Farewell to Wine!

Monday was my last Hurrah in the Cape Winelands!

Since my goodbye soiree at the Bistro was Monday evening, we figured it was a good last gasp for the Interns to do a final slurp and weave through Constantia before ending up at Steenberg. We headed out, Jordan, Katie, and I, as well as Katie's roommate Georgia, at about 12:30 in the afternoon, with Tunes and Map in hand, and headed for our valley.

Tally Ho!

We began at Eagles nest, mainly for the award winning Shiraz, but frankly their whole tasting list was quite nice. We name dropped Steenberg, introduced Katie as the new intern, and were not charged. It was a fantastic, hot, sunny day, so we sat in the sun and sipped happily.

"Bubblegum?"

"Needs more Cowbell."

 

 

 

 

After Eagles Nest, we planned on doing one more before hitting up Constantia Glen for lunch, but Beau Constantia was closed! Boo urns, so we headed to lunch early. It was a good thing, because by the time we arrived at Constantia Glen, we were all ravenous and slightly tipsy. We again sat in the sun, shared two cheese and charcuterie platters, and once we had mentioned Steenberg, we were brought considerably more wine than the regular four-choice tasting menu. We did, in fact, four Sauvignon Blancs alone, followed by their rose, a few reds, and their 3 and 5 blends. Despite the fact that we were all eating hearty soup and bread as well the cheese and meat boards, Constantia Glen is definitely where the wine started settling into a pleasant haze, because lunch ended up spanning nearly two hours and evolved from remarks about work and the weather to feminism, the U.S tax system, and the relative politics of the U.K as compared to Canada and other Commonwealth countries. We were all of us drunk enough to be opinionated and witty without being actually bothered by rival opinions. It was a perfect conversational balance. To quote Jordan; "It's shit like this that makes me appreciate being an adult."

 Never more than a single bottle away from chaos or communism.

 After Lunch, we found our way to Groot Constantia (oldest in the Valley) and, again, the magic word "Steenberg" got us their entire tasting menu (Oh, Damn... Extra wine. Boo.) as well as the fabled Vin de Constance, which was Napoleon's deathbed choice, as well as Jane Austen's recommended cure for a broken heart.

I'm beginning to have quite a taste for expensive things in small bottles.

By this time, it was nearly 5pm, and so we had time for just one more- Thankfully, the one we'd previously missed on our Constantia tour, High Constantia. We arrived just in time (4:55pm) and the attendant was thoroughly unimpressed. It probably didn't help that we were all of us (especially the non-driving ladies) clearly buzzed. None the less, the woman patiently walked us through all the wines (Despite our insistence that she just choose one white and one red for us for try... That would have been much quicker and easier on all of us, but I think her revenge was gained in giving us loads of wine and flatly denying us a spittoon).  We even started with their bubbly, which was lovely, and the background of High Constantia also looked like some sort of Fairy Tale Disney Kingdom, so the backdrop was perfect.

Sadly, no Unicorn. Only Baboons.

We had a minor setback when G-Wagon (The horrible but affectionate Golf Chico) didn't want to start again, but after a few minutes all was well and we were on our merry way to drop Georgia off at the Train Station, and then to Steenberg for dinner.

Once we arrived at Steenberg, the night pretty much became a happy blur of expensive food in delicate sauces with lots of wine. Katie and I were both drunk enough to not only take mirror pictures in the ladies room (to "remember the washroom" by...) but also to think it was totally appropriate to rant about abortion and evangelical Christianity during dinner. I do, however, recall showing people my pictures and talking about the Garden Route and Shark Dive, so I'm thinking most of dinner was probably alright, but to be honest, it wouldn't have been the first time Upper Management had seen me smashed (and arranged it, actually...Potjie, anyone-?) so I figure it wasn't a poor note to end on.

Drunken Twenty-Something Women Everywhere.

