Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Cape Town
Actually, I'm writing this from home because I didn't get a chance to update in Cape Town, so indulge me for a while...
I had booked in to Long Street Backpackers in Cape Town which, due to its excellent position in the heart of Cape Town's notorious nightlife, can afford to bit more than a little shit. Staff with no manners, humour or grains of helpfulness in their petty, syphilis ridden bodies really help add a Germanic feel to the place.
That aside Cape Town is a very impressive city which tries hard to live up its billing as a playground of the rich and famous (though why the rich and famous would allow so many beggars into their playground is a mystery to me - I'd stick to roundabouts and swings). The main problem for me was fitting everything in to my five day stop-over - a problem with South Africa as a whole really. I managed to cram in the 'must dos' of Robben Island, Table Mountain and the Cape Peninsular as well as getting to South Africa's biggest ever music concert.
Table Mountain was the most noteworthy since a gang of seven (2 Swedes, 2 Norwegians, 2 English and an Irishman) decided we'd be clever and take the long route around the back of the mountain. It was meant to take four hours but in a cunning combination of piss-poor planning, inadequate instructions and over-enthusiasm we found ourselves some three hours from the cable car point as it was starting to get dark. Since it had taken us about five hours to get to that point we spent our first Table Mountain sunset not enjoying the view but sprinting back to a mountain hut we'd passed some time back.
This sprint was made mildly amusing by the presence of a now aggressive panicking Norwegian chap who shouted a lot about nothing, everything, and breaking in to non-existent private houses on the top of mountains. Luckily I was shielded from the worst of his excesses by virtue of the fact that I was gallantly (and without personal consideration) bringing up the rear with the least fit of the group. Who happened coincidentally to be female, Swedish and blonde. I would have happily slaughtered the mad Norwegian if it weren't for the fact that we were lagging about five minutes behind and had to stop every half hour for my friend to get her breath back and smoke a fag.
To cut a long and mildly concerning story short; we drank water from puddles, managed to stop the Norwegian from damaging anything but his self respect, got a signal on a Swedish mobile 'phone and got rescued by six bearded men in three Landrovers at midnight. Our heroes, despite strongly resembling the 'off-roaders' from The Fast Show (for my older readers). Not my most proud moment, but you learn something every day. That day I learned to always take enough water for stupid friends when hiking and to never be on the same side as Norway if there's ever a war.
Two days later I returned to Table Mountain on a perfectly clear day via the sensible route - a Cable Car. The view was simply stunning - not a Norwegian in site. We enjoyed a glass of wine overlooking the most beautiful city in the world and caught the Cable Car straight back down. That's the way to do it.
The 46664 concert was billed as the biggest event since Live Aid. A charity concert with all the usual suspects plus Nelson Mandela which aimed to raise awareness of AIDS and to politicise the issue. It was therefore somewhat disappointing to return to the UK and find the wider world was largely oblivious to the whole thing. Highlights were listening to Mandela speak (worth the entrance money alone), Ms Dynamite, Jimmy Cliff, and the temporary reforming of The Eurythmics. Although good, the rest, frankly, was a replay of the Freddie Mercury tribute concert of some years back which also aimed to raise awareness of AIDS.
The problem with all this off course is that you had to question whether, particularly in South Africa, the message was getting across to the right people. The audience of mostly white, largely non-African fans who had paid at least R180 (18 quid) per ticket probably aren't the people most at risk in a country where AIDS is said to have infected anything between 20% and 50% of the population (depending on whose figures you believe). This didn't prevent Ms Dynamite from demonstrating her keen sense of irony and distributing free condoms to the front row - the Golden Circle of not-so-cheap seats. Still, it was a great event and certainly no harm can come of the efforts.
46664 incidentally was Nelson Mandela's prison number whilst he was in Robben Island. He's donated it to the campaign.
Regretfully I don't have any great stories of wild nights out in Cape Town because, after the puddle water drinking exercise, my stomach wasn't allowing me the freedom of movement that a rich foreigner might expect in the world's playground. I did see a good local band 'African Dope' doing a kind of Bob Marley-Eminem hybrid in a wacky club off Long Street (that should get me a job on the NME). There are some great bars along the street - Jo'bergs, Cool Runnings, Club 169 - and others just a short walk away which are well worth a visit for anyone fortunate enough to be in the area with a fully operational bowel.
My last day was spent staying out of the stifling sun so as to make the overnight flight back marginally more pleasant for my fellow passengers. I've no idea if the plan worked or not as I slept through the whole fight.
More updates soon from my newest destination - 'Yeovil'. It's nice to be home but the locals look kinda weird.....
