National Pride, Jubilation & the Fifa World Cup in South Africa

South Africa is awash in flags – not just the South African flag, but flags of all nations. Flags drape buildings, line the sides of the roads, fly from the windows of cars and decorate office spaces. Street hawkers stand in intersections and wave the flags for sale – the vibe is one of celebration. The air is thick with energy, of excitement and passion. The feeling is everywhere – in the streets, on the radio, the television, and in everyday conversation – pervasive and inescapable. Finally after years of preparation, scepticism and anticipation, today is the dawn of the Fifa World Cup, surely the biggest event of its kind ever in Africa.

In the early hours of the morning, even before the sunrise, I wake to the sounds of a distant vuvuzela – that monotone sounding horn that creates an ear-splitting decibel, greater than a chainsaw but much beloved as a symbol for the Cup by everyone. On my way to work I drive past an open-air tour bus on its way through Camps Bay, full of celebrating fans singing songs, blowing vuvu’s, waving and hanging themselves over the sides. I remind myself that it’s still only 8AM. Coming through town I pass a flat bed truck full of workers in overalls singing and dancing in much the same fashion. As I drive past the ferris wheel that has suddenly appeared in the centre of town, gleaming in the morning sun, it is hard to believe that today is supposed to be a normal work day.

Once at the office the mood is one of delirium and I continue to wonder what I am doing here. Finally, about lunchtime, I am free and make my way through to the City Bowl – on the way I get the feeling I am about to be part of something very important. The highway to town is eerily deserted – not due to poor turnout but because it seems everyone is already there. The fan walk near Green Market Square means that some of the streets are blocked off, but even on those that aren’t the crowds roam freely, striding wherever they please, forming a fabric of green and gold, South Africa’s team colours. The sound of hundreds of vuvuzeles becomes a singular buzz, like I am inside a giant vibrating beehive.

I leave the City Bowl for the Waterfront, where big screens have been set up to watch the very first game, South Africa vs. Mexico. Again the park is overcrowded with celebrations and there is no chance of getting near the viewing area – the closer I get to the screen the more crowded – shoulder-to-shoulder and in some places even less, to the point I cannot move unless the crowd that I have somehow lost myself within, decides to. Surrounded by fans singing, dancing and waving flags, unable to move forwards or backwards and being shoved along by the energy of the herd, my mind flashes back to stories of stampedes and balcony collapses and I understand how those things can happen. Time passes and eventually I spill out of the group and back to myself, to my own volition.

I find a more comfortable place out of the way – with a view of a TV off in the distance. After a while South Africa scores the first goal of the Cup and the crowd erupts explosively, the noise crackles and reverberates everywhere. It’s hard not to get swept up, to feel the pride of the nation, to be part of the stampede of frenetic joy that has combusted across the nation – I can’t help but feel it and know that the World Cup, ayoba, is here.

Fun & Games at Home Affairs

I always knew living abroad would be full of fun and games. Now that I've been living in South Africa for four years, my original permit has expired and I've applied for a visa - a visa extension, to be exact. The Home Affairs guy said it's a routine application - so routine, it's for free. Here's a little insight into the process and how you might be able to have almost as much fun as me:

Hoop #1 Go to the Home Affairs web site to download the application and list of required documents – review this information very carefully – dot all your i’s and cross all your t’s

Hoop #2 Go to Home Affairs in person to submit said-application form and documents – get told, “No, no – this is ALL wrong – who gave you this?” “The web site,” I reply. I take a new application form and start over again.

Hoop #3 Dutifully gather required documents including letters from my employer and my partner. Visit the local police station – secure official stamps. Make affidavits and declarations. Copy, repeat.

Hoop #4 Go back to Home Affairs, my partner in tow. They need to see it to believe it. Wait for 2 hours. I notice that Immigration lawyers have a special que – I think how much money I’m saving this time, doing this myself, all for free. More time passes. Finally I submit, receive a receipt and leave with false hope that everything is now sorted – “just 30 days,” I think, “then I’ll get the new stamp.” That was easy.

Hoop #5 The 30 days pass – I go back to Home Affairs. Wait. Wait for 3 hours. Get told they can’t find my application, jeepers, where could it be? They ask, “How long do you want to wait?” They look tired now – like I’ve asked for too much. I wait some more – I tell them they have to find it. I leave a few hours later with a phone number to call – more false hope, otherwise empty-handed.

