Bangs, bangers, beer and a clown

About a week ago two frustrated lesbians (S – aged 70, and G – 69), Hot Chick and Wineou had a slightly different Saturday afternoon. The girls who don’t go for guys will be referred to as S70 and G69 in future (they live in the same block of flats as Hot Chick, and have been friends of hers for years).

We started off by attending the firing of two muzzle-loaded cannons outside the Chavonnes Battery (www.chavonnesmuseum.co.za) at the V&A Waterfront in a belated celebration of Heritage Day (also known as National Braai Day). I was given the honour of helping the expert load the cannons, and was then allowed to fire the first one. In case global warming should cause such future havoc that we no longer have the ability to shoot each other with modern weapons, I now know exactly how to do it in the ancient way.

I won’t give you all the trade secrets but can reveal that the final stage of the process is to pour dry gunpowder into the vertical vent that leads to the charge that has been rammed into the barrel. A long wick is attached to a stick ending in a piece of wire, and the end of the wick tied to the wire is lit with a match. One has to stand on a precise spot at an angle to the gun, close enough to do the deed, but far enough away not to be hit by the considerable recoil of the cannon or to be singed by the 6ft flame that shoots up from the vent, or burnt to a cinder by the massive 8ft flame that simultaneously comes out of the front of the thing.

This is not normally a difficult task, but Wineou’s hand developed a slight tremor, and pouring rain put the wick out. Eventually the patient cannon master resorted to sticking a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it and giving it a couple of enthusiastic draws. Before the downpour could dampen it he attached the smouldering ciggie to the wire, and Wineou managed to make the cannon go bang while shouting instructions to Hot Chick to capture the event on his cellphone.

The result was an exceedingly arty picture of her thumb.

Afterwards Willem Steenkamp treated us to an hour-long, fascinating tour of the battery and we learnt everything we could wish to know about guns, batteries, sailing ships and the early history of Cape Town. Willem (tall and 70ish, an army major, ex-journalist, author, military historian, tour guide and brilliant raconteur) would be pleased to know that S70 later remarked that, if she were that way inclined, he was the sort of chap she could go for. 

Hot Chick had told me that on a previous excursion to the Waterfront S70 had developed a desire to get away from poncy places and sit down at a pub and have a beer and a sausage. After traipsing around for hours they had come to the conclusion that Cape Town has every type of tavern under the sun, but not one that gives that simple combination. Incidentally, Cape Town used to be known as The Tavern of the Seas.

So, while the rain got stronger, I led the trio to the nearby Paulaner Bräuhaus. There we downed flagons of German beer, and snacked on sauerkraut and a variety of sausages and frankfurters; and realised that bangers and beer are possible if you know where to go. S70 began to mellow after a bout of invective about G69 – an office-bearer in the Anglican Church, who admitted to her desires and was prepared to share her flat, but not her bed, with S70. She commented freely on the standard of talent in the room, and made acerbic observations about our dusky waitress who did not have the heaving, creamy bosoms, or snappy service, she expected at a German beer-house. It was fun to sit in a pub with a couple of girls who were just as keen to look at the other girls as I was. Hot Chick endured this with a bemused expression.

It was a bit of a change from the atmosphere and fine dining we’d experienced recently at Gordon Ramsay’s maze restaurant at the One&Only.

The lesbians left, and Hot Chick and I went to see the animated movie Up. We are not fans of fantasy, animation or violence. But Up, and District 9 – which we’d seen the week before – were two of the finest films we’d seen in a long time, despite being full of the things we thought we didn’t like. I think only a South African can fully appreciate the humour and pokes at the past that occur in District 9.

Two weeks beforehand, on a soft spring day, I met a mathematical clown on top of Signal Hill. She is visiting us from England, and helping children in poorer areas to appreciate maths and science by using props like balloons. She was happy to pose for the camera.

Roxy Louw

While enjoying a marvellous meaty meal with friends and family on national

Hot Chick looks like this after a summer of surfing

braai day (24 September) Hot Chick announced that she and her female friends, who used to be keen surfers, are thinking of taking up the sport again. The desire was sparked by a walk she and Sue took along the beachfront at Muizenberg. There it is now possible to hire all sorts of boards as well as wetsuits. And get lessons from one of four surf schools, including one run by model Roxy Louw.

I might join them.

Live like a lord; spend like a cheapskate

Jeff Yeager and his book The Ultimate Cheapskate, and the subsequent world economic downturn, have helped to popularise the concept of living cheaply. I googled “cheapskates” this morning and in less than a second was presented with 294,000 sites.

So, there are many tips out there for those who would like to try the lifestyle, or at least save a little extra cash. The first offering from Google was http://zenhabits.net/2007/08/the-cheapskate-guide-50-tips-for-frugal-living/

It came up with 50 pretty good tips, and the following introduction: “Why live frugally? First, because it allows you to spend less than you earn, and use the difference to pay off debt, save or invest. Or all three. Second, because the less you spend, the less you need to earn. And that means you can choose to work less, or work more but retire early. Or take mini retirements. You have more options with a frugal lifestyle.”

As I read through the tips I realised that I was following many of them, mainly because I’d made some wrong choices in life, had had a few “mini retirements”, and generally hadn’t accumulated a nest egg that enabled me to retire. And now that I had reached the age of retirement I knew that I needed to live frugally and save what I could for the inevitable lean times.

I also knew that I could choose to be depressed about this, or look on the bright side of life. I tend to do the latter; in fact I revel in bucking the trend, being cheerful in the face of adversity, and living the life of a lord without a care in the world.

I have read a couple of books about class distinctions and gathered that those on the bottom rung and those right at the top (particularly British aristocracy) have a lot in common. They often dress like tramps, don’t care what others think, are free with their use of profanity, generally do whatever they feel like and to hell with middle-class morality.

Those in the upwardly mobile middle feel the need to impress those above and below them, wear the right clothes, drive the right cars, live in the right neighbourhoods, go to the right churches, the right places on holiday, suffer through ballet, opera and symphony concerts; spend more than they earn, and generally have a miserable time.

But we tramps and lords enjoy ourselves and don’t give a shit.

Which reminds me, when you do need to “go to the bathroom” as the Americans so quaintly put it, you have some choices. You can fret about choosing a “clean restroom” and endure the embarrassment of humbly asking restaurant owners for permission to use their “facilities”. And sometimes have to blushingly hear that these are “for customers only”. Or, you can march into the poshest place you can find as though you own the joint (I find five-star hotels very satisfactory), allow concierges and uniformed flunkies to bow and scrape you into the building. And bow and scrape you out again after you have made your deposit. The five-star establishments always have toilet paper (with the ends folded to points), hot and cold water, liquid soap, hand lotion, and numerous dry fluffy towels. The only thing they lack is graffiti.