What WAS a poor note, however, was Jordan suggesting we head to Gorgeous (The Bubbly Bar on the vineyard property) with Chantelle. I don't know why I though leaving a drunken dinner after a drunken afternoon in the sun to go to a bar full of my ultimate weakness known as sparkling wine was a good plan, but off we went, and I can remember bits and pieces of posh booths, a shiny bar, and lots and lots of bubbles. I don't quite remember leaving, but I DO remember Jordan waking me up when we arrived back in obz, and having a blurry conversation with my highly amused roommate.

Drunken hooliganism and shenanigans aside...

Honestly? It was a fantastic send-off. I am going to miss the hell out of Steenberg, and of South Africa, and of all the (too many) times I ended up coming home sloshed off the bounty of the Southern Cape vines. It was a good thing.

Thanks, guys.



                                                          

Cheers!

Cheetahs, Elephants, and Ostriches Oh My

So, my last weekend in South Africa consisted of an awesome couple of days.

This past Saturday morning, I was collected at 7:20AM by HotSpot2Capetown tours, where were spent another hour or so collecting all other 12 participants, and then headed out onto the spectacular Garden Route Cape Drive.

I did the tour by myself, partially because I've been so enjoying my own company lately that I thought it would be like a nice wee trip with myself, and also so I could feel less guilty when all I wanted to do was listen to music and lounge across the back seat while watching the glorious mountains and valleys roll by. Which is what I did, for five hours, and it was magical.


After the five hour drive (which included a stop at SPAR for sandwiches and chocolate- Sustenance!) our first stop was the Cango Wildlife centre, which was essentially half a zoo and half research/breeding centre. We did a walkthrough involving everything from Snakes to Lemurs to Meerkats in their small animal area, and once that was done, we headed to the Big Cat area.

This walkthrough took us through Cheetahs, Leopards, two White Bengals, a pair of Lions, and a Tiger. We were lucky enough to be going through very shortly after feeding time, so many of the cats were working enormous bloody haunches of some recently slaughtered creature, and the Lioness in particular was working a ribcage with all the gusto of a poor relation (or College Student) invited to Thanksgiving Dinner.

Afterwards, a few of us were more than willing to sign to waiver to go into the Cheetah area, and hang out and pet them. These ones had been raised by humans and socialized from birth, so, while not entirely tame, they were fine with being stroked and touched. We were told only to stroke from the back, and not touch their faces, necks, or bellies. Not because they didn't like it, but because that implied that we were playing with them, and when Cheetah's want to be playful with you, they can hurt you if you aren't prepared for it like their gloved and neck-covered attendants.

It was amazing, and honestly a little intimidating. They were larger than I expected, not that that makes them less dangerous, and there were also two of them, which I didn't expect.  However... They started purring. And leaning back against my hands and knees. See? She is loving it! I am working my massage magic!

Left.....Lower...More left...Perfect. I shan't slash your jugular today.

After the Cheetah's, we phoned our ride while waiting in the Cango Cafe getting acquainted, and I let everyone try my Savannah (Which I will desperately miss.)

That night, we ate Ostrich and played cards in the Hostel, and I had a pretty decent sleep in a horrible dorm bed with a questionable comforter and squashy pillows. I was tired and over-stimulated enough to be out like a light by 11pm, and so the 7am wake-up wasn't too awful. The Hostel breakfast was also delicious, and I had the added bonus of being able to watch Cartoons because one of the breakfast ladies had her small son in, and he was parked in front of the wide screen. Either Cartoon Lineups haven't changed at all, or South Africa is about a decade behind on their children's shows, because I was surreptitiously watching Sonic Underground followed by Rescue Heroes and feeling like I was single digits old again. I wanted to hang around and see if Jackie Chan Adventures was next like I remembered, but we had to catch the bus out.

We went to the Ostrich Farm first, which was surprisingly enjoyable for all it was just about Ostriches. There was a wee dwarf ostrich, an Ostrich Riding Corral (No, I didn't. I Ostriched out), and I did feed two enthusiastic ostriches, and stand on some eggs, which can hold up to 160 kg.

"I don't care if their boys or girls as long as they have two wings and a beak..."

