Johann's brother Dick and his two kids joined us for breakfast. Forbes and I had the chance to talk with Dick at length about farming, aparteid, segregation and other benign subjects. Dick now manages his own farm of 1000 hectares which is a decent size. He sells breeding animals to farmers in Lesotho (pronounced le-su-tu), a small country completely surrounded by South Africa. Each entrance into Lesotho must be accompanied by a passport and a 20 Rand bill in order to pass. It sounds like a tough albeit exciting life. We saw the border of Lesotho last night as we drove to John's house. (Side note - both Forbes and I discovered tonight that John's name is really Jen but sounds like John when said by an Africaaner.)
Isabel and Dick (Johann's mother and brother) standing inside her compound.
After breakfast we drove into Bloemfontein. The countryside was dotted with squatter house which are left overs from the Aparteid era. Most do not have central heating so at night there are fire pits lit up all along the houses. It's really quite a site. I'm reminded of the movie Sarafina. That's exactly what the shacks and schools look like.
Johann and Isabel driving us to Bloemfontein.
One of many shanty towns on the outskirts of Bloemfontein.
We drove around the city which felt a lot like a South American city. There's no real architecture scheme other than a fence guarding every structure. The grass in the roundabouts has turned brown since this is wintertime and there's not much rain until spring.
After shopping for a while, we settled in for dinner at a restaurant. It was now 6pm and we hadn't eaten since the Mustard Incident at breakfast. We ordered a bottle of South African shiraz, of which I was not overly impressed. We will be taking a wine tour on our journey between Cape Town and Port Elizabeth and I hope to try some other wines with better flavor.
The wine and jet lag hit me and it was all I could do to stay awake through the main course. Dinner was Meat with Sauces. Nothing spectacular. Another beer at the restaurant bar to finish our day in Bloemfontein.
The drive back was long, about an hour. I nodded off several times. Arrived at home and the nap did me well. We decided to have a night cap at the local (and only) pub/lodge in town.
Pay dirt!! This is exactly what I wanted to experience. We walked into the bar, an American, a South African, and a Scot. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. I felt like Bernise in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. People knew Johann and asked him immediately which was the American. They all wanted to meet me. Seems word spread around the village an American was about.
This place was a dream come true for me. Seeing the local Africaaners drinking, dancing to bad music and having one helluva good time. Johann pointed out the "only gay in the village" which he said people were very protective of and accepting. I surmised out loud that he was the only gay in the village that was out, but certainly not the only one. He agreed. There were some very lovely corn-fed types.
The bar consists of two rooms, one for pool and the other where you buy drinks and dance. At the end of the drinking bar was a gaggle of dead, stuffed animals, including a stuffed sheep. Forbes and I had a wonderful time making up reasons why it was there. We had a few beers and did some amazing people watching. Forbes correctly analyzed that most of the locals became quite large after hittin 40. The music was a cross section of genres: as we walked in, the Chicken Dance was playing. Next was Sexy Back, a techno version of the 50's hit Lollipop, Lollipop, and a South African pop hit. There was a kid working on an old computer apparently with enough umff left in it to download songs from the internet. Speaking of which, even as remote as we are, I have had full EDGE network access and phone service on the Blackberry. Even Johann's mother was a pro at texting.
After our "Hey Lady!...You, lady" experience, we went back to the compound. Isabel was still up so we proceeded to drink wine and more champagne...I doubt she has any left in the house. We chatted, laughed, cried as we listened to stories about South African life. Finally it was time for bed.
We were up this morning at 6:15 and after a non-mustard breakfast, Jean (yet again I have discovered the true spelling of his name...same guy as John and Jen) came to pick us up for the airport. As I write this, we are cruising at a lovely 105mph. Yes, miles, not kilometers. God save the queens.
Jean's daughter kept us entertained for our drive to the airport.
