I am filled with dread at the banging on my door.
"Your birthday came early," Kevin barks at me, "Get out of bed. Now."
It is 8:30 Saturday morning. For the last week, as the weekend and my birthday crept closer, the anxiety and terpidation grew in earnest. I had been informed earlier in the week that my birthday plans were "taken care of" and that I needn't worry.
Now, if you know me, you'll know I hate surprises. I was always the kid (Sorry Mom and Dad) who crept around two or three weeks before Christmas to find what would be waiting for me under the tree. I could wait to use the new video game, or team jacket, or even guitar, I just hated having to wait to find out what gifts were ahead.
Flash forward to this week, when my entire house was informed of the fate that awaited me, and they always demeured slightly when I would try to pry the information out of them. That is until Wednesday night, when I had a horrific thought.
"Oh no...adventure sports."
I had it in the back of my mind that Kevin would think it very funny if I was brought to a location some weekend morning and told that my bungy jump was already paid for, and that I better walk out on the platform and jump. To a person, when this thought came to my mind and I asked my friends whether this was to be my "present," they each smiled wryly and told me to "wait and see."
By Saturday morning, as Kevin knocked on my door, I was frantic. Could they really be forcing me to chat death against my will?
We piled into the Al van for the journey around 9:00. Nervous, shaking, and sick to my stomach, I was plotting my escape, just in case.
We stopped at a McDonald's (my first African McDonald's experience...it's exactly the same) for breakfast before setting off on the next leg of our journey. I got a double cheeseburger and chocolate shake to settle my stomach. My friends tried to lighten the mood by stealing a birthday crown from a children's party happening simultaneously in the Playland. Despite forcing a few smiles, I was still trying to figure out how bad it would be to jump out of a moving van