Following the Ostrich Farm, we headed to the Elephant Reserve, where, after another lovely nature walk, we got to hang out with three elephants, orphaned in Kruger, who were raised at the sanctuary and simply loved being fed by us. We each were given a bucket full of melon slices, and shown by the attendants how to offer them food, let them take it with their trunk, or how to ask them to raise their trunk so we could put the food in their mouths. Oh, and afterward, we go to cuddle with them.

D'aaawwwwwww!

 

After the Elephants was our last and longest stop, the drive through the Game Reserve- Hopefully to see the Big Five. Well, we got four of them. Over the course of two and a half hours, we saw, as well as astounding scenery and a beautiful day, 2 Elephants, 4 Giraffes, 3 Rhinos, 1 Lion, and a small herd of Cape Buffalo, as well as numerous species of Antelope, an African Wildcat, many Zebras, and Wildebeest. Possibly one of the most impressive weekends ever.

Day Seized. Cheers.

Monopoly, Dancing, and More Wine

It is my last day of work, and in my previous week I have packed in more than I've done over the past month.

I participated in no less than three executive wine tastings at work, one of which included a range of tiny, expensive snacks. Tiny, expensive snacks are the best kind, particularly when one is not paying for them.

I went on a late night Indian Food run to Cafe Ganesh, a tiny little hole in the wall semi-restaurant where people smoked indoors. The walls were unfinished, the art was alarming, the atmosphere was perfect and the peanut sauce was heaven. I sat with three of my roommates, and we had lengthy discussions covering everything from religious documentaries, bizarre DJ monikers, and the likelihood of accidentally marrying a half sibling in communities with multiple-donation sperm banks. You know how there's that one table that everyone is surreptitiously eavesdropping on? At Cafe Ganesh, that was us.

I had another round of Drunken Monopoly that, as usual, turned into capitalist ranting.

A couple of good ones:

"I don't anyone could win... We'd just go around the board and not be allowed to have property until everyone could."- Ciara, re 'Communopoly'.

"Oh yeah? I'll sell my houses to the bank."
"Oh yeah? What if the bank doesn't want your houses?"
"Oh yeah? They always want my houses!"
"Oh yeah? 2008!" -Me vs Ciara. She won that exchange...

This past Sunday, I headed to Mzolis again. Partially because I had nothing to do, but also because I was desperate to go again before I left. As usual, we ordered volumes of charred meat, bought three 6 packs of Hunters and Savannah, and this time- we danced.

Well, I danced, and Hope did. There was a gang from University of Cape Town, perhaps 15 males, all doing some sort of ritualized group circle affair where they were in a wide ring, everybody vibing, and taking turns with one man at a time jumping into the middle of the group and busting out his particular moves. When someone entered the circle, the was a mass set of rythmic hooting and hollering and clapping to whatever beat the DJ had going. It sounds a bit ridiculous, but it was actually incredibly impressive. Coming as I do from a country where men rarely dance, and almost never in an all male group ("That's Gay") much less as a bonding ritual, it was seriously cool.

Alpha dancer appeared to be the cocky one with the striped fedora. He was in the circle most often, called out who the next up would be when no one immediately jumped in, and led the clapping and hooting when the beat called for it.

So, naturally, when I reached just enough of a pumped up buzz state to feel bold, it was during His round I jumped into the circle after, and snagged his Fedora.

The circle immediately made a low "Oooooooohhhhh" and began the clapping and stamping ritual that I took to announce the beginning of a full out Dance-Off. Hat Man turned slowly, and I put on the Fedora, skipped back a few paces, and busted the hell out.

Needless to say, it was epic.

Over the next perhaps 10 minutes, we danced circles around each other, occasionally with each other, but mainly in sort of pantomimed, rhythmic fight over the hat. I was particularly impressed when, at the end, I managed to roll the hat off my shoulder, catch it by brim, and, with a flourishing bow, popped it back onto his head as we both spun-exited opposite sides. The hooting and applause was deafening, and passersby had stopped to have a look. Following that, I was riding a nerve and endorphin high all day.
They came to our table an hour or so later, to collect us for a drinking game. Good fun all 'round.