Nowadays hotels are relaxed about the attire of their customers. It wasn’t always so. When I cycled from Cape Town to Durban in 1982, for most overnight stops I pitched my tent in caravan parks. But in the Eastern Cape after East London there were none, and I had to use hotels. When I reached the little town of Butterworth – after toiling up and down numerous huge hills – I was informed that if I wished to eat in the hotel dining room I would have to wear a jacket and tie. They lent me a tie, but I had to find my own jacket. Later, as I ate a sumptuous meal I looked around me, gave a contented sigh, and reflected that I must be the only person in the world dining in a pyjama jacket and tie.

Cheapskates don’t belong to gyms. These things cost a fortune, and make a mint from people who pay for a year or two and only go once or twice. You can get all the exercise you need by cycling to work and the shops (you don’t have to wear Lycra) or going for a brisk daily walk. And if you are keen to have a body like mine (ahem) you can use your ingenuity to do exercises in your bedroom. I used to run, but found that it has drawbacks: I spent a lot replacing shoes every few months, and visiting physiotherapists to repair muscle tears. You also have the hassle of having to change into running shorts and shoes every time. And showering afterwards. Walking is free and you can do it almost anywhere, any time.

My usual walk is through the posh residential area adjoining mine. This afternoon I encountered arum lilies, strelizias or “birds of paradise” which are the official flowers of Los Angeles but come from South Africa, clivias with their orange flowers and perfect leaves (loved by the Japanese), towering stone pines with their distinctive flat tops, English Oaks in full leaf, and London Plane Trees just getting their spring attire. People nod and smile as I go by (they think I’m one of them); even the dogs don’t bark much (I’ve learnt to walk mostly in the middle of the quiet streets so as not to invade their space and seem a threat to them).  All this while listening to the latest book borrowed from the Listeners’ Library and copied onto my MP4 player. What’s not to like.

People smile – they think I'm one of them

 

Mitzi from Venezuela and Ali from Iran at Jordan wine farm

Some quotes

Damon Runyon: “One of these days in your travels, a guy is going to come up to you and show you a nice brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken, and this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the Jack of Spades jump out of the deck and squirt cider in your ear. But, son, do not bet this man, for as sure as you are standing there, you are going to end up with an earful of cider.”
 
“The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.”

Wineou: A casino is a place where people who don’t understand statistics go to give money to people who do.

Dad and his daughters: I get paid to take nice people to nice places

Cape of Storms and Superlatives (6)

On Thursday night I attended a farewell dinner for my eldest son and his wife who are off to India for a year. They intend to buy a Royal Enfield motorbike and ride it wherever whim takes them. They have no plan, no motorbike licence (Dave has never ridden one, but has once ridden a scooter) and no worries. Glad to see Dave has inherited his dad’s, and great-grandfather Victor Dodd’s adventurous spirit. (Victor had a dogsled and team of dogs in Canada, was at the Klondike gold rush and did two tours of duty fighting in the Boer War.)

Dave at Bulungula

After early escapades shooting rapids with me, handling and catching dangerous snakes at 14, and touring Africa, Europe, South America, Australia and China mostly by public transport, nothing fazes Dave. He hopes to have some adventures with his wife whom he says has had a rather

One of the views from near David's hut

unexciting life up to now (although living in a mud hut on top of a hill in one of the most remote and beautiful spots in South Africa, where the couple run the Bulungula Lodge, is not everyone’s idea of a sheltered life.)

But enough about my family. Let’s talk about some adventurous men and women from an earlier era, and continue from where we left off last time I wrote about doing a tour round the Cape Peninsula – on 16 Jan 09, in Cape of Storms and Superlatives (5).

After leaving Groot Constantia we drive along Spaanschemat River Road past Ladies Mile Road. Tourists often ask me where the name comes from. In Beard Shaver’s Bush (published in 2000) by Ed Coombe and Peter Slingsby on page 36 they say: “. . . it is named for ‘Lady’ , a horse whose owner, Colonel Cloete, measured a one-mile section of the road (at that time just a sandy track) for exercising Lady.”

But, on page 76 of Discovering Southern Africa (published in 2001) by TV Bulpin, there is the story of the wealthy widow Leonora Colyn who bought a portion of the original Bergvliet farm from Hendrik Eksteen. She named it Sweet Valley and built a house for her son on it. Eksteen didn’t like Mrs Colyn and she “didn’t care a fig for him . . . She deliberately made full and flamboyant use of her right of way on the road across Bergvliet, galloping backwards and forwards each day to see her son, and sending wagons and carts to convey building materials for the new house and bring back thatching material for her own home.”

Eksteen seethed with rage and got his slaves to dig a deep ditch across the road. There was a series of court cases, and finally in 1827 “The King in Council” ruled in favour of Leonora Colyn. Bulpin writes that “Ladies Mile”, the road which runs through Bergvliet, was thenceforth named after this celebrated and costly squabble. “It proved to be the ruination of Eksteen. Costs were awarded against him. They were murderous and he went insolvent.”

I’m not sure which is the correct story; but guess which one I prefer!

Take the turnoff to Klein Constantia Road and go and do a free winetasting at the beautiful Klein Constantia farm. If you look at the interesting historical display there you’ll learn that the famous Constantia wines developed by Cloete and his neighbour and relative Johannes Colyn (whose eldest son’s wife became the feisty widow Leonora of Ladies Mile fame) were natural and unfortified. Both the red and white versions had a high alcohol and sugar content. This helped them to travel well. They were carried all over the world, and eulogised in the writings of celebrated authors such as Charles Dickens, Jane Austin, Alexander Dumas, Henry Longfellow and Baudelaire. Queen Victoria drank a man-sized glass every evening after dinner.  Napoleon, in his exile on St Helena Island, found solace in drinking a bottle a day. On his deathbed the last thing he asked for was a glass of Constantia.

In 1980 the farm was bought by Dougie Jooste (whom I’d met a few years beforehand while troutfishing in the mountains of the Koue Bokkeveld). The farm was in dire need of restoration. The Klein Constantia website tells us that “lengthy soil preparation was the first task, followed by major replanting of the vineyards. Priority was given to first creating quality housing for the staff; whereafter work began on the new cellar, planned by winemaker Ross Gower, and designed by architect Gawie Fagan. Built just in time for the maiden 1986 vintage, it subsequently received a Merit Award from the Cape Provincial Institute of Architects.

Following the re-development of Klein Constantia in 1980, all involved felt it their mission to bring back the famous sweet Constantia wine, as these vineyards were once part of the original Constantia estate, belonging first to Simon van der Stel, and then to Hendrik Cloete.

The wine-making team headed by Ross Gower studied historic records, looked to modern research, and read reports by early travellers who had tasted the wines. Choosing a grape variety was crucial, and they were extremely fortunate to find a special clone of Muscat de Frontignan propagated from vines which in all likelihood came from the original stock used in Constantia 300 years before. So, a century after its disappearance, this legendary wine saw its renaissance – in the form of Klein Constantia’s Vin de Constance made in the style of the old Constantia, from vineyards which produced it in the 18th & 19th centuries.

