The Weekend

And I'm back. Thought you'd rid of me that easily; I say nay.

Well; a quick update on the car: She will be all fixed up and raring to go by tomorrow, so that bodes well for the remainder of my journey. Aside from the body work I had to fix, I also had to get a new steering rack, reset the wheel alignment, have the right front strut straightened and the the stripped mounting re-tapped. If that had not been done I doubt I would have gotten as far as Cape Town before the car fell apart. I would like to that the guys at Hermanus Suspension & Wheel Alignment Centre (028 313 0689) and Mavericks Panel Beating Centre (028 313 2112) for their excellent work.

My weekend started off at a pace, then fizzled down into mild atrophy. Would you like to hear what happened, boys and girls? I can't hear you. I said, would you like to hear what happened .... That's better.

The night started of quietly, with me sitting at Jax, writing feverishly; trying to understand the intricacies of a social phenomenon: the "Lady Herd" -- or, as they are casually know by the observer, as "those chicks sitting over there ordering shooters". They graze from one bar to the next ordering unnecessarily complex drinks and suggestively-named shots. At a disquieting pace they chase a vulnerable state of being, though I understand the benefits of doing so in a group. It ensures that if something happened to one of their party -- such as unwanted male attention -- or the drink gets too much, then at least there is someone they trust to take care of them. Also, it ensures that no mater where the party may be "at", they will have someone to "jam" with, and ensure a positive "vibe". See that, I am starting to pick up their colloquialisms. Soon I will be able to live among them as one of their own. What I was pondering, though; was what the measure of a good night for these groups could be. I had many theories that I had worked on over the many years of me staring at these groups from far-off vantage points, averting their gaze if ever our eyes were to meet. After consulting with a newly-found source on the matter (congratulations on her engagement), I was informed that all my theories were correct -- but also wrong, because unless there was a pre-approved mission statement each person in such a group has their own social agenda, based on their concept of fun. So if it is dancing 'til your feet hurt, drinking until everyone has a twin, finding a cute boy whose name you would try really hard to remember the next morning; or just seeing your friends again, the reason lies with the individual rather than the group. The one thing that the group does share is that they like being in each others company; most of the time at least.

I also met a girl with what I consider the coolest name ever: Isaure. Come on guys; I know right. Who of you are not naming your next daughter that. Her name reflected her own aesthetic. Plus she was a cool person. We both knew enough French to tell each other that we could not speak French. At least that's what I think she was telling me.

The rest of the night was the result of being dragged from one bar to the next by a very excitable girl with red stockings and a Jack Skellington shirt. I suppose the fact that I could quote almost every song from The Nightmare Before Christmas helped gain her favour. This even included a pass through the high-rise meat-market called Shimmies. Oh how I do try to avoid the place. Yet when they started to play "Gangnam Style" and Skrillex, I will admit that my opinion was not as cast in stone as it had been the night before. I will additionally concede that she did take an average night and make it an adventure, consisting of lost friends and switched cell phones. I tried to understand the finer details, but before I could find some one who could explain it to me, I felt someone pulling at my arm naming a new destination with gusto.

After the girl's boyfriend picked her up, I casually walked down the street, enjoying the salty breeze that passes over the Old Harbour and added a crispness to the air in Hermanus' CBD. I decide to wind the night down at Barnies, where I saw people I had met during the night. I even met some amazingly good-looking women, with strong and confident personalities. Some of them even wrote in my journal. What can I say; I wrote a lot that night. As I was walking home, one of the ladies I had met at Barnies pulled over and offered me a lift back to Church Street. Who was I to decline? No no no no. She dropped me off and took the rest of her friends home ... Come on guys, really; get your heads out of the gutter. Wait, you weren't thinking that... Man don't I feel silly right about now.

Saturday: A friend of mine woke me up to enjoy the beautiful day. I am glad she did. So we walked on the rocks, I took some photographs. We spoke, joked and I can't think of an appropriate verb to rhyme with that statement.

At Bojangles we met a very sexy man in a wig and dress. Hey, its his fault for telling his friends that he was getting married. You know what is bound to happen next: It's sexy dresses with your hands tied to a glass and a group of guys chanting variations of "finish that drink right now or we all think you are silly."

Why, of course I took photos.

After that I met the new man in Isaure's life and then went home to climb into Marvel's Civil War -- which I finished last night. Lets just say I had interesting dreams.

All in all a good weekend.

Last Friday

Seeing as it is Friday, I thought I would tell you how my last Friday went. Jax just had some renovations done and a birthday party had been thrown there the day before. So instead of wasting the decorations they had their own re-birthday party to celebrate the new look. Well, it had the kind of turnout that would scar a ten-year-old child. If there were five people in the place it was a lot. After a beer, and a lot of writing at the bar I thought I would head down to Barnies and spend my last thirty rand. Besides, I felt like a calm and quite night.

When I got there I met up with a very friendly crowd. They saw me writing and inquired as to what I was doing; the kind of reaction I have gotten used to over the last few months. They wanted me to write a story about them, and I was open to the idea. From the names I got they seemed to be a family, probably because they all had the surname Viljoen. There was an Anton, a Judy, a Lee-Ann, and others. Now I would love to tell you what their story is; really, but they greeted me with three small quantities of different-coloured and unnamed liquids. I did not want to reject such a cordial offer, as I though it would offend their native customs. Alas, from that point onwards I cannot hope to tell you what transpired. Thankfully I did not have to drive home.

