Cape Town – Part 2

This was Bill's 12^th Golden Oldies festival. He has often described them as a week-long party with hockey breaks. They start with some brief speeches and a welcome party. This time it was in Cape Town Castle. It's a time to catch up with old friends – and after 11 previous festivals there are plenty of them. Over the week we noticed that where the first questions used to be “How's work?” and “How are the children getting on at school/university?” it's now “Are you still working? Have you retired?” Anyone would think we were getting older.

It's also an occasion to enjoy some more South African wine. In fact, such opportunities crop up throughout the week. That's not to say that South African beer should be avoided. They brew some good beers, and so do the Namibians. Windhoek brand beer is widely available and very good.

Monday is a hockey day. The International Harlequins is listed as a Canadian team because the manager lives in Calgary, but we are genuinely international with players from all sorts of places. Dave and Norm had both spent part of their lives in South Africa, and they delighted in swapping comments in Afrikaans. As far as we know, blonde blue-eyed Rose is the only hockey player born in Burundi. We didn't have a full team, but it is part and parcel of Golden Oldies that players may take the field for anyone that invites them. Goalkeepers are particularly in demand. Bill also gets involved as an umpire. There are no prizes for winning games, but that does not mean we don't do our best to score goals. We weren't terribly good at that this year, but neither were our opponents. They were all low-scoring games.

Tuesday is the 'picnic day'. We were loaded onto buses and whisked away to Stellenbosch, one of the major wine-producing regions. Our destination was the Spier Vineyard, where we were welcomed by a band in brilliantly coloured outfits singing “Welcome to Cape Town”.

Previous picnic days have suffered from long, slow-moving queues at lunch buffets. This year we each collected a true picnic lunch in an individual chilly bag and a plastic wine glass labelled “1692 Spier”. The wine glass could be filled as often as we liked, and then taken home as a souvenir. This did eliminate the queues, but the food couldn't be quite as good if it was all pre-packaged.

Tables and chairs were set out in a large marquee. On a stage a band was setting up. They called themselves Sincere Swing and Bill hoped that meant they played jazz. They did! They played extremely good jazz. The lady in the group played jazz flute and had a wonderful voice for singing the jazz standards. Having been raised on swing jazz, Bill was in heaven. To get an idea of why he was so delighted you can listen to a few tracks on their website here.

The vineyard grounds contained a craft market. We suspected (correctly) that there would be craftwork offered at all major tourist attractions and that we would have many opportunities to buy crafted souvenirs. That said, the goods on offer were well made and most featured recycled materials.

There are no tigers in Africa - except this one!

We did buy a few small items.

There was, of course, a tasting room. A group of Harlequins was already there. We decided to verify their opinion that the wines were worth tasting. The samples were generous, the tasting notes helpful and the wines slipped down very pleasantly. A sauvignon blanc was so good we bought a bottle. And a bottle of bubbly for a forthcoming celebration.

Back at the hotel no-one had the energy to go far for dinner, so the team popped across the road to a modest Italian restaurant. The food tasted good, but after several hours at a winery it was perhaps no surprise that several of us drank only water.

Bill normally has a stomach that will digest anything, but something he ate or drank got the best of him that night. He felt washed out in the morning and in no shape for hockey. So he stayed in bed for most of the day with the 'Please do not Disturb' sign on the door. To pass the time he enjoyed the novelty of watching television.

In truth it was not that much of a novelty because screens assail you in bars, restaurants and many other spaces. They are always tuned to a sports channel. There might be golf in the dining room at breakfast, rugby in the lunchtime cafe and English Premier League football in the hotel bar all day. Recuperating in the hotel Bill watched soccer, rugby and occasionally checked that there was no news to interest him.

When Eve went down to breakfast and pass on the news of Bill's indisposition she found that 3 or 4 others in the squad were also nursing tender tummies, but not as bad as Bill's. Was it the Italian food, or maybe something in the picnic lunch? We do not know.

Eve doesn't play hockey and chose not to go to the grounds and support the Harlequins. Instead she went in search of sandals, something we had done together without success during our stay in Muizenberg.

The Victoria and Alfred waterfront area (“V&A”) has been developed in much the same way as Auckland's Viaduct Basin and Sydney's Darling Harbour. There is a pleasant outdoorsy atmosphere and a host of opportunities to spend money. She didn't find the emporium that had been recommended to us, but did find a leather goods merchant with some sandals that she thought would suit Bill.

Thursday is a day with nothing organised. We had hoped to go to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were imprisoned, but the sea was rough enough that the ferries weren't running. The terminal had long lines of people queueing for refunds. Our only other opportunity was Saturday, and that was fully booked.

We promenaded the V&A. Bill tried on some of the leatherwright's sandals. He has broad feet with small heels that can be difficult to fit, but by adding an extra hole to one of the straps he found a pair that met the challenge.

Cape Town's aquarium is near the big ferris wheel in the V&A. It is well worth a visit. The displays are definitely superior to the usual big-tanks-in-the-wall. For example, some have a small tunnel to allow children to wriggle through and stand up in the middle. The cylindrical tanks of jellyfish are lit in a clever way that allows the observer to really appreciate the delicate form of the animals.