Yet another excellent afternoon of cider, meat, and madness at Mzoli's.

Very, very strange that I'm coming home so soon. I'm actually busy on my last Sunday here, so I won't be able to go again.

Oh, right- I'm going on a Safari bush trip after my last day at work (Today). I'll be headed up through the Garden Route, hitting the cheetah reserve, the elephant sanctuary, the Big 5 open-jeep Game Drive, and the Ostrich Farm. I'll be back Monday, which is when I will do a final Constantia wine tasting with Jordan and Katie (The New Me- Intern # 3, soon to be 2) followed by Tapas at the Bistro with Lida, Graham, Chantelle, Chloe, Jordan, Kaitie, and Anetha. Then, it is only a few short days until I head back to Canada. First to Montreal, to bring my Uncle fresh news of Africa, and then onto Home.

See you soon!

Peopled

Last week at work, I had a day full of bizarrely serendipitous introductions.

I was working the counter in the morning when a tired looking, perhaps fifty or so woman arrived, and asked about our wine tasting. She heaved herself onto a bar stool, opened the wine list, and announced,

"My daughter in law is in the car with three grandkids all under five."

"Oh," I said. Surprised, but polite.

"All under five. I am so damn sick of poo and pee and snot." She paused to look at a tell-tale, chunky stain on her shoulder, "Spit up too. Ugh. I came in saying I might buy one or two bottles of wine. How much can I taste in under 10 minutes before they get suspicious?"

"I'll start you off with bubbly!" My sympathies and humour thus aroused, I went double speed to ensure this woman's glass was not once empty for the entire 25 minutes she ended up staying.

"I mean, of course I love them, you know I love them... But they're sticky, and sometimes smell..." She trailed off and enthusiastically downed some red.

I assured her that it was the divine right of Grandparents to swan in and spoil and scold as they please without worrying about the more practical aspects of small child parenting. After all, she'd done her time already. Now to enjoy the fun bits without the diapers. We continued to chat over most of the classic tasting, and one or two of the ultra premiums.

Her name, I learned, was Debra from Chicago. She was asking me about what I was doing up in Cape Town, and eventually what I wanting to do with my life entirely. She was a medical volunteer, and I ended up telling her about my volunteering with the 55+ centre and about how'd I'd eventually like to volunteer as a hospice worker.

Well, Debra from Chicago was now convinced God had made arrangements for her to meet me today, because that was what she had spent much of her life doing, and she stayed the nearly full half hour (poor daughter-in-law...) telling me about her experiences and training in everything from medical work to alternative medicine to acupuncture. I kept her topped up all the while.

No, I am not planning to investigate alternative medicine or acupuncture. I enjoyed the conversation so immensely not only because I was talking to a Bad Ass Grandma who rented a car so her daughter-in-law wouldn't know she went... somewhere ("I can't tell you, dear. You're too young. We'll just say it's a place grannies shouldn't go."), but because she was evidently so sincere in her belief that she was meant to have come across me. It was a semi-spiritual encounter with a complete stranger that left me feeling quite touched. Like a vague nod in my direction from the Universe.

Later the same afternoon, a new worker from Gorgeous, the Bubbly Bar in our estate restaurant Catharina's, came to do a flagship tasting to familiarize herself with the wines. Because it was so slow, I ended up have a glass of wine and a chat with her about her background and we swapped email and facebook so I can arrange my bubbly tasting at Gorgeous for one of her shifts, and she directed me to a friend of hers who runs a wine room in Obs, where I live. Another afternoon-perking affirmation!

Encounter the third was, perhaps, the most both eerie and gratifying.