Traditional methods are carefully followed in the making of the modern Vin de Constance: grapes are left to ripen on the vines until late March, when they shrivel to sweet, raisined berries. Hendrik Cloete’s earlier writings are true today – the making of this wine is a labour of love, a high-risk, low-yield enterprise. We feel the goal has been achieved, with the intensely aromatic, golden-coloured wine with its unctuous sweetness and lingering flavours.”

In 2001 agents sent to an auction of the estate of the Duke of Northumberland were able to return with a rare prize: two bottles of original Constantia wine dated 1791. And on Dougie’s 75th birthday they opened one of them. Dougie subsequently told me that as they drew the cork, it crumbled, and he handed the bottle of 210-year-old wine to his winemaker, saying, “You go first.” He tasted it and pronounced it excellent, with a sweetly nutty flavour. And 13 people present were able to enjoy a taste of history.

The neighbouring Constantia Uitsig estate has its fair share of superlatives. It must surely be the only wine estate to have its own cricket field and three top-class restaurants. Luke Dale-Roberts the executive chef of the estate’s La Colombe restaurant won the 2008 Prudential Eat Out Chef of the Year and Restaurant of the Year award. And the restaurant was voted one of the top 50 restaurants in the world by the San Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants Awards 2009.

The next farm had another indomitable woman as its owner, and is possibly the oldest existing farm in South Africa. The following comes almost verbatim from www.capeinfo.com:

‘Steenberg’ existed even before Simon van der Stel had built his great house in the heart of the Constantia Valley. Steenberg, ‘Mountain of Stone’, has a romantic ring, but the original name was more beautiful still, for it was called ‘Swaaneweide’ – The Feeding Place of Swans. Whether swans did indeed fly down to drink and swim in the cool clear waters of the farm, or whether the first owner, Catharina Ras, was being nostalgic about her former home in Lubeck, on the Baltic coast of Germany, is hard to tell. Whatever her reason, she named her estate Swaaneweide. Ras had named the farm after swans although these birds are not indigenous to South Africa and certainly not Constantia; maybe she had mistaken the spur-winged geese for swans because today you will still find a large population of these spur-winged geese at Steenberg.

Catharina Ustings Ras was one of the most daring and controversial figures ever to settle at the Cape. Life was not easy when she arrived, only ten years after Jan van Riebeeck landed; for 1662 was far from being the age of rights for women, and yet this indomitable woman had boarded a sailing ship and made the perilous journey to the furthest tip of Africa. What she found was certainly no land of milk and honey. It was a fierce, wild place with laws to match. Keelhaulings, hangings, lashings and brandings were normal occurrences. This being no place for a lone widow of twenty-two, she immediately found herself a second husband, Hans Ras. He was not a particularly eligible catch – a soldier and free burger with a penchant for female slaves; but he had a house on the Liesbeek River, which he had bought from Jakob Kluten, founder of the famous Cloete family, whose name has dominated Constantia for more than two hundred years.

Once the wedding knot was tied, Catharina’s life seemed to take on the dramatic overtones which marked its course from that day forward. Two wagons left the ceremony, with the bride and groom in one and the guests in the other. Lit from within by good Cape wine and overcome, no doubt, by the spirit of the occasion, the drivers decided to race one another back to Rondebosch. While the guests clung fearfully to their seats, praying to Heaven with truly Protestant fervour, the wagons vied for position and as the road was rough and narrow, a collision soon occurred. Enraged at this conduct on his wedding day, the bridegroom jumped down from his seat and soon became entangled in a fight, receiving a knife thrust, which almost proved fatal – the weapon breaking in two between his ribs. He survived this incident and lived to father several children, but came to an unfortunate end when he was killed by a lion some years later. Legend has it that, like Annie Oakley, Catharina courageously fetched a gun, leaped on her horse and gave chase, finally shooting the lion herself; but this may well be a case of historical embroidery!

Fate had a good deal more in store for the girl from Lubeck however, for a Hottentot murdered her next husband and his successor was trampled underfoot by an elephant. Seemingly no less endowed with energy than Henry VIII, who surprised all Europe with his impressive total of six wives, Catharina then took unto herself a fifth husband, a hardy German named Matthys Michelse.

In 1682 Catharina Michelse, also known as The Widow Ras, had asked Simon van der Stel for a portion of ground at the foot of the Ou Kaapse Weg and he agreed to lease 25 morgen to her. After he became the owner of Groot Constantia in 1685, she asked him for a legal title deed and a mandate was granted to her in 1688 to “cultivate, to plough and to sow and also to possess “the farm below the stone mountain.” According to Baron von Rheede tot Drankenstein, who visited the farm and was served a luncheon of “radishes and freshly baked bread and beautiful cabbages”, Catharina was a fiercely independent woman, “riding bare-back like an Indian and her children resembling Brazilian cannibals!”

Steenberg golf course near the winetasting venue

As time passed, the Dutch East India Company decreed in 1741 that from May to August each year Simon’s Bay would be the official winter port because “the north-west winds in Table Bay had been causing untold damage and loss of life.” Because Swaaneweide was exactly one day’s journey from Table Bay and one day’s journey from Simon’s Bay this meant that many travellers would be obliged to overnight at the farm. Christina Diemer (another widow!) became the recipient of a highly profitable business of supplying hospitality to travellers and provisions to the fleet.

I think this is a good place to halt our journey round the Peninsula.

Adult content!

Sex
 
Last night Hot Chick took me to see Sexpo . . .
 
Now that I have your attention let’s talk about sex and Helen Zille and the ANC. In brief, things went like this: last week Helen became the premier of the Western Cape and appointed a cabinet consisting only of men, most of whom were white. She justified this by saying that she was confined to taking people from the elected list, and that her main consideration had been service delivery. (She presumably knew something about service delivery, having won the 2008 World Mayor Award in an international poll.)
 
There was a storm of criticism from the ANC. In response she wrote a letter to the Cape Argus which contained the following sentence:
 
“The ANC’s alliance partners, the SACP and COSATU, are also led by men. And, more significantly, the ANC’s leader, Jacob Zuma, is a self-confessed womanizer with deeply sexist views, who put all his wives at risk by having unprotected sex with an HIV-positive woman.  Even after this the ANC women’s league strongly endorsed his Presidential campaign. Their professions of support for women’s rights ring hollow indeed against this background.” (The full letter can be seen at http://www.politicsweb.co.za/politicsweb/view/politicsweb/en/page71654?oid=128891&sn=Detail)

ANC Youth League spokesman, Floyd Shivambu, responded thus: “Zille has appointed an all-male cabinet of useless people, (the) majority of whom are her boyfriends and concubines, so that she can continue to sleep around with them, yet she claims to have the moral authority to question our president.”
 