Hoop #6 I call the number. No one answers the phone.

Hoop #7 I call a few days later and get disconnected. I call back – it’s as if they know it’s me – again. No one answers the phone.

Hoop #8 I call and get told to “Come in with your receipt.” I say “but I already did that – they told me to call.” She tries to transfer me – about five times – then I get disconnected. I call again. No one answers the phone.

Hoop #9 Hire an immigration attorney. Continue waiting for my new visa stamp – and the bill. Can’t believe they said this was free.

Climactic Conditions & Being a Surfer's Girlfriend

Being the girlfriend of a surfer has taught me many things. I’ve always had the travel bug and surfing inevitably takes you in search of new places, so it’s a good match in more ways than one. Together we’ve churned up the dust on lots of pothole-filled back roads on our way through isolated sections in not-for-tourists zones, where the locals look up at you in surprise because visitors are a novelty. I can unpack a boot, jack up a car and change a flat tyre in 5-minutes flat. I’ve become a practiced wave photographer – enjoying my time on the beach while snapping up lifetime memories that can be savored and celebrated. I’ve found myself in the middle of the ocean – kayaking or snorkeling where I would never go alone – taking in the beauty of aquamarine water, seeing the shore from the other side, meeting inquisitive sea-friends and strange alien looking plantlife. I’ve been dunked by walls of seawater, sputtering to the surface like a fledgling painfully trying to learn to surf my own fun. I’ve gone on adventures when most stay inside cozy under a duvet – braving the rain, the wind and the cold – to catch a glimpse of Mother Nature gracing the seas with big swell, big waves and big dreams.

In surfing, the convergence of a myriad of factors makes for perfect conditions: the wind direction, the swell height, period and direction, the angle of the beach, the tide and the cycle of the moon – Neap or Spring – the time of day. For some surf spots these things unite only on rare occasions, making the event one of significance and worthy of the chase, to travel at odd times, seeking out the dream. I’ve always been spontaneous but now the weather patterns have become a deciding factor in my life – beach holidays are no longer decided by the condition of the sun but by the direction of the wind and on storm patterns emerging from the deep Antarctic. Hand-drawn synoptic charts, plotted in purple, red and orange, have taken me as far away as Mozambique and Namibia, and just about everywhere in between.

As co-pilot on surfing adventures I’ve learnt that when the time is right and a window of opportunity presents itself in a moment, you have to be ready. And even though I’m not the one suiting up and jumping into the sea, there are many fringe benefits like the exciting feeling of discovery, experiencing beautiful landscapes and taking in the magic of the sea. And so it was that I found myself awakening in the cozy predawn darkness on a wintry morning – rising, dressing and rushing to the car for a new expedition. We were chasing the tide and the dawn for the promise of a new surf spot up the West Coast of South Africa.

We drove through the darkness blanketed by fog – at times visibility was limited to only a car’s length, maybe two. The headlights punctured the mist with inadequate shafts of light. Eventually the mist lifted and the dawn presented itself to us in shades of pink, orange and yellow – lighting up the sky in beautiful streaks of colour. We arrived at our destination on a lonely strip of beach, seemingly isolated yet managed by a gate keeper who greeted us with clipboard in hand and made friendly small talk as he slowly signed us in. We were at the doorstep of a beach resort, and were obliged even though we were not guests. Paperwork completed, we were finally free.

We got started on our walk – 4-kilometres to go – and celebrated as we found ourselves starting the day in the West Coast, taking in its few unmistakable characteristics – a red dirt trail, scrubby bushland crowded by one colourful succulent plant after another, thorny bushes, lucent green and dark rich browns in the dew of the morning, everything wet, and birds – everywhere birds, gliding through the long view of the Swartland.

We eventually found the spot through the wonders of Google Earth, a GPS-enabled phone, and hearsay. We celebrated as we found ourselves in view of Table Mountain across the bay, shrouded in pink clouds. The beach had a steep pitch and as the waves broke on the shallow sandbar the water rushed back down the slope, crashing into the sea, churning and causing a great wobble on the surface. The backwash caused the waves to double in height and as they closed out the sound reverberated like thunder.

