Last Night

So last Friday I told you about about the lady who took me by the arm and dragged me around the place. Well, by Hollywood's standards a good movie needs a sequel. So last night I met her and her friend for a night out. As I arrived the group of men that had been hovering around them walked off. They thanked me for the rescue. It was a pity that they chose the one bar in Hermanus with a cover charge. But Geko had a great view of the ocean, and being in the new harbour it was close to were I am staying (although in Hermanus everything is close).

As we sat down and chatted I found out her friend was a miner in a tiny town near Poffadder. Let us just say that my concept of random has just been upgraded. Though they were really great fun to hang out with. It became especially entertaining when we went to Shimmies to find the dance floor empty; an array of dolled-up ladies, overly Axed men and hungry-eyed middle-aged women sitting at the bar. Ha, that did not stop us. After I consulted my cell-phone Sangoma I was assured that dancing like an idiot to repetitive music with enough sarcasm to choke a kitten would be the perfect thing to do. After three songs the floor started to fill with more people, who seemed to take the whole affair with a bit more seriousness than we were. After a bit of observation, I realised that drunk men are far more certain of their sexiness than the faces of those around them demonstrated. That's why the genders drink together I suppose.

It was getting late and my party was needed elsewhere in the morning so we went to the new friends house for coffee, and a hearty round of witty banter. As we left her house the girl from last Friday had trouble starting her boyfriend's car. It was an old Toyota that resembled the old Datson bakkies. I owned a Nissan 1400 for many years (until someone hit it while it was parked and wrote it off), so I offered to help. After I showed her where the choke was she drove off, leaving me in the cool night air feeling like a real man. Besides, if a guy can't help a damsel start her boyfriend's car, then what good is a man?

I will be spending the weekend putting the finishing touches on my plan for the next leg of the journey. I will be going up the west coast then down through the R62, back to Port Elizabeth, then from there up to Hogsback. If any of you know of great places along the way I would love to hear your suggestions.

PS: Sorry this post has no pictures of last night. I did not want to cart around my shiny camera. It might have made me look like a ponce.

So here is a picture of a potplant on a chair. Yeah, that how I roll. I have tea with nature.

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.

Oom Stiens

Last week I was politely dragged on a bit of an adventure. Wait -- that makes it sound a bit too epic. I went with someone I had just met to Stanford. Yes, that's more of a reasonable explanation. While there I was shown some of the local colour. Again I think that may be a bit misleading. It gives the impression of something artistic or even culturally relevant. In fact we simply went to the local pub.

Now I have been one to find the curiously quaint to the happy little hovels, so it makes sense I tell you where to the locals wet their whiskers in dear old Stanford. Now I would tell you where Oom Stiens is; but I was not driving, and as a result I was not paying any attention at all to the road. Sorry.

Oom Stiens has been open for one and a half years. Its not a franchise, and tries to cater for those who want to sit down and have a hearty feast with friends and family, as well as those that just got paid who need to drown the torrents of sorrow that lap at their hearts. Of course the marketing term for that is a Restro-Bar, but I prefer my description.

The décor is actually quite nice, and they also have a spacious garden area, not to mention a great fireplace. The also tell me they source only the freshest fish, which with Hermanus only a few kilometres down the road should not be too hard. 

I was there on a quiet night so I can't really give you an in depth analysis of the clientèle but at first glance they seem friendly -- or they were smiling at the girl sitting next to me.

At least now if you are in Stanford and you don't know what to do, at least you know of a place to drink that worry away.

Yeah, I know, Not the best photo. 

Oh my, a garden area, mom, come quick you have to see this!

Trust me, if I had a flash, it would look a lot more inviting 

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.

Flames Restaurant

There are many fine restaurants in Mossel Bay. They clad with enough stars to give Gordan Ramsay an erection, at which he would promptly start swearing. I am certain that their food is as good as their decor suggests; alas I cannot tell you for certain, mainly because I could not afford to eat that any of them. I am glad I couldn't, other wise I would not have found Flames.

There is a lot to be said about a bar that turns off the music so that every one can watch 7nde Laan. This bar cares about its clientele, and it show in their prices. R15 for a Double Brandy and Coke, R15 for a Quart, R49 for 500g ribs, R90 for 1kg of ribs. What is most surprising of all is how amazing the food is. The bones need only be gently pulled from the meat, and anything that may stick to it can be sucked off with ease. Do not get me started on the chips. They a a beautiful marriage between wedges and chips ... chipedge.

Although good food and good prices help, they are not the hallmarks of a great pub -- what of the people? Well let me just say that I met a man with a mullet so powerful I almost went blind. I also met an American who has been living in South Africa on and off since 2002. Although his name is Bernard, every one calls him Hazzard (yes, with two 'Z's). This is not because of anything he has done; mind you. He inherited it from his father, as his father had done before him; all the way back to the days of slaves. So go and ask your dad if you are inheriting anything as cool as a name like Hazzard. I suppose if you have a big enough trust fund you can get people to call you whatever you want. He is busy building a guest house for  his wife to run when she retires and moves to South Africa permanently. The place is owned by a great white with a massive smile.

So if you are on the road, and money is tight (when is it not) and you still wish to eat like kings and drink like art students, then this is the place for you. You can find it on the road parallel to the main road, closer to the harbour side. If you struggle, ask a local. Stop here for lunch. It will add colour to your trip.