This led to a tongue-lashing for the youth league from ANC secretary-general Gwede Mantashe. But the Umkonto weSizwe Military Veterans’ Association chairman came back with this gem: “Just recently, she appointed half her sex boys into the Western Cape provincial cabinet to keep them close enough to satisfy her well-evolved wild whore libido.”
 
A bit of detective work with the telephone directory and her married name led me to a quiet lane near where I live. This morning I drove down it towards number 14 to maybe get a glimpse of this wild whore, or her lucky middle-aged husband and embarrassed 20-something children. But the sight of a police van parked outside the house at the end of the leafy cul-de-sac gave me second thoughts. I wondered what the occupants of the van thought of this suspicious pervert trying to do a three-point turn and get away from the house of ill repute . . .
 
All this made me think back to how things used to be before the South African government changed: The media were not allowed to quote banned persons or organisations. So, even if anybody from the above organisations had had the nerve to say such things, the words would not have reached radio, TV or print media. And we would have been deprived of a lot of fun. Sex was also something that seldom saw the light of day. Local pin-up girls were stuck in the fifties. And daring photos of overseas models were noted for the black stars that covered anything resembling a nipple. Whole scenes were excised from movies. Books were banned, and there was a strong rumour that even “Black Beauty” had been seized by an ignorant official.
 
We can celebrate the fact that people now feel free enough to make such outrageous statements, and then go and look at Sexpo if they want to. I guess Helen could sue the pants off those who have slandered her. But she says she won’t bother. And maybe the thought of newspaper headlines with double meanings and bad puns is a deterrent.
 
However, some have lamented that the past week has seen a new low in the standard of political debate. Chris Moerdyk remarked on SAfm this morning that before the election Brand Helen Zille was Coca Cola, and now she is George Bush.
 
I thought it might be worthwhile to compare what we have heard this last week with the wit and wisdom of Winston Churchill. In my opinion he was the master of the apt riposte, the cutting jibe, and the lofty exhortation. Let’s look at some examples:

Bessie Braddock: “Sir, you are drunk.”
Churchill: “Madam, you are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober.”

Nancy Astor: “Sir, if you were my husband, I would give you poison.”
Churchill: “If I were your husband I would take it.”

“You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”

“A sheep in sheep’s clothing.” (On Clement Atlee)

“A modest man, who has much to be modest about.” (On Clement Atlee)

“I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”

“We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and the oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”

Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fall, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science.

Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth lasts for a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour!”

Did your eyes water when you read those last two? When last did a politician – or anyone – have that effect on you?

Messing about on the river

Peet se Plek

I don’t want you to go there. I just want you to be jealous.

The Beautiful Creature and I were enticed to Peet se Plek, a cottage on the Breede River, by a Richard Holmes article (with great scenic photograph) that appeared in the 9 Nov 2008 edition of the Sunday Times Travel&Food supplement. Richard took the Kenneth Grahame classic, Wind in the Willows, with him and found good reason to quote lyrical excerpts from the book to help him describe what he experienced.

I took fishing tackle and VS Naipaul’s A Bend the River. 

The simple shepherd’s cottage (slightly modernised) is situated on a broad, quiet stretch of the river. And when we opened the patio doors and looked west across reflections of large trees lining the river to the vineyards and hills beyond, we had to agree with Mole’s musings when he and the Water Rat came to what seemed to be a little land-locked lake: “It was so very beautiful that the Mole could only hold up both fore-paws and gasp, ‘O my! O my! O my!’ “

That evening, and every evening, we cooked more meat than we could eat on a wood fire in the portable “braai” on the deck. Nothing could be better than to tend the fire to the sounds of birds and the breeze, and the plopping of the fish, while obscenely bright stars twinkled above. The next morning we took the double canoe for a paddle up the river to the rapids about 1½ km away. Was it nice?   

“Is it so nice as all that?” asked the mole, shyly… 

“Nice? It’s the only thing,” said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leaned forward for his stroke. “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”

“Simply messing…about in boats – or with boats… In or out of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that’s the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don’t; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you’d much better not.”

“Look here! If you’ve really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together and have a long day of it.?”

Many people often quote one small portion of a lovely, almost poetic ode to boats. Above (thanks to the internet and my 91st edition dated 1948), with the distractions of the action removed and substituted with dots, is the entire ode to boats from Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

For lunch each day we had leftover meat from the braai, rolls and salad. And for tea we had fruit and decadent white bread and polony sandwiches. Most of the time we did nothing but laze around, work on our suntans, read and listen to music (bring your own). I dreamed of leading the life revealed in the tranquil parts of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876), and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885) – two of my favourite boyhood books.

On the third day we took the canoe and my bass rod 1½ km downstream to another set of rapids. I knew from a two-day Breede River canoe trip I’d done with my sons, some 20 years beforehand, trailing a bass lure behind the boat, that the only times I’d hooked a bass was as we went over rapids. So I cast my spinner towards the rapids, and promptly got hooked up. We paddled down to the snagged lure, freed it and got wedged in the rocks. This incident turned the Beautiful Creature into the Creature from the Swamp as she got out of the boat and turned the air blue when I remained in the boat and expected her to tow us to deeper water. This didn’t work. I was forced to get my feet wet and help her tow.

A little later, once we were in calmer water, all was sweetness and light again as we drifted and I cast and retrieved. Directly opposite us an elderly coloured woman came down to the water, wrapped her head almost completely in a type of turban as protection against the midges, and dipped her line attached to a stout eight-foot length of reed into the water. Almost immediately she staggered back and swung an enormous bass onto the bank. Her secret seemed to be getting as close to the rapids as possible, and her bait of “wurms”.

Further up the river we passed a couple more, younger, women fishing and told them what we had seen. They knew the older woman and said she always had lots of luck. Typical fisherman’s response. Back at our landing I tried my hand at fishing with special bait from a tackle shop for carp, and for bass with lures and flycasting. No fish deigned to show the slightest interest in any of my offerings. I didn’t mind too much. But, I’m warning them: I’ll be back. Met wurms, ja; met wurms.

In case you are thinking of going there, the front bedrooms are nice, but small; with limited cupboard space. I used one as my dressing and storage room. The cottage is comfortable, but not luxurious, and costs at least R400 per night during the week and more over weekends. “Linen are provided”, but you have to bring your own bathtowels.

You really don’t want to go there. It’s almost fully booked for the next year. Leave it alone. I saw it first.

Consorting with the rich and famous

Langebaan Lagoon at Churchaven

On 7 April the operations manager of the tour company I work for phoned to warn me about a tour they had booked me to do: “It’s a wealthy family from Monaco, plus butler, who’ll be arriving in their private jet; they’ll be staying at the Cape Grace for a few days, but on 16 April you must take them to the Strandkombuis at Yzerfontein where they will spend two nights (you must sleep there with them); and on 18 April you must take them to the airport. Another driver and vehicle will travel with you to carry all the luggage.”
 
