On departure, we were accosted by Nigel. The unfriendliest person we’ve dealt with all trip. He had the unenviable task of counting our sins. He spoke with a deep foreign accent, laced with Xhosa vowels. But as soon as he said, “40,50, sigisty” we knew, he was the son of a departed uncle.
We couldn’t leave while owing on import taxes, so we did a drop off in Camps bay. We broke our fast outside Somerset West, and luckily we got there during the hand sanitizer hours. From there we made tracks southbound. The weather was overcast and comfortable. To be honest it could have been even better if it were not for the stop and goes on the N2.
By the time we got the Swellendam, we had concluded that although ntate Katse Semenya and wife Mma Mbuli have what can easily be considered relationship goals. The song Mme Matswale provides insights into an otherwise abusive relationship.
At Heidelburg, we met a lady at the biltong shop where we stocked up on snacks. They had chicken biltong so I took advantage. Anyway, you may have heard of beer on tap. This biltong shop sold honey on tap. Honey is my tranquilizer of choice. So!
Karlin, the lady behind the counter was keen on selling us ginger tonic and Tim Jan. Her sales pitch was convincing, largely because she had hazel eyes which made it impossible not to focus. The only side effect is if you take too much you might wake up with a massive hangover having passed out at the porcelain throne. It wasn’t the look I was going for. So we pushed on. In Mossel Bay, we made a turn at the mall for some shopping. Outside the Checkers, I met a guy selling cell phone utensils. I asked him his name, and he didn’t answer. I needed headphones so he sold me a pair which came with a – “vwane yerrr guarantee.” I said “a what,” he said “een jaar waarborg.” I was like “ja but you won’t be here in a year.” He said, “vwee have been here for 3 years, inshallah we will be here for another 10.” He gave me a pair, with no slip. I asked, “And now?” He said, “I will remember you.” I let it go, because I was more fascinated by someone who speaks Afrikaans with a Pakistani accent.
We arrived to a rain-soaked George at six pm and checked in at Innside Insight. We had the top floor to ourselves. A fun fact though. Listen! nothing happens in George on a Monday night. So our search for local cuisine was fruitless.
In this process, the debate ensued. That the host had the look of a jacket bearer. I don’t know how. But that was the postulate. Although the work he has done to the B&B redeemed him for his craftsmanship and enterprising ability. So the consensus was reached that perhaps the correct nomenclature for a man like that is not umaPencil but rather, Pennsylvania. We thought it makes it sound more respectable. (Let that sink in.)
Anyway, to finish off the night, we went to Nando’s got Gatvol, and turned in.