A family came in at around 4:30, a set of parents and a quite small girl. The small girl, in an eloquent and serious manner, asked me if I knew how imaginative she was. By this point, I had watched her for some time sliding off the bar stools in a quietly dramatic fashion, and I asked her to demonstrate how imaginative she was.
"Oh!" A look of inspiration crossed her face, "I think my fingers are people." And she acted out a brief and sophisticated dialogue between her two index fingers. On a hunch, I asked if she was a reader.

"Yes!" She thrilled, "I was on 12 page readers, then 24 page, and now I can read ever so many pages!"

She was 'just turned six', and the charming UK accent only endeared me to her well-spoken manner further.

I asked what she liked to read, and she rattled off some generic school-reader story books, and I discovered her favourites were the ones with 'proper stories'.

On a further hunch, I asked if she liked to make stories up.

"Yes!" She nearly fell off the bar stool (By this point, her parents were well into their wine tasting, having established that I did not mind their tiny offspring's company in the least, and would give them a wave if she "made herself a nuisance". ) She proceeded to tell me all about her collection of toys, and their assorted characters and names. It was shades of my own childhood, and I told her about the massive stuffed toy collection of my youth, and how each citizen of my wee bedspread town had distinct personal histories, likes, dislikes, and accents.

Mia, (her name was Mia), asked me what I like to read. I rattled off a few of my favourites, but before I was about to begin on my children's books, she asked;

"But what did you like to read when you were me?" I'm aware she meant when I was six, but the phrasing melted me a little. My mission accepted, I grabbed a sheet of paper, and began writing down every single children's book I could think of, spanning Dr. Seuss to Roald Dahl to all the Narnia books. Enid Blyton, Redwall, The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, The Secret Garden, my personal favourite, M.M Kaye's The Ordinary Princess... I dredged up every favourite story my brain could remember, and ended up, as we were chatting, doing up a list of nearly 30 some easy, some weighty children's stories. At this point, well over an hour had passed, and when the time came for her parents to leave, with her Mother's permission I added my address to the reading list and I now have a 6 year old Pen Pal and long distance reading buddy from London. My life took a seriously cool turn.

I enjoyed the last encounter so much because it quite seriously felt as though I met myself when I was six. When I was a wee thing, my eldest sister referred to me casually as "precocious to the point of disturbing". Once, at the age of four, I was instructed (with alternating coaxing and threats to behave or else) to greet my Mother's close friend and colleague politely... She came through the door to find a tiny, severe child saying  "Mrs. Petrone, I presume?" in a drawling, semi-British accent.

I think of myself as a child, a ball of mental energy and whimsy, and think of who I am now. Those traits that people are so often quick to dismiss as childish have been the formative aspects of my character and here I am- Still reading, writing, engaging, and doing my own thing. Whatever that happens to be this week.

I had a difficult time at school as a child, for no other reason than lack of focus, interest, and motivation. I sometimes wonder if I would be any different if I had been, say, medicated in order to improve my school performance, or put into classes or activities to make me less withdrawn from fellow students. I probably would be, and I'm glad I wasn't. For all I loathed school, I really love who I am, and what my strengths are. Even my weaknesses suit me just fine.

 Mia was one of the one in a hundred children who women meet and suddenly think 'Huh. I could probably have 10 of you, provided I have a guarantee that they'd be you'.
The reason I've always wanted to have children is because I have a life and a family and experiences and a future that is happy, relatively stable (as much as anything can be) and I could die tomorrow and it will all have been worth it. Why would I not want to give that to someone else, and watch another person discover who they are, and what they can become? As far as I'm concerned, the extent of my job is to see them foisted on the world with good manners and good character. They can take it from there.
My mother once remarked that by the time you have four of them, you pretty much realize they all arrive with their own ingrained personalities, even when they only weigh 5 pounds. You may not have a guaranteed Mia,  but you can give whatever comes access to what  made her.

Cheers,

~A Whimsical, Imaginative Full-Grown Adult (And Proud of It)

Scandal and Intrigue!

At work yesterday, Security was called to the Bistro to answer a 'disturbance'.