My heart sank. Why the hell did a wealthy family from Monaco want to spend the best part of three days in a sleepy dorp on the west coast where there was nothing to do except look at the ice-cold sea, walk on the beach and surf, if the wind wasn’t blowing too strongly (it usually blew like the clappers)? Did they speak English? He didn’t know, and suggested taking them to Langebaan and Club Mykonos.
 
The rich and famous (especially the French) can be difficult, and this family had a French name. The famous tend to expect diffidence and deference, and being an ordinary South African ou, I don’t do diffidence very well. Luckily most of the famous don’t want tour guides, and prefer to use the services of our black-suited drivers and chauffeurs. But, occasionally we guides get to encounter celebrities: I once spent an uncomfortable couple of hours trying to take Jay-Z’s mother and entourage on a tour; but they spent most of the time chatting on their cellphones, and asking about doing a township tour. I took them back to their hotel where I had arranged for a township expert to take over from me. He did not have a happy time: “They didn’t listen to what I was telling them, and were on their cellphones all the time.”
 
But, Ronan Keating and his pretty wife and daughters turned out to be great company. He and bodyguard were very friendly, and he is a great fan of Cape Town; Kirstenbosch seems to be his favourite concert venue.
 
Our firm has the contract to do most of the tours and transport for the new One&Only hotel in Cape Town. Before and after the hotel’s grand opening various drivers got to ferry Sol Kerzner, Thandie Newton, Matt Damon, Gordon Ramsay, Marisa Tomei, and Robert De Niro to and fro. My friend Mike got to transport Mariah Carey’s luggage (you can’t believe how many people want to know what her luggage consisted of, etc, etc). The man who drove Sharon Stone from the airport had to use great willpower to stop himself from turning round and checking for a wardrobe malfunction.
 
The closest I was allowed to get to anyone famous was to do a winelands tour with jazz saxophonist Dave Koz and his friend Tom. You can read all about Dave on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Koz and see pictures of him on http://www.davekoz.com/
 
Tom is an American living in Cape Town, and seemed to know more about our wines than Wineou. So, all I had to do was follow his suggestions of what wine farms to visit, and get them into the best available restaurant in Franschhoek, La Petite Ferme, for a belated lunch. The reason why the two of them seemed more interested in each other than hearing what I had to say became clear when I read the following in Wikipedia: “In an April 2004 interview with The Advocate, Koz came out publicly as a gay man. Later the same year, he was named by People magazine as one of their ‘50 Hottest Bachelors’ in their June issue.”
 
On the journey back to Cape Town with the two hot bachelors on the back seat I put on a classical music CD (compiled, incidentally, by a lesbian friend of a friend). Tom asked Dave what he thought of classical music and he replied that he loved relaxing to it. He then asked him what famous people he had worked with, and he mentioned an impressive list which included Burt Bacharach, Celene Dion, Jonathan Butler (with whom he had appeared on 3 April at the Cape Town International Jazz Festival), Kyle Eastwood (who had also appeared, with his band, at the festival) and Bill Clinton (one of the most satisfying moments of his life was introducing his parents to the current president of the USA). Famous friends he mentioned were Matt Damon (“a very handsome man”) and Clint Eastwood (who is in Cape Town to direct a film about South Africa’s winning the rugby world cup in 1995; with his son Scott taking the part of Joel Stransky, and Matt Damon taking the part of Francois Pienaar). Dave and I agreed that Clint – with his acting, directing and musical ability – was approaching the genius level of Charlie Chaplin who acted in, directed, scripted, produced and eventually scored his own films. Charlie even did the choreography for the 1952 film Limelight, and his score for this film won an Academy Award. He also composed hit songs, including “Smile” famously covered by Nat King Cole, and “This is My Song” which became a number one hit in several languages (most notably the version by Petula Clark). 
 
But, I digress. Back to family “B”, the millionaires from Monaco. It turned out that they had come for a wedding reception at Strandkombuis (“beach kitchen”), and that all the efforts I had made to find suitable restaurants and things for them to see and do were wasted. A relative of Mr B’s was marrying into a Dutch family, and the Dutch are noted for being careful with money and doing self catering wherever possible. So the first evening’s entertainment was a lamb spit braai (barbecue) at the B & B next to the beach restaurant where they were all staying, and I was allowed to leave them to it and drive 5 km to Kaijaki guesthouse in Yzerfontein, that I had cleverly booked myself into, go for a walk, watch surfers catching some excellent waves, and have a rather nice kingklip supper at Meeurots restaurant.
 
The wedding ceremony at 2 pm on 17 April was at Churchaven on the Langebaan Lagoon about 45 minutes’ drive

Chapel at Churchaven, with phallic tree stump

away. Thereafter I returned the party to Strandkombuis for the reception. Once I’d dropped them there I was allowed to depart, go for a walk, get another look at the surfers, and have an excellent dinner at Kaijaki. (The Dutch co-owner and chef produced the best Karoo lamb chops I’ve ever had, surrounded by an explosion of colourful vegetables.)
 
The next day during our drive to the airport I caught interesting snatches of conversation between Mr B and Paul the butler. It seemed that Paul was not a butler, but some sort of security expert who was going to Mr B’s diamond mine in Sierra Leone where theft was a big problem. The family, meanwhile, were going on to a holiday in Mauritius where Mr B was having a meeting with the president . . .

After the family had been put on their private jet Paul told me that he had been very amused to hear that I thought he was a butler. Apparently he had had extensive military training in the UK and Southern Africa, and had been a member of the elite Grey’s Scouts unit during the Rhodesian bush war. That night I googled Mr B and discovered that he was worth at least £300 million. Earlier he’d told me that we had something in common: we had both worked for De Beers in the 1960s, me underground in Kimberley, and him in Central Africa.
 
I couldn’t help thinking of the movie Blood Diamond which was set in Sierra Leone, but filmed mostly in Mozambique and South Africa. One of our drivers had the job of driving the star of the film, Leonardo DiCaprio, around during the filming in Cape Town. He told me that Leonardo was a very nice chap. Pity the driver didn’t give him some help with the Southern African accent he acquired for the film.
 
Incidentally, in case anyone thinks I am casting any aspersions in the direction of Mr B and his family, I wish to say that I thought they were a pleasant, attractive (especially Mrs B) and thoroughly nice group. In saying this I am not influenced in any way by the thought that they might contemplate legal action against me (and am aware that Mr B fought and successfully defended a $200 million lawsuit that one of his brothers had instituted against him, and am willing to concede that his lawyers are better than mine, and that anything approaching a $200 million lawsuit could make a serious dent in my savings).
 
Today’s quote
You can fool some of the people all of the time, and those are the ones you need to concentrate on. – Robert Strauss

Living a long life: fun or hard work?

