After 2 months of torment in the desert, arriving in a Durban winter was a wet dream come true. As I strolled past Jacob Zuma’s grinning bald head plastered along the arrivals terminal wall, an overwhelming mishmash of gees and nostalgia welled up inside me and I was dangerously close to booming out the last 2 verses of our beloved Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrica. The first two would have been a huge call.
Several SA government departments stood between me and the next step, and I braced myself for a few run-ins on the way to attaining my Korean visa. On this occasion however even I was impressed by their incompetence. In the end it would take almost 2 months of drifting between Durbs and glorious Pretoria to collect a handful of documents. Striking nurses were making more progress than I was. It gave me some time to see a few old sea dogs and for the first time see my second niece. The first one had taught me a lot in her single year on Earth and I now knew that being vomited on was more of compliment than anything else, and often received a round of applause from by standing relatives. My city had transformed somewhat though, now boating a moderate landmark in the form of the Moses Mabhida Stadium which I guessed could probably be seen from Mars. More notably, more beautiful and more worthy of praise was something an establishment that stood a stone’s throw from my house.Welcome to Hooters. A family restaurant where belting waitresses sat on your lap to take orders of BBQ wings and Castle draught. How they got that passed with the city council is something that I will drink to. Durban still retained its same vibe though. The sardines had arrived and the estimated 1 million Indians that resided 10 minutes from our sanctuary, Mt Edgecome (aka Bangbrook Lane), were in full force on the beaches. My brother, fresh off the JHB boat, demanded that we get involved in everything that KZN had to offer- including the sards. Cufflinks and all, shoulder to shoulder with Man United football shirts and heaving on those nets as though our next bunny depended on it. “Puuuul it, toe it!”
The Durban July was a shocker. I’d like to take a mulligan. Over-excitement and early drinking resulted in a predictable outcome. Let’s just say I overshot it, and leave it at that. Of course there were others, the regulars; Boog Davies and co. But eye-brows were no longer raised at his antics, not since his bed-wetting days in Stellenbosch. These days there was only disappointment if he didn’t perform. The next weekend brought Boog’s housewarming, where folks came from as far as Joburg to catch a glimpse of the creature on his home turf. Fortunately I was still wearing a hangover from the weekend before, but when the rest of the mob stormed into Notti’s pub it was clear that the evening was only going to end with someone getting tazed- which happened more than once.
From there it was time for JHB. The final hurdle en route to Pacific Asia came in the form of the visa process in Pretoria. It’s like having Accounts as your last exam of the year and I dreaded it about as much. Another hurdle was surviving Pinkie Fest- JHB’s attempt at ox-braai. My expectations of juiced-up Saints old-boys and Paris Hilton BFF’s were significantly rocked when we arrived on the scene to be greeted by a couple hundred hookers, clowns and pink dildos. I headed to the bar with my JHB roomie Mish and we enquired about the alcohol situation. “Free, all day with the entrance fee”, we were told. There must be a catch- it’s JHB, nothing is free. As my Brutal Slushi went down like a home-sick mole I pondered the consequences of such a scenario. Could Joburg handle it? An hour later I had the answer. They had either been slipping crystal meth into the drinks, or the phenomenon that was free alcohol had taken its toll in a sinister way. My roomie was incoherent, riots were breaking out around the bars and Shaun Shields was on stage with aKing trying to steal the mic. From there the masses descended upon town where I was only allowed in the club on condition that I wore Mish’s mom’s pink Roxette Jacket, since a wife-beater on its own was apparently too casual. I think it was the shoulder pads that confused them. The highlight of the evening undoubtedly came in the form of an Andicco's pizza. It comes in at a close second to the Gott’s burger.
With Seoul now in the headlights there was a brief moment for reflection and preparation. The last few days in the RSA were spent on the couch learning essential Korean phrases like, “Make my day!” and “She told me she was 18.” I also exposed myself to a few episodes of Banged up Abroad to put things in perspective and educate myself on whom not to trust when smuggling gold out of Burma. With that behind me, seventeen hours of flight lay ahead with a stop-over in Doha; it seemed I couldn’t escape the sand dunes. Still slightly doubtful about whether I would actually make it out of this country I tossed a bottle of Bovril into my bag and boarded the Gautrain, (would it be here when I returned?)
NB Tip – Go to Pinkie Fest. www.pinkiefest.co.za
NB Tip- If you find yourself in Notti’s pub, don’t mention the fact that you know Boog. This applies in most other places too.
