two rows in front of us belt out the old national anthem (i.e. the apartheid nation's anthem) at the top of their voices does not ensure me I am looking at a good representation of the New South Africa. 

Still, I  did have fun and I enjoyed the experience, but like so many times before in South Africa, I was forced to realize that the nation is still in major transition, and old habits die hard. It is as if the nation is a fifteen year old moody teenager, who goes from being an angel to a complete devil in less than two seconds and even without no one completely realizing the change until it is too late, and the affected bystander is left with no other option than to thank Zeus for wine and being able to buy plenty of it. 

Growing up is hard to do.   

   

Staying safe in SA

The son of my friend is apparently such an awesome athlete that my scarcely populated nation has decided to send this 17 year old promise all the way to South Africa to train along with a team of other promises and a coach. I come in the picture in the receiving end of a rather anxious e-mail. My friend has asked for my assistance.

It seems that the news of the current safety situation in South Africa are yet to reach the media in my country, or they just haven't really sunk in with the general public, i.e. the coach, who is looking to rent a house for the team through the internet with little regard to where the house is, or how the house is. The seeming unawareness of the dangers here might, yet again, be the unfortunate case of 'there is so much evil and bad stuff happening in Africa that it flows off my back without ever registering into my consciousness'. Unfortunately, many of us Europeans are often attacked by this syndrome. I seem to suffer from it off and on when it comes to parts of Africa, other than my immediate surroundings. How easy it is to close our eyes, and stay behind these, often electric walls of ours. 

Don't get me wrong, I love this country, I love living here, I adore the people, I adore the customs, and love being privy to the mix of the different cultures unlike anywhere else in the world. But, unfortunately SA, and especially the area of Gauteng, where Johannesburg and Pretoria are located, is amongst the most dangerous areas in the world currently not at war. According to Nation Master, per capita SA has the most assaults, rapes and murders with firearms.  Heartbreaking, especially since many of the victims are children. It seems that when it comes to rape, the myth is that engaging in intercourse with a virgin will cure AIDS. Sometimes the world just kicks you in the gut, making it almost impossible to breathe. 

Why am I writing this most negative of posts? Because my friend informed me that the coach of the team was looking to rent a house with the requirements being limited to the number of bedrooms, and a location near the needed sports facilities, so they wouldn't need transportation. As you might have guessed, walking around in my hood might not always be a smart idea. My friend had gotten scared for her son's safety and wanted the local scoop on the different areas. Granted, I'm no local, but I tried my best. 

I quizzed my friends regarding different neighborhoods around here, and proceeded to write one of the most difficult mails ever. I love this country, but understand its shortcomings as well (or at least try to), and as much as possible attempt to see the humor in them. Still, there are aspects of this country where humor is simply out of the question, and only horror prevails. I cannot imagine how it must be sending your child (and he is still one at 17) far from home to a foreign country. Not to mention a foreign country, such as South Africa with its often very frightening reputation, and trusting your child with someone who perhaps has not clearly understood the precautions required by that same reputation.

I'm sure the team will have a great time here, achieve a lot, and most likely their stay will be entirely problem free, as our life here so far has been. Still, as many of my friends often remind me: "It never hurts to be a little paranoid."   

System abusers and guys with camel-toe

I have been thinking about my teeny tiny political post quite a lot this weekend, and found myself wondering whether I'm really living in a country, whose population can be divided into those who abuse the system, and those who try to thwart their attempts (not to mention which group I would fall into).

It seems to me, in South Africa trust in one's employees is not the going trend. There are, in fact numerous more or less funny, but at the same time incredibly sad examples of ways to stop 'potential abuses'. My personal faves include the cashier having to buzz in an elderly matron-lady - whose office must be located at the back of the store or possibly downtown, because we are talking at least a half-hour arrival time to the cash point - when the poor cashier has punched in four plastic bags instead of the three we asked for, lest she embezzle the whopping 29 cents, or the guards in our compound having to carry special sticks (and not the good kind either) and touch them to every second light pole with a sensor, while on their rounds, to make sure they don't take any short cuts, or a guy in a safari-outfit, complete with shorts no grown man should ever wear in public because of their unfortunate camel-toe creating effect, standing arms akimbo watching ten other guys slave away planting on the piece of dirt in the middle of a roundabout (a monthly occurrence by us). In light of these kinds of situations I'm glad I'm my own boss. Or, well, that no one is the boss of me, technically at least, I think. God?   

Still, these thwarting measures don't just go for employees, various ones can also be applied to customers, one of which I frequently am, so these ones get to me. Before coming to South Africa I never realized how hard it was to judge a book, or in this case a magazine, by its cover. Every single magazine here comes neatly packaged in cellophane, making it compulsory to be versed in Cosmo-talk. How else will you ever know if the '100 ways to make your man purr' will teach you that trick in the bedroom that will help you to keep your fires burning into your nineties, making the mag a necessary purchase, or just tell you to stroke your man's ego every once in a while, which we all already know to do regularly anyway. For my R28 I could be getting a latte and a small muffin instead. 

I have never been able to understand moral compasses that tell their owners to go ahead as long as they don't get caught, but lately I'm also having huge problems with understanding the state or any other 'authority' as that moral compass. Well, even as a kid I never liked anyone telling me what to do, or curbing my behavior in any way (I always know best, even when I don't), and I have to be honest and say I don't think South Africa will succeed in what even my iron-willed mother failed in (I think I must have been grounded for about fourteen years in total during my wonder years).

In the near future, if you see a blond woman slipping off the cellophane covers of all of the Cosmos, Cleos, Feminas, Saries, and such, just to set the magazines back on the rack and stare at them, possibly at your local Checkers, or Pick n' Pay, please come say hello.  

Thank you for the opportunity to rant, all I need now is an amazingly bad book, and my week is set.  

Something small on politics

So my internet has been on the fritz for the past couple of days. Or actually my internet provider had in their infinite wisdom figured out that I had gone over my limit and proceeded to cut my internet. Now, I knew there was a limit, but I was under the impression that if I exceeded the limit I was just going to pay more. You know, the normal way of doing things. 

No, no, not here. Again, we were given the explanation that we have become much too familiar with: one of their previous clients had exceeded his agreed limit and downloaded to such an extent that later he was unable to pay his bill, i.e. someone at some point in time had abused the system, and therefore we have to suffer for it. 

This song is getting very old for us. Granted there are quite a few even rather public displays of abusing the system, from the antics of the former president Thabo Mbeki to the even scarier seeming doings of the wannabe president Jacob Zuma. And we truly understand that the gravest problem South Africa is facing right now might just not be crime after all, but the ubiquitous corruption, eventually making it impossible to do anything about the crime situation. Still, I'm not sure the right way of going about 'educating' the citizens is to thwart any potential abuses even before they appear, thus making trust and respect for adult intellect superfluous. Is it just me or could there be a link to the crime? Just wondering...

I always seem to get really agitated when I feel my intellect is not being respected (I happen to have quite a decent size ego) and apparently this time it was enough for me to actually churn out a political post. There is a first for everything. 

Hmph, I don't quite know what to do with my highly politicized self right now.