I see that Paul has commented: “Wineou, what has happened to this blog? Too much wine perhaps? Nudge, nudge…”

Thanks Paul for showing some interest; I was beginning to think that nobody cared whether I wrote or not. The reasons for my silence are partly lack of motivation, and partly because I’ve actually had quite a lot on my plate lately. Also, like the excellent Yau-Man Chan (http://skepticblog.org/author/chan/) I write when I have something to say. Incidentally it’s worth checking Chan’s blog for his informed take on Tibet and the Dalai Lama (about whom there was much controversy when “His Holiness” was refused a visa to attend a peace conference in South Africa).

I thought that today would be a good day to take stock and look at what I’ve been doing lately. I am 66. Many people of my age are retired and living a life of ease and boredom, spending hours every day watching TV soapies, reading popular magazines and trashy novels, taking un-needed naps, and doing little exercise of body or mind. I, on the other hand, have made some poor choices in life and have to work for a living. But it is my intention to live to 120 or die in the attempt! And to spend most of my remaining minutes doing something worthwhile.

I believe in the concept of a healthy mind in a healthy body. So I keep the mind active by reading good books and interesting articles in newspapers, as well as stuff resourced from the internet. I try to exercise my slightly overweight body for at least 5 hours a week by walking, cycling and some gentle mountain climbing (all while listening to books on my MP4 player); and also by doing regular stretching and strength building exercises. I have visions of getting back to the lean body I had when I was running marathons, or cycling hundreds of kilometres a week. But that dream is fading . . .

I am lucky to be a tour guide who gets to meet visitors from all corners of the world; and I am chairman of the body corporate that helps run our block of flats (condominiums to Americans). This involves seeing that the place is properly maintained and improved where possible. Mostly it is a thankless task and I have to fight flak from all sides. But there are satisfying moments when one can see the results of hard work and motivating others. Like a new sign designed by our resident architect, cut out of steel in a style commensurate with the block’s 1930s era, and fixed to the wall yesterday. A few years ago I taught myself to touch type with the aid of a computer program. Being able to type at the speed of my thoughts (not very fast, but fast enough) makes life a lot easier. My persistent emails to sloping-shouldered figures in authority have resulted in holes in local roads being filled in, new road signs, and an improvement in the litter situation (after a lot of nagging and personal intervention it was established that certain shrubby areas were never cleaned because Parks and Forests thought that the Roads Maintenance division should do them, and vice versa). This has now been resolved.

Occasionally I feel the need to be nasty to the editor of one of our local newspapers for really stupid errors. (Can you believe the writer of an article on cycling saying: “I pump the peddles” and “I peddled furiously”? – just before the newspaper’s famous cycle tour – which I helped to build up to become the world’s biggest bicycle race when I was the newspaper’s promotions manager.)  But, not all the words emanating from my flying fingers go into the unpaid ether: I was recently asked by the tour company I work for to write training information for new drivers/chauffeurs (and was quite well paid for this).

Last week I attended a seminar called Humanising Darwin at the SA Museum. After Tuesday evening’s lecture I had a brief chat to the speaker, Dr Randal Keynes, who is Darwin’s great great grandson (and the great nephew of economist Maynard Keynes). I asked him if he had heard that when Christ’s College, Cambridge, celebrated its 500th anniversary its three greatest intellects were named: John Milton, Charles Darwin and Jan Smuts. He hadn’t, and was fascinated to hear it. Unfortunately, an academic standing nearby said that the story sounded apocryphal. This caused me to email Catherine Twilley of Cambridge University’s alumni department when I got home, and I asked if she could let me have the correct info before the next evening’s lecture. I told her that on 9 Feb 2005 I had attended a lecture given by Penny Grimbeek who, for nine years, was the curator of the house lived in by Jan Smuts, and she had told us the above story. Catherine was kind enough to reply at 11.39pm the same night: “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a definitive answer by tomorrow but I think it is safe to say that we recognise Smuts as one of our great alumni, alongside Milton and Darwin”.

I heard no more from her, and while I was writing this I checked out Wikipedia and found the following in the long biography of Jan Smuts: ‘Smuts graduated in 1893 with a double First. Over the previous two years, he had been the recipient of numerous academic prizes and accolades, including the coveted George Long prize in Roman Law and Jurisprudence.[5] One of his tutors, Professor Maitland, described Smuts as the most brilliant student he had ever met.[6] Lord Todd, the Master of Christ’s College said in 1970 that “in 500 years of the College’s history, of all its members, past and present, three had been truly outstanding: John Milton, Charles Darwin and Jan Smuts” [7]‘

This entry also appears in Smuts’s biography: ‘After Einstein studied “Holism and Evolution” [a book written by Smuts in 1926] soon upon its publication, he wrote that two mental constructs will direct human thinking in the next millennium, his own mental construct of relativity and Smuts’ of holism. In the work of Smuts he saw a clear blueprint of much of his own life, work and personality.[citation needed] Einstein also said of Smuts that he was “one of only eleven men in the world” who conceptually understood his Theory of Relativity [10][11]‘

Authors C. Norman Shealy, MD, PhD; Patricia A. Norris, PhD; Steven L. Fahrion, PhD wrote in a paper on mind-body medicine: ‘Jan Smuts, former Prime Minister of South Africa, wrote in the 1920s the most elegant integration of all aspects of science, philosophy, and psychology in his book, Holism and Evolution.  This was essentially the foundation of what is now called Holistic.’

So I think we can accept that Jan was pretty bright boy. He also believed strongly in the benefits of physical exercise. I was told by an expert at Kirstenbosch that he used to climb Table Mountain regularly, starting at Kirstenbosch and leaving his security guards puffing in the rear. And when he was in Pretoria he used to walk every morning from his farm to the Union buildings – a distance of 22 km – giving a botany lesson to those walking with him (he became an authority on Transvaal grasses). He lived to the age of 80, while his friend Churchill, who did little exercise and smoked, ate and drank to excess, lived to be 90. So, if you believe in a market research sample of one, you can follow Churchill’s example. I’ll go with Smuts.

By the way, if you want to read the full text of Holism and Evolution try clicking on http://www.archive.org/stream/holismandevoluti032439mbp/holismandevoluti032439mbp_djvu.txt

I found it surprisingly readable.

Today’s quote

It’s not that I’m afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens. – Woody Allen

Cape of Storms and Superlatives (5)

Constantia valley 15 Dec 08

Clever contributors to local talk radio have said that the reason why Chapman’s Peak Drive is still closed is that the company running the show is paid just as much whether the drive is open or closed. So the lazy buggers have little incentive to get a move on and clear the rockfalls, repair the catch fences and generally pull their finger out.

Whatever the reason for the seven-month closure, tourists doing a tour round the Cape Peninsula have to backtrack down Chapman’s Peak and go over Constantia Nek. One advantage of this is that it gives me the opportunity to trot out a few more superlatives.