From now on I refuse to put anything to my lips that does not come in a bottle that I have seen opened. So if I do end up doing anything this weekend, I just hope that what ever place I end up at serves orange juice.

Here's a some pictures of the friendly crowd at Barnies. Oh, and the outside of Jax.

Bojangles

Above Zebra Crossing, in the centre of Hermanus, one will find the club Bojangles. This venue has passed through many owners and just as many names. I am not certain as how to even classify its current incarnation: I am not sure it strictly falls into the Meat Market category; though it does play the regular meat market music with a touch of trance every now and then. Its is reminiscent of Mordor; or Rome, in that most roads seem to lead to it. This may be because it stays open until 4am, so when all else has closed and you don't want to go to bed just quite yet, then that is where you go.

The clientèle is diverse. I wish that was was a subtle way of saying something else; it would have made the statement a lot funnier. As a result I struggle to pinpoint the exact reason why the various people have come this particular bar to engage in inebriated revelry. The again, I am not to sure why I tend to walk up the stairs instead of past the doorway. According to Bar Theory there are many reasons why people come to bars. They include, but are not limited to: booze, sex, drugs, entertainment, sports events, familiarity, social interactions, escapism, love, loneliness or even boredom. Hell, any of the aforementioned could explain why people come here. I think reason falls under the umbrella of curiosity. 

I do have mixed feelings about the place. It is not my usual haunt, nor does it resemble it. But the staff are friendly and after two visits they make you feel like a regular; which is always good. Nor is it a bad place to come and have fun. You are bound to meet some interesting people -- that is if you are brave enough to strike up a conversation with people you don't know from soap-on-a-rope.

The owner of Bojangles also owns Jax, which I have mentioned before -- a place I keep finding myself drawn to, possibly out of nostalgia. Bonjangles, from what I gather from the locals, has done well in integrating itself into the Hermanus culture (or sub-cultures, I am not to sure). It also allows for rather random encounters. I will admit, due to Hermanus; like most costal towns, being a rather cliquey place, it can be hard to break into a social group if you are on your own. Despite this people can be rather overwhelmingly friendly. A well-meaning gesture of greeting left me with a cracked rib. I wish that was a joke.

Jax

In the last few weeks I have visited many bars in different towns. I have started to notice a pattern, a relationship between the places I visit and the bars those places create. Hence I am constructing "Bar Theory." It is a complex science involving the the evolution of bars in relation to the size and population of a town or city. The theory is still in its infancy; but let me share with you some my my thoughts, as well as its relation to a specific bar here in Hermanus.

A town's first bar either caters to the locals or to tourists; although almost all of the time, it is the former. This is because a bar's life-blood is its regulars, hence it makes sense to create a venue that caters to the more stable clientèle. The nature of the local bar will be an interesting insight into the ethos of the town. Then, as the town gets bigger and starts to have a large enough youth population, a meat-market is erected. This will provide the youth with a dance floor for the act of gyrating courtship; and often stays open longer than most other places. Essentially it's a place you go to dance, or to try and find a warm body to occupy the night with. That type of venue will eventually be insufficient for the more alternative youth who want a place where they can relax, feel at home, and enjoy the music which they prefer. These range from metal clubs to rock bars, and often have pool tables. Those are my kind of bars. So let me tell you about the one I found in Hermanus; Jax.

Tucked away in an alley, in the heart of Hermanus, is a bar that for many years went by the name Marimba. Then it was more of a locals' bar, where almost everyone who drank there knew the owner. I worked there when I had just finished Matric. After six years, and many different owners, the place is now more of a rock bar. The atmosphere is relaxed, and people often plug there cellphones into the PA system, and play their own music, if the bar is quiet enough for this not to be a problem for the other patrons. It even has something that is sorely missed in other bars: a jukebox.

One night there I ended up dancing Gangam Style with a stranger and spoke at length to a woman who would like me to run her guest house during December. Sadly I have not heard back from her, and she would not give me her number. Oh well.

If you are the kind of person who likes to go out, but hates clubs and enjoys music with instruments in them, then Jax is a good place to go. It attracts a very relaxed crowd, and the bartender (who came down to Hermanus for a month and has been here for almost three years) assures me that there are never any fights there. I find it strange how the more demonised sub-cultures; like metal-heads and bikers, often are the more relaxed, and have the safest venues and events. Guys with piercings and tattoos, I find, are the least likely to start a fight. Often it is more those who are well-dressed and socially considered respectable, who cause trouble with a person who offends his sense of normality. The amount of times I had to endure drunken barrages when I had long hair is unbelievable. People who wear leather, dye their hair seven different colours, put metal in their skin, or do menial jobs, have the same feelings as those who wear suits and ties. I like the freaks of society, because in truth they are far less strange. They have chosen to be who they are despite the reactions -- or maybe because of them. 

Oh well. I think I may have lost the ploy of the assize some sentences back.