Jesters Pub

I do like my taverns; of this I am not ashamed. The reason is, simply; the people. A pub environment offers you social interaction with a wide variety of individuals that you would not normally meet, engaging in well-lubricated discourse. Ah, the hyperbolic exclamation of love and appreciation. Oh woe to the sombre drunk who stares into his tankard in the search for a shimmering speck of hope. A pub should not be compared to a club, in which the loud thumping music makes your idle prattle sound like cheeky, witty banter. No my friends, I mean a Pub. Finding a good one is always difficult. In Knysna, I have found mine

Just next to the Knysna library is a little bar called Jesters; not to be confused with the alternative club in Port Elizabeth. Ah what a wonderful place this is. Steven behind the bar is the cocktail of sardonic wit, wells of information and a fine conversationalist if ever I have met one. For all of Knysna's rolling hills and beautiful sunsets, I think I shall miss Jesters the most. I have met some of the most interesting people of my life in that establishment. It keeps drawing me to it by some magic, and the hours melt by, because I do not want to leave.

It helped make Knysna feel like a second home. Thanks to all.

If you want to get the lay of the land, place you finger on the gentle pulse of Knysna; unabated and passionately told, then that is the place to start. And when you do pop your head in there, tell Steven I say hi.

Tuesdays: Backgammon 6pm onwards
Wednesdays: Happy Hour 5-6pm
Thursdays: Ladies' Night 6-9pm
Friday: Happy Hour 5-6pm
Sundays: Come Braai With us
Also: Jenga - Darts - Wicked Cool People
@ Memorial Square - Kynsna

First Night in Knysna

After the car debacle during my first night, I thought I should see what a Friday evening in Knysna looks like. So off I went, alone, into the fluorescent unknown.

Oldies
Now this was the first place I was told to check out. A great place by the looks of it. It appears to cater to bikers a lot; or so I gather by the many pictures of bearded leather-clad men by their bikes. The bar staff is friendly, but not the the type of social vibe one looks for when you are alone. The tables are filled with pre-set social groups and some families. So I sat by the bar, making note of the day's events; longing to be back at Bush Bar. Then the strangest thing happened: for the first time during my trip I started to feel lonely. As you are about to find out, that did not last long.

Kings
The locals at Oldies told me to try Kings, and I am glad that they did. It was my kind of bar. Just the right amount of seedy; not to so much that its scummy, but enough to bring in a crowd that are unpretentious and open to conversation. It's important that the clientèle don't take themselves too seriously. The bar-stools are stacked beer crates with cushions. I have to admit I was very partial to the black and red decor, but that's me. I could even excuse the rugby T-shirts on the wall. What's a bar without a bit of sports trimming? Just as I was thinking to myself, "Hmmm, these people look interesting, I would like to get to know them better", this guy turns to me and asks me what I am doing. I was taking notes, so I explained the trip and my intentions, and when finding out I was not there with anyone he graciously invited me to join his table. Chris, you are a legend. At the table I met such gems as Jonty the Jew, and Carl (if you forget his name just ask yourself, what is naked in Afrikaans).

Zanzibar
After many jokes were shared, we headed off to Zanzibar. It is the type of meat-market every town creates when it gets to a certain size. The bigger the town, the more they have. It is some kind of universal law. I was last there a few years back, for the Gay Pride Festival, the Pink Loerie. At the time they had a silhouette of Batman on one of the walls, sadly it is there no longer. So the night continued into the early morning. It was a warm and exiting introduction to Knysna that more than made up for the troubles I had with my car.  

I don't know what to tell you about Zanzibar. We all know these clubs; huge dance floor, a few sections were you can sit on comfy couches and pretend you're not sixteen. Let's see ... there is the balcony; that's a must. There was one thing that really impressed me was the DJ that played some of the score from Star Wars.

Maybe Batman is till there in spirit.

The Bush Pub

Now just before you get to Knysna (as you head to CT) on your left hand side, you will see a sign that says "Bush Pub". Now I know I have said this before, but this time I mean it (as well) but you must stop here. The sign boasts a friendly environment, and there is no need for a caveat, as it provides just that. From the moment I walked it, I felt at home. Stories flow like pap-sak at a Bergie's wedding. Oh, there are politics; but always with the type of familiarity that reminds me of a sibling's quarrel. As I have mentioned before, a bar is made by the people who frequent it, and Bush Pub has real gems. If you sit there for two beers you're bound to learn something or just get roped into a conversation, and soon you realise you are conversing with the kind of familiarity that come surprisingly naturally.

I discovered (though not through consumption) a new drink: the TnT; tequila and top-shelf (brandy and coke). Obviously not in the same glass, mind you. I also learned about the bartender's heritage. So let me tell you the story of the O'Hagins:
They were land pirates. In other words, they would put lanterns on the horns of cattle so that passing ships would think they see a village and sail towards it, only to get smashed against the rocky shoreline. After that the pillaging would ensue. They came to South Africa to escape being hung. Epic.

The Bush Pub easily sits in my top 3 bars to visit. It's small and intimate and is by no means a place to try and badge. They even have a membership, which entitles you to cheaper drinks and rewards you with a useful key chain. It guarantees loyalty. So to all you bar owners: R300 per annum membership; make it happen.