For a while we follow the route of the 56 km Two Oceans Marathon (“the world’s most beautiful marathon” is what the organisers call it). I tried it once, and at the 26 km mark I hit the wall and had to run the last 30 km on sheer willpower. I can remember forcing myself to run every step of the way up the steep hill leading out of the Hout Bay valley, passing fatter Gautengers walking up, and then watching the same fatties running past me on the way down. What the hell, I finished the bloody thing in just under 5 hours 40 min and have the satisfaction of knowing that I ran every step of the way.

Back to the superlatives: for a few years in the 80’s the route used to go along Klaassens Road in Bishopscourt, and on this road four world records were broken. In 1988 Thompson Magawana went past the 30-mile mark in 2:37:31 for a new world record and past 50 km in 2:43:38 – also a world record. He won by more than 9 minutes in 3:03:44 to set a new record for the race, “certainly the most incredible ultra-distance performance ever seen in South Africa” according to Riel Hauman, author of Century of the Marathon: 1896-1996.

Magawana’s counterpart among the women was Frith van der Merwe, who also set world records for 30 miles (3:01:16) and 50 km (3:08:39) during her record-breaking 3:30:36 victory in 1989.

The amazing thing is that, some 20 years later, all six of those records still stand. If you don’t believe me google the names above or go to http://www.americanultra.org/stats/world_records.htm

Jan van Riebeeck and 90 settlers helped to get a garden going in Cape Town to supply the ships on their way to the east. He stayed exactly 10 years, and left on 6 April 1662. After he left there was a succession of leaders here, but none of them made any great impression until a man called Simon van der Stel came on the scene. This was a man of great vision who really helped to get things going, especially in the Stellenbosch district which became the leading wine producing region in South Africa.

After he got farming going there, and motivated his men to complete the Castle, he decided that he would like to have his own wine farm – but closer to the Castle where his office and residence was. So he had soil samples taken from all around the Cape Peninsula to find the best spot, and on page 28 TV Bulpin records the following in his excellent and “opinionated” Discovering South Africa: “Before he left for India, on 16 July 1685, the Lord of Mydrecht [Hendrik Adriaan van Rheede] showed the Dutch East India Company’s high appreciation of Simon van der Stel for his constancy, dedication and loyalty, and their desire for him to remain in the Cape as long as possible. He was granted the superbly situated piece of ground beyond the last farm then occupied at Wynberg. The Commander selected this handsome estate himself, carefully taking into account the variety of soils, altitudes and micro-climate, all factors of decisive influence in farming, and especially in viticulture. Title to the estate was granted on 13 July. The gratified Commander named it Constantia, presumably in honour of the young daughter of Commissioner Rijkloff van Goens who had that name, or simply that the name meant ‘constancy’.”

That sounds pretty authoritative, except that Phillida Brooke Simons in Cape Dutch Houses and Other Old Favourites says on page 59 that Constantia was named “possibly after the granddaughter of Commissioner van Goens”, and Ed Coomb & Peter Slingsby in their book Beard Shaver’s Bush: Place Names in the Cape say on page 25 that Constantia was named after the daughter of Baron van Rheede (who they claim was a commissioner). It seems that they are mixing him up with Van Goens who was the commissioner (Van Rheede was a member of the governing body of the Dutch East India Company and was on an official visit to the Cape).

So we seem to have two votes in favour of a daughter, and one (from Phillida) for a granddaughter. I’m one of the few lucky people who can claim to have spent some time with both TV Bulpin and Phillida Brooke Simons. Both impressed me with their knowledge; but if I have to choose who is more likely to be correct I’d go with Phillida. She is a noted historical researcher, and gives a bibliography at the end of her book, while TV does not (and can’t argue with me because, sadly, he passed away on 3 October 1999).

After Van der Stel died in 1712 his farm was cut into three, and then further sub-divided. The portion containing his manor house was named Groot Constantia. In 1791 the then owner, Hendrik Cloete, employed an architect Louis Michel Thibault to design a capacious double-storeyed wine cellar, and a sculptor Anton Anreith to adorn its pediment in stucco relief. Phillida says in her book: “It shows the young Ganymede, a cup-bearer to the gods, surrounded by frolicking cherubs, all fashioned in irrepressible rococo style.”

What she doesn’t tell you is why one of the cherubs is unmistakably female, while all the others are male – probably because she hasn’t heard the following little-known story. A trusted source told me that in the 1950’s her father was in charge of the maintenance at Groot Constantia, and that one day his workers were giving the pediment a thorough brushing prior to repainting it. Unfortunately the vigorous brushing dislodged the male appendage of one of the cherubs and it ended up smashed to pieces on the ground below. In South Africa we have a saying, ‘n boer maak ‘n plan (a farmer makes a plan). Mr Manley the maintenance man realised that it would be extremely difficult to stick all the pieces together again, and that it would be much easier to do a little amateur resculpting of the empty space left between the cherub’s legs, and turn it into a female. The cherub in question is just to the right of the lower centre of the pediment, proudly pushing out her pudendum for all to see.

Today’s quote

Sure God created man before woman, but then again you always make a rough draft before creating the final masterpiece. – Robert Bloch

Day of good wool

Yesterday, friends Mike and Patty arranged for Ant and me to join them for Christmas lunch under the magnificent trees of the Tokai Arboretum, with catering by the tearoom there, Lister’s. 

Happy Patty and Mike

Midsummer in Cape Town can be hot, but this was one of those mild, magical sunny days that sometimes occur after rainy and cloudy weather. Our chosen shady spot was as close as can be to perfection.

First item on the agenda was the opening of the first bottle of wine by Wineou. He can be a bit of a klutz but he managed to achieve this with a minimum of fuss. But after he had poured a couple of glasses he felt the need to display his cleverness in selecting a bottle that combined his preference (Sauvignon Blanc) and the lady’s (Chardonnay). This involved removing the dishcloth he’d wrapped round it to keep it cool in the stainless steel wine cooler, and holding the bottle horizontal for all to see the label.

After all had acknowledged his wisdom, some spoilsport pointed out that he had managed to pour half of the wine onto the festive red tablecloth. Right in front of a lady who can be quite a picky person for very little provocation. After she’d moved to the other end of the table the meal proceeded without incident, apart from some witticisms from the owner of the restaurant. Luckily the plastic surface of the table beneath the wet tablecloth had been designed to withstand rain, so no permanent damage ensued.

Sitting on a plastic chair behind a tree nearby was a security guard. He told me that his job was to watch the forest for approaching baboons. Apparently they had taken quite a fancy to some of the cuisine and liked to drop in at lunchtime. This time the baboons stayed away.

But I have experienced the fun of sharing a meal with an uninvited baboon – at the Black Marlin on the False Bay coast where most people like to sit outside and enjoy the view. The last time this happened a baboon was grabbing the usual bread slices and sugar sachets, and would have soon run away. But a brave tour guide at a nearby table decided to hurry the baboon on its way by shocking it with his Taser. This caused the creature to go so berserk that all the diners had to be ushered inside. The one benefit of all this was that it gave the tourists quite a lot to talk about afterwards.