Since the tasting room is immediately in front of the Bistro, we saw the uniforms come in, speak to the manager, and leave again. Shortly thereafter, a middle aged lady, looking very high maintenance and forlorn, came out of the Bistro weeping and red-eyed, led by sympathetic looking friend of similar standing. Graham, who was covering till at the time, was closest to the action, so, being the ravenous voyeur of human behaviour I am, that's where I headed.

Me: What's going on at the Bistro?
Graham: The table that ordered the million oysters is being kicked out.
Me: ... What's going on at the Bistro?
Graham: No idea- Talk to Chantelle, she's in the know.

So, because I am clearly someone who minds her own business and doesn't hold with gossip, I found Chantelle to learn the news.

Chantelle, who had been nearer the Bistro than us all and chatting with a worker there, filled me in on the savoury details.

The weepy high-maintenance woman had been in the washroom with aforementioned friend, causing a fuss and loudly lamenting her cheating husband. Facebook photos were involved.
While woman and friend were deciding whether or not she ought to divorce him (Chantelle had been in the other stall at the time, bless my luck) her husband, and another man at the table (Her brother? Lover? Who knows!) start physically fighting in the Bistro. Tapas and fisticuffs all 'round, apparently.

Security was called, but by the time security arrived the two men had settled down, and all was apparently well at table. Because the table was a group of particularly high rollers (hence the expensive looking ladies) management didn't want to kick them out entirely, so were instead quickening service and giving the security men a cup of coffee in order to have them hanging around the bar area just in case.

Over the next 45 minutes, we kept catching periodic glimpses of domestic unrest. First-off, the lady and friend came out of the Bistro again, and hung about the hall in front of the Tasting Room and Bistro entrance, talking loudly about what her perceived options were, and whether or not she ought to "Just make a decision and go".

I was having a word with Chantelle near the merchandise about the implications of a grown woman monopolizing a busy thoroughfare with dramatic talk of divorce and adultery, and the entire conversation seemed more appropriate to a quiet morning coffee than a group dinner in a high end restaurant, but, to quote Chantelle, "To be rich, eh?".

After the ladies had returned to the Bistro, the first one came to the Tasting Room yet again, this time with one of the men. This time, they snagged a portion of our wine bar, and began what Graham and I suspected was the first of many state-of-the-relationship discussions. Still tearful, the woman allowed herself to be petted and comforted in a way quite inappropriate to public venue. I assumed this was perhaps the Husband, but after a few moments a different man arrived from the Bistro, and also began hugging and talking to her, while man the first was still present. The first man left, the second man stayed, and after more drunkenly affectionate maneouvering, yet another man arrived, with man the first again, and everyone apparently had a go at talking this woman off her mental ledge. The female friend was lurking near the Bistro entrance, apparently keeping a wary eye on proceedings.

At this point, Graham and I were speculating about the dialogue from a safe distance.

Graham: What-? What are they doing? Are they taking turns trying to convince her not to divorce him and take all the money?
Me: Maybe trying to coax her back into the restaurant?
Graham: Never a dull moment, eh?

Never a dull moment indeed. This was all taking place at 5:00pm, which put at closing time in less than an hour. It was very trying to attempt to keep up with eavesdropping without neglecting the closing duties. I needed to collect bits and pieces from other workers.

Perhaps, more Scandal to follow!

Out of Order, Sir!

Whoops!

Due to a backlog in editing draft posts, the last few posts were in a screwed up order. The one about being sick should have been before the post about TED talks, which was before the winery, which was before the post about Sharkdiving. THEN onto Braai Times. My bad!

So no, I was not ill again (although Jordan was... I told him not to breathe around me.)

Braai Times!

Last Tuesday, Lida (My manager) announced that there was to be BBQ at work on Wednesday night at 6:00pm. Or, more appropriately, a Braai, which is what South Africans call a BBQ.

I had initially figured it was simply a linguistic difference, a matter of a different word for the similar thing- Cooking outdoors, burgers, etc.

No. A Braai is a completely different atmospheric and experiential event that I hope I can recreate at some point. I think Canadians would love Braais. We like fire, we like outdoors, and we like cooking things more interesting than just hot dogs and pre-packaged patties sometimes.