Actually, I'm writing this from home because I didn't get a chance to update in Cape Town, so indulge me for a while...
I had booked in to Long Street Backpackers in Cape Town which, due to its excellent position in the heart of Cape Town's notorious nightlife, can afford to bit more than a little shit. Staff with no manners, humour or grains of helpfulness in their petty, syphilis ridden bodies really help add a Germanic feel to the place.
That aside Cape Town is a very impressive city which tries hard to live up its billing as a playground of the rich and famous (though why the rich and famous would allow so many beggars into their playground is a mystery to me - I'd stick to roundabouts and swings). The main problem for me was fitting everything in to my five day stop-over - a problem with South Africa as a whole really. I managed to cram in the 'must dos' of Robben Island, Table Mountain and the Cape Peninsular as well as getting to South Africa's biggest ever music concert.
Table Mountain was the most noteworthy since a gang of seven (2 Swedes, 2 Norwegians, 2 English and an Irishman) decided we'd be clever and take the long route around the back of the mountain. It was meant to take four hours but in a cunning combination of piss-poor planning, inadequate instructions and over-enthusiasm we found ourselves some three hours from the cable car point as it was starting to get dark. Since it had taken us about five hours to get to that point we spent our first Table Mountain sunset not enjoying the view but sprinting back to a mountain hut we'd passed some time back.
This sprint was made mildly amusing by the presence of a now aggressive panicking Norwegian chap who shouted a lot about nothing, everything, and breaking in to non-existent private houses on the top of mountains. Luckily I was shielded from the worst of his excesses by virtue of the fact that I was gallantly (and without personal consideration) bringing up the rear with the least fit of the group. Who happened coincidentally to be female, Swedish and blonde. I would have happily slaughtered the mad Norwegian if it weren't for the fact that we were lagging about five minutes behind and had to stop every half hour for my friend to get her breath back and smoke a fag.
To cut a long and mildly concerning story short; we drank water from puddles, managed to stop the Norwegian from damaging anything but his self respect, got a signal on a Swedish mobile 'phone and got rescued by six bearded men in three Landrovers at midnight. Our heroes, despite strongly resembling the 'off-roaders' from The Fast Show (for my older readers). Not my most proud moment, but you learn something every day. That day I learned to always take enough water for stupid friends when hiking and to never be on the same side as Norway if there's ever a war.
Two days later I returned to Table Mountain on a perfectly clear day via the sensible route - a Cable Car. The view was simply stunning - not a Norwegian in site. We enjoyed a glass of wine overlooking the most beautiful city in the world and caught the Cable Car straight back down. That's the way to do it.
The 46664 concert was billed as the biggest event since Live Aid. A charity concert with all the usual suspects plus Nelson Mandela which aimed to raise awareness of AIDS and to politicise the issue. It was therefore somewhat disappointing to return to the UK and find the wider world was largely oblivious to the whole thing. Highlights were listening to Mandela speak (worth the entrance money alone), Ms Dynamite, Jimmy Cliff, and the temporary reforming of The Eurythmics. Although good, the rest, frankly, was a replay of the Freddie Mercury tribute concert of some years back which also aimed to raise awareness of AIDS.
The problem with all this off course is that you had to question whether, particularly in South Africa, the message was getting across to the right people. The audience of mostly white, largely non-African fans who had paid at least R180 (18 quid) per ticket probably aren't the people most at risk in a country where AIDS is said to have infected anything between 20% and 50% of the population (depending on whose figures you believe). This didn't prevent Ms Dynamite from demonstrating her keen sense of irony and distributing free condoms to the front row - the Golden Circle of not-so-cheap seats. Still, it was a great event and certainly no harm can come of the efforts.
46664 incidentally was Nelson Mandela's prison number whilst he was in Robben Island. He's donated it to the campaign.
Regretfully I don't have any great stories of wild nights out in Cape Town because, after the puddle water drinking exercise, my stomach wasn't allowing me the freedom of movement that a rich foreigner might expect in the world's playground. I did see a good local band 'African Dope' doing a kind of Bob Marley-Eminem hybrid in a wacky club off Long Street (that should get me a job on the NME). There are some great bars along the street - Jo'bergs, Cool Runnings, Club 169 - and others just a short walk away which are well worth a visit for anyone fortunate enough to be in the area with a fully operational bowel.
My last day was spent staying out of the stifling sun so as to make the overnight flight back marginally more pleasant for my fellow passengers. I've no idea if the plan worked or not as I slept through the whole fight.
More updates soon from my newest destination - 'Yeovil'. It's nice to be home but the locals look kinda weird.....