One cuisine that we particularly wanted to sample was African food. To locate some we used the Internet (of course) and Tripadvisor pointed us to an eating house called Mzansi. Just one little detail – it is located in Langa township and all the guides tell visitors to keep out of the townships unless you are part of an organised tour. But many of the reviews talked about how safe they felt, so we picked up the 'phone and we booked.

We went there by Uber. The driver, who was black, asked us if we were sure, “because it's dangerous”. The main roads took us to within 2 corners of our destination, so we didn't feel as though we had gone deep into hostile territory. When we arrived at the address there was a moment of puzzlement. The number was clear – on a residential house. We looked around. There were some black children playing in the street, but they ignored us. Then Eve spotted a roomful of tables inside the house just before a man came to welcome us. This was Mzansi.

They were having a very slow night. There were only 5 diners, us and a group of 3. But some evenings they have over a hundred at the long tables. And there's more than just good eating here. An artist from over the road came in and showed us how he creates his pictures by painting dilute PVA glue onto the surface and then shaking sand onto the glue. He collects fine sand from the beach and colours it with oil paints. He uses a little tea strainer for even distribution. The image of a bushman he created in front of us was a simple drawing in one colour, but his display included all sorts of pictures with many colours. We were very tempted to buy one. He would roll it into a solid cardboard tube, but we already have more pictures than wall space at home so it wouldn't have been very sensible.

There is no menu. You serve yourself from a buffet. Mama Mzansi explains what each of the dishes is. Despite his recently upset tummy Bill went round for two large platefuls. The food was GOOD. You are invited to help yourself from the bar.

In the next room was a marimba band. A marimba is basically a wooden xylophone. The band had two of these, drums and a saxophone. The marimba music we heard here and in other places explains the origins of jazz in African music. We both found it very pleasant. And the band achieved the miracle of being loud enough to hear and not so loud that they impeded conversation.

After the meal Mama Mzansi came and told us the restaurant's story. She described the house in the apartheid era, when it was just 2 rooms and toilets were shared amongst a whole street. After apartheid they were given the property, but the house had been so poorly maintained that only the land had any value. The idea for the restaurant came after other projects, and it very nearly foundered. A group of American students ate there and asked why it was not on the Internet. At that time Mama had no computer or smartphone and had never heard of Tripadvisor. But the students wrote reviews and more people started to come. Now Mzansi has its own Facebook page and it has received hundreds of reviews on Tripadvisor. What is really remarkable is that, in a city famous for its wonderful food, Mzansi is number 1 of almost 900 restaurants in Cape Town. Follow the link here and see for yourself.

In general, life is still very harsh in the township. There is 50% unemployment, so when bookings are heavy Mama hires in extra staff for the evening. As far as she can, she buys locally. There are women who are growing vegetables in parks and on church land.

Almost all patrons are tourists. Very few locals eat at Mzansi, which is a terrible shame.

After the story, we met the band. The saxophonist offered to play any jazz standard. “Take the 'A' Train”, suggested Bill. And after a brief pause to think about it, that is what was played. Then it was time for the diners to pick up a mallet and have a go – under strict tuition. We played simple phrases while the band added a tune. It was a little crowded round the marimbas, but it was fun to be part of making real music.

When we paid we were simply asked what we had had to drink and the proper amount was added to the bill, which was extremely reasonable.

Due to concerns about going into a township, we had not brought a camera. There are many photographs on the Tripadvisor page.

We thought it would be a great idea to go back the next night with all the Harlequins, but in our absence they had booked – and paid a deposit – for the whole squad to go to a seafood restaurant in the V&A. The food was excellent, but it was at least twice as expensive as Mzansi and the venue didn't come close on atmosphere.

Our final games were on the Friday. Bill is noticeably sluggish around the pitch these days, and never declines an opportunity to be substituted. However, he was moved to the back in the last game and feels he did a good job of stifling the opposition forwards. His ancient stick, that has seen service on five continents, has now been donated to a South African school so that at least one more child can have a game of hockey.

Bill in 'action'

The International Harlequins.  What athletes!

Saturday was our last full day in Cape Town. We reckoned that the hop-on hop-off bus would be a good way to see more of the city's points of interest. Our first hop-off was at the Greenmarket Square. This was large craft market with goods of all sorts. All prices are “negotiable”, but even the asking prices were not bad. We were torn between the opportunity for some very nice souvenirs and presents and the possibility that there would be even better options later in our holiday. We did spend some money, including on a colourful shirt for Bill.

We hopped on more buses and saw the sights. The commentary was very helpful. It was a lovely, sunny day, so we favoured the open upper deck. The weekend traffic was heavy, and going towards Table Mountain we found the bus was in a traffic jam, that stopped and crawled and stopped again.

The Table Mountain Cable Car.  It rotates as it travels very slowly up and down and people PAY to ride in it.

With the traffic and a lunch in Camps Bay that was delivered very tardily we had to abandon the plan to have a second look at Greenmarket Square and hasten back to the hotel to get ready for the final party.

There was food, there was drink and there was jollity. The band was too loud, and Bill, whose hearing is not 100% anyway, danced only between the dining table and the door because the dance floor was uncomfortably noisy. He did nonetheless dance with great energy, and the comment was made that at the next festival rock music should be played next to the pitch to get Bill's legs moving. Cheek!

Exhausted by too much partying.  Bill is in his Greenmarket shirt.

And another Golden Oldies festival was over. The next one is in Christchurch next April.