After the surf we were back in the car and passed by the harbour – the fishing boats had come in, laden with hundreds of Snoek – some of them still gasping, drowning in air – and an assault of relentless screeching seagulls circulating overhead, their noise overwhelming and as charming as nails on a chalkboard. The fishermen called out their prices, one voice on top of the next, all the while cleaning the fish on the side of the boat, splattering blood, dumping the guts and tossing the fish into boxes for transport. We scored two enormous fish – a rare treat.

We headed home through Darling – a small town made famous for its history, quaint buildings, a local satirical celebrity who makes his living by poking fun at the government while dressed as a woman and last but not least, wine farms. We drove through rolling farmland lined with row upon row of grapevines with yellow and brown leaves, about to fall to the ground before a winter’s sleep during the rainy months to come. We stopped at Darling Cellars for a taste of their berry-rich Pinotage and were greeted by the farmer’s wife from behind a giant tasting bar made to look like a wooden wine barrel. She generously treated us to samples while straight-talking stories of farm life in a gentle voice that masked her sharp wit.

Our day complete, we returned home with memories of the foggy journey, a pink sunrise, the discovery of a new place, photos of beautiful surf, the freshest Snoek possible and Darling wine. We were only an hour from home but it felt like we’d gone so much farther. I couldn’t help thinking how nice it is to be a surfer’s girlfriend and co-pilot on trips that take you to so many more places than the surf spot alone, and that once again leaving things to chance – or rather to the weather – turned out better than we could have ever planned.

An Ode to My Car, Bev

People love cars – their first car, their first “nice” car, that old classic that’s just like new, and even an old bomb that just keeps ticking. Cars represent more than just transportation – when you have one, the ideas of freedom, travel and adventure become an everyday reality. You don’t need to rely on anyone else, and there’s no need for public transport – you can go anywhere you want, whenever you want. You can travel the open road – see new things, live, breathe fresh air. You can get to work and back. You can come and go as you please, on your own time, on your own terms. Listen to your own favourite music. Let the windows down. It’s your own private getaway, like a mobile VIP club.

We love our cars so much, they’re more than just “things” we own – we give them names, invent personalities for them, and even take our pictures with them. To some of us, our cars are more like friends – remember the first time you met? And how about all those road trips you had together? The older the car, the more love we show them, especially those old clunkers we dream will drive on forever – like my car, Bev.

Bev is a 1985, light metallic blue 323i BMW coupé. This year, she turned 25-years old, only eight years younger than me. In a few more years she’ll be considered an antique and if there was such a thing as “doggie years” for cars, most people would consider her to be elderly, plodding towards the twilight phase. But Bev’s got a secret – she’s not nearly finished.

She’s got a strong build and lots of spit-fire – perhaps it’s her German descent. She smokes a lot these days and drinks more than she used to, but after all these years of service, I suppose she feels she’s earned it. She took good care of herself for most of her life and today she looks a lot younger than she is, but over the past few years she has had a tough time, with bouts of downtime when she wasn’t feeling herself and had to slow down. Her eyes aren’t as great as they used to be, especially not at night, and she’s got a few niggles like getting grumpy when you rush her, or completely passing out on odd occasions. But sometimes she surprises you with her pep, picking up the pace when the occasion calls, making me remember how she was in the good old days. The mornings are a little harder and especially when it’s cold she needs a little extra help getting started. But once she gets going you can tell she’s happy by the way soft way she talks along the road. She loves to travel almost as much as me and together we’ve been to Mozambique, the Drakensberg Mountains, Namibia and everywhere in between along the South African coastline.

Even with all these good times together I know Bev won't be around forever. I daydream sometimes about having a nice shiny four-wheel-drive number – maybe I’ll even spring for air conditioning. Then I can escape to the bumpy, sandy, pot-hole laden roads of the great unknown with less risk and more comfort. The world will seem more beautiful from behind my new windscreen, and I’ll feel invincible as I look out at others’ breakdowns and strain to remember what those times used to feel like – way back when. No more not-starting, no flat batteries or kick-starts, no more tow-rope-towing, and definitely, no more “bad-car-days” that leave you stranded on the side of the road. My new ride will be amazing… but the truth is – she's pretty far away, a change would be expensive, and I’d have no way of knowing if the new times would be as great as the old times. And anyways – Bev is right here with me and she's still my trusty sidekick. May you drive on forever, Bev – drive on.