The first major difference I noticed was that there isn't a such thing as an actual barbeque. No coals, no propane, no tidy grill area.

There was, however, a massive half cut steel drum that was packed with wood and kindling and set to bonfire for an hour and a half while everyone drank the new Sphynx Chardonnay, old vintages of red blends, and boxes of beer.

Once the fire had burned down to coals, JD Pretorius (not only Steenbergs head Wine Maker, but officially dubbed 'Braaimaster' as well) strapped on a headlamp, grabbed three enormous grates that to fill with homemade burgers, and went to work, piling them over the low flames, concentrating coals in different areas, etc.


The burgers were unreal. Moist to the point of dripping, and having a woody, smoky amazingness that came from from wood coals. We ended up in the tasting room, eating around the wine bar while making guesses about a mystery wine that turned out to be called "Shannon". JD gave me the cork as a souvenir!

Now, for Braai experience number two:


http://www.lonelyplanet.com/south-africa/cape-town/restaurants/bbq-meat/mzoli-s


A few days after this, my roommates and I decided to go to Mzoli's, which is a Braai restaurant in the Townships (The dirt poor settlements that ring around Capetown).

Once we got there, we were in line outside the door of what looked to be a little hole in the wall on a hot, crowded street full off people walking, vendors with sunglasses and hats, and coolers of beer. Once our turn came inside, we were at a counter of what was essentially a butchers shop, with raw meat of various varieties piled high behind glass, and three men running around behind scales, trying to move through customers as efficiently as possible.

What happens is this: you order however much of what you want, and it will be brought to you, after however long (depends on how busy it is) spiced, flamed, and sauced. There was five of us (going to be seven) and we put in 50 rand each(About $6.25). We ordered 100 rand worth of chicken, 100 rand worth of pork, 50 rand worth of sausage, and 50 rand worth of beef.

That completed, we headed out into the street again. It was already hot, and it was a perfectly clear day. We were heading across the street to buy drinks, which were purchased from peoples homes along the streets. We were beckoned onto a patio by a handful of vendors (more hats and sunglasses) and the woman inside the house was running a lucrative shop selling 6-packs out her front door, probably at tidy profit.

We bought 3 6-packs, two of Hunters and one of Savannah (both dry ciders) and headed into the Mzoli's "restaurant". I say restaurant dubiously, because it wasn't a restaurant. It was a sprawling, packed warehouse under sheet metal and wooden rafters, with plastic tables and chairs, barrels and bar stools, and a DJ already hard at work by noon. People were eating, drinking, dancing, and smoking left, right, and center.

We snagged a barrel and 3 stools on the far side, near the open edge half in the sun. What followed was two hours of complete and utter awesome. Music, meat, cider, and sun. I also had my picture taken by a couple of people, and a man came and drummed near our table for a while, so we danced, and gave him a handful of change.

When our (totally unreasonable volume of) food came, it was in a metal basin nearly the size of our table. Everything; sausages, pork, chicken; all thrown together and sitting in its own juice and sauce. No plates, no napkins (we brought out own). Just an enormous bucket of barbequed meat. You ate with your hands and enjoyed every minute of it, washing it all down with beer and enthusiasm.

After we ate what we could (perhaps half... Maybe less) we bought three take out containers for  2 rand each, and brought a hefty pile home each. We also filled our lemon container (Carolyn had thoughtfully brought lemon slices for the cider in a small tupperware container) with bits of fat and scraps of tougher meat, and fed the street puppies while we waited to flag a cab.

We snagged a cab, and went back to Howe street for 5 minutes to change, and I grabbed my (your) speakers and book, before heading to Camps Bay to watch the sunset. We did a Pick n Pay run for chocolate and chips (worst supper ever... my stomach is still annoyed at me) and sat on the beach, listening to music, reading, chatting, snacking, and just enjoying the day.

As I've been ending posts with more and more often;

Day Seized!