Anyway, the meal in the forest was marvellous, and the walk afterwards through the forest was magical – with artist Patty pointing out the beautiful patterns in the bark of some of the Australian trees. We are not great lovers of Australian vegetation here, especially the Port Jackson Wattle which was imported to bind the sand of the Cape Flats. Previously this stretch of land had been covered by indigenous fynbos, but the early Dutch settlers who were mostly ignorant peasants found that the fynbos made excellent firewood. These geniuses even used to rip it out by the roots. The result of all this was that the Cape Flats became an area of shifting sand dunes, and it was difficult to farm or get roads through. Eventually, after the British had occupied the Cape, one of the early British governors decided to import various species of Australian bush to help bind the soil. This worked like a charm. In fact, a bit too well. Like most alien species in new countries the wattle has become a problem – it’s crowding out the natural vegetation and we’re trying to get rid of it by various means. One of them is by using a pest which was imported after careful testing. This is a gall wasp which causes cancer-like growths to occur in the infected trees. And the trees eventually die. I don’t like to think of anything having a long, slow death; but I console myself with the thought that it is Australians we’re talking about here.

This morning the bright spark hosting the local talk radio station told us that listeners had sent SMSs correcting his earlier utterances. Apparently today is no longer officially known as Boxing Day in South Africa. He informed us that its correct name is now “Day of good wool”. I thought that this had a medieval, romantic ring to it, like “Day of good cheer” or “good beer”. 

South Africans often have trouble pronouncing the “I” sound. When a Gautenger gets hold of an expression like “high five” it often comes out as “hah fahve”. But we know what they mean, bless them. And I knew that the announcer meant to say “Day of Goodwill”. But somehow this idea of a day of good wool has stuck with me and cheered me up no end.

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Today’s quotes 

Be as much as you can in the open air without fatigue. – Sydney Smith

Take a short view of human life not farther than dinner or tea. – Sydney Smith

Cape of Storms and Superlatives (4)

According to TV Bulpin, Hout Bay used to be the rock lobster capital of the world. Our foremost ichthyologist, Prof JLB Smith (who first identified the coelacanth), wrote in his book Our Fishes (1968): “. . . the seas about the  Cape hold possibly the greatest  concentration of fine game and eating fishes in any part of the world. For example it is the only area where all four species of marlin have been caught; the same applies to tunny”. He goes on to say: “Our annual catch of valuable food fishes is ten times that of the whole of Australia and New Zealand combined, and more than that of the mighty fishing fleets of Britain and Ireland together, even with their exploitation of seas adjoining other countries.”

Sadly we no longer have the abundance of old, when huge quantities of rock lobster, pilchard, round herring, anchovy, mackerel, snoek (a local delicacy), hake and kingklip were landed at Hout Bay harbour, not to mention the sought-after (and tasty) yellowtail, tunny (tuna), kabeljou, geelbek, red roman, white steenbras, white stumpnose, white mullet, dassie, elf, leervis, red steenbras, musselcracker and galjoen (our national fish) – which were all caught around Cape Town and further east. But conservation measures are in place and there are still enough fish to keep boats (commercial and sporting) from Hout Bay, Simon’s Town, Kalk Bay and Cape Town harbour busy, and many anglers from the shore willing to try their luck.

After leaving the harbour area with its fish market, fish factories, restaurants, tourist boats to see the seals, colourful wooden fishing boats and many curios we pass a line of milkwood trees along the shore, some hundreds of years old; then the wittily named curio shop Dolce and Banana and The Workshop, “The smallest pub in Africa”. Next is the piece de resistance, Chapman’s Peak Drive. This was built between 1915 and 1922, purely as a scenic drive. The reason was that many tourists from Europe used to go to Egypt, but few came as far south as our neck of the woods. Was the plan successful? I’m not sure, but it is certainly worth seeing.

Here is a quote from Karl-Ludwig Günsche, who was head of the Berlin office of the Stuttgarter Zeitung: “Most guidebooks will tell you that this is one of the most beautiful stretches of coastal road in the world. But could there possibly be a more beautiful one? No other road winds so uncompromisingly close to the water, rocks towering high above, waves breaking far below.”

There used to be a legend that if the crew of a fishing boat leaving the bay saw a leopard on the mountain slopes, they would have a good catch. The last leopard was seen here in 1930; but a local sculptor, Ivan Mitford-Barberton constructed a bronze leopard which was erected on top of a sheer granite boulder rising out of the sea in 1963. I guess we can blame him for all the good catches since then.

Tourists up a tree on Chapman's Peak

If you stand at the viewpoint opposite the statue you can look down on azure water where sometimes dolphins and whales frolic. And nearby, if you know where to look, you can often see a quaint animal, the rock hyrax, which looks a bit like a gopher with a fat body and short legs. Despite its ungainly appearance it can leap from rock to rock like a mountain goat. Microsoft Encarta assures us that their closest relatives are the elephant and horse. Their natural diet is plants and potato chips (rustle a chip packet to get one’s attention).

Karl-Ludwig Günsche tells us that after the Chapman’s Peak Drive was completed: “The passage along the new road was indeed dangerous. Time and time again, boulders came crashing down and, particularly in rainy weather, numerous cars came off the road, plummeting into the sea or smashing up on the rocks. In 1989 a helicopter patrol counted 22 car wrecks on the rocky crags of Chapman’s Peak. The accidents mounted up. Between 1987 and 1993 alone, five people were killed by falling rocks. In 1989 a businessman from East London, driving a Mercedes-Benz, came off the road in wet weather. His car plunged 100 metres down the cliff, but he emerged unscathed. The car makers were so impressed that they re-enacted the accident, filming a Mercedes, with cameras inside, going over the edge of the cliff. An actor, who had abseiled down, played the role of the businessman standing, happy and uninjured, next to the wreck. The advertising campaign caused a sensation.”

Sunset from Chapman's Peak Drive, 23 Feb 06

Ogilvy Cape Town hired Keith Rose, recognised internationally as one of the world’s most influential TV commercials directors and his Cape Town company Velocity Films, to do the ad. He subsequently won the Gold Lion statue for it at the Cannes International Advertising Festival.

The Mercedes ad ran on SA TV for about two weeks. Then BMW hit back: “A relaxed-looking BMW driver, on Chapman’s Peak Drive, wet from the rain, is shown rounding the exact same bend – unlike the Mercedes which had skidded off the road, the BMW manages expertly to negotiate the turn. ‘BMW beats the bends’ was the ambiguously-worded advertising slogan.”

This caused a lot of local mirth.

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Today’s quotes

Doing business without advertising is like winking at a girl in the dark: you know what you are doing, but nobody else does. – E W Howe

I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely as a tree. – Ogden Nash