Simonsig - Bubbles that Bring Me Down

Until recently, I have been a loyal Simonsig fan – the Kaapese Vonkel is a beautiful bubbly, it’s history in South African winemaking makes it unique, and the lovely champagne stoppers sold at the wine farm seem difficult to procure anywhere else so I decided long ago that I would make a plan to visit the estate.

My opportunity finally presented itself this past weekend while I was in Stellenbosch for a girls’ getaway. I told my friend with much excitement what a treat we were in for – the perfect ending to our afternoon, keepsake glasses we could remember the experience by, a few bottles to take home for another time, and finally, the much-sought-after champagne stopper.

Unfortunately for us, this was not to be. We were under the impression that closing time was at 16:30, and as we arrived at 16:15, we were relieved to find that there were still plenty of patrons and staff on site and were thrilled to have arrived “just in time”. We were wrong, of course – closing time was actually at 16:00. The smiles on our expectant faces wilted away when we were informed by the “Host” that we would not be served a tasting – we were too late, Simonsig was now closed. He told us this from the counter where he was sitting – the same one we had hoped to be served at – and after barely replacing his very own glass of crispy cold sparkling wine.

We told him how disappointed we were – that we had planned our visit for a very long time and would not be able to come back any time soon. We asked if he would reconsider, especially since there were still so many other patrons at the Estate, that closing time had just only passed, and that we had intended to purchase as well. He looked over at us, still seated in front of his bubbly, and replied with a monotonous tone that we should rather plan to come back on the following day. I barely convinced him to allow me to purchase the champagne stopper before we had to turn and leave otherwise empty handed, disappointed, and dejected.

My friend and I were let down by an un-empathetic employee who was probably only thinking about his plans for the evening, and not about the potential damage his handling of the situation could have for the brand. Worse, it seems this is not a once-off encounter but rather a general impression of Simonsig among the wine community – as we went on to visit other farms during our stay, my friend and I couldn’t help but recount our experience to other patrons and hosts, and each time we were met with looks of understanding, nodding, and murmurs that it wasn’t the first time they’d heard something negative about Simonsig. The experience was really very unfortunate and I had the sorry realization that none of a wine estate’s magic – not is history, its stunning setting, nor its winemaking excellence – can compete with the visitor’s experience.

I am a Foreign National

I’ve been privileged for the past four years to be able to live out my dream – a work permit in South Africa has enabled me to live and work in this beautiful country, travel within Africa, and stamp out boundaries towards becoming a better person. As a Foreign National, the privilege comes with a fair amount of strife – moving to another continent wasn’t such a breeze as I naively imagined while planning my move from sunny Southern California. Some say “change is as good as a holiday,” but imagine changing almost everything in your life – all at the same time.

You move into a new house, neighborhood, town, region, and country. You live in a new time zone, in a new hemisphere, and ‘home’ is more than a day’s journey away, cramped inside a tiny space and at an exorbitant price. You contemplate the similarities between your position and the pioneers of yesteryear – you are surrounded by strangers and new things, nothing is familiar, you feel like you’re living on an outpost, far away from the “same” and the known. Driving is now an adventure, in a manual shift car on the “other side” of the road. You teach yourself to look right-left-right before crossing, and fight the urge to look the other way around, as you have been ingrained to do since childhood. A small task like grocery shopping becomes a drawn out affair as you’re faced with a sea of brands you’ve never seen or heard of before – perhaps the one with the red label is fair, or maybe that other one – over there?

Your seasons are swapped around so holidays that used to be cold-weather ones are now sunny-bikini ones, and, in your new country you’ve got new dates to celebrate – like Youth Day, Family Day and Women’s Day. You do so with joy, after all, you’re getting an “extra” day off, one you’ve never had off before! But the feeling becomes bittersweet when you realize you’re the only one who seems to know about your old favourites, like Saint Patrick’s Day, Independence Day, Halloween or Thanksgiving.

You have new friends now and no matter how you try, you just can’t seem to keep up with your old ones – email, online chats and the telephone seem so inadequate when you’re trying to describe your new life, an average day, your new friends, or the man you’ve fallen in love with. Time passes and even though it breaks your heart, it seems impossible to avoid missing out on life-changing milestones, like anniversaries, engagements and weddings, first pregnancies and births, or even saying good-bye when someone you love passes on. You are far, far away – you straddle two worlds, two lives, two understandings, two sets of friends, two points of view – you can feel yourself changing, growing, becoming more “you”. Here there are new things to try – new food, new places, new languages, new words and slang – even in English. You pick up small learnings each and every day, like that a “hat” is actually a “beanie” and a “cap” can be called a “peak”. Your accent changes, your mannerisms, too – things become easier, more natural, you start to call this ‘home’ and remember times ‘here’ instead of ‘there,’ life becomes more comfortable on top of your new grown foundation.

You begin to feel familiar, now you have context. You have history here, too – you know how it works, at least more now than ever before. You feel happy – you’ve done the battle with loneliness and discomfort – you’ve grown and achieved new success – you can start to take off now, to greater levels, to push greater boundaries. You know you’ve made the right choice – this is home now, there are still new places to explore, new things to learn – you want more. You feel like you belong here – like you’re no longer a stranger, you might actually fit in. But then you realize one thing – your visa is about to expire, you’ve got only 30 days left.

It’s time to visit Home Affairs to apply for more time – you gather your documents, you patiently wait in the que. You put on your most pleasant smile to those attending the room packed full of other foreign nationals who, just like you, jockey for their own fate. The air feels a little thicker in here, you can feel the pace of your heartbeat going a little bit quicker – what if, what if, what if? You try to laugh at yourself for being so affected and glance out the window at life in the city, moving on, as usual. You think about your past, the present, the unknown future – you have trouble swallowing. Your future hangs in the balance, somewhere between getting that stamp – or not.

Port Dreams and Calitzdorp

A visit to Calitzdorp is sort of like a step back to another era – once off the main road, the streets are few, narrow, and lined with colourful Bougainvillea, the houses are thick-walled and set back in ample shade, the building that holds the town museum looks like part of the display, the police station is friendly and relaxed, and you get a quiet feeling of being in a place where time moves a little slower. This is an honest place, like a little welcoming gem in the dusty, lonely expanse of the hot Klein Karoo. It’s blessed with a climate perfect for growing sweet, sugary grapes and as a result is home to South Africa’s top two producers of port – Boplaas Family Vineyards and De Krans.

These winemakers consistently score the highest marks in the John Platter ratings guide and aren’t shy about telling you through the many sign-boards posted throughout town. Every few hundred meters there is a reminder peeking out through the flowers at you, making it nearly impossible to leave without stopping in for a try. I had to make a choice between the two wine farms and chose Boplaas because of its older history, since 1880. It was easy to find – I just followed the signboards like directions on a treasure hunt, and within moments I found the shaded car park and made my way up to the tasting room.

Dark and cool inside, I nearly forgot it was only 11AM and got stuck into tasting all versions of sweet and smooth goodness. The Cape Ruby port was dark, plumy and ripe with fruit – I imagined myself enjoying it with a rich, gooey, dark chocolate dessert, perhaps with raspberry sauce. The Cape Tawney is grown on 20-year old vines and aged for 12 months in Portuguese oak, and you can tell – it tasted like raisin molasses, perfect on its own or over a rich vanilla ice-cream. The Cape Vintage Reserve is aged for 2 years in Portuguese oak and was the Grand Daddy of them all, living up to its five-star reputation with ease. It has a dark, deep purple colour and tasted smooth, regal, and heavy with blackberries.

At the end of the tasting I found it difficult to choose which treasures to purchase – would it be ruby, tawny, dark and plumy, pink, raisin-like, or berry delicious? Finally I settled on the Cape Tawney and the Vintage Reserve and now that I’m back at home, I have the even more difficult task of waiting for the perfect opportunity to enjoy them again!

Details & Cellar Door Prices

-Tasting: R20 per person, unless you make a purchase over R200, then it’s complimentary

- Cape Tawny Port Vinter’s Reserve 2006, 4-stars JP Guide, R100 per 750ml bottle or R41 per 375ml bottle

- Cape Vintage Reserve Port 2006, 5-stars JP Guide, R150 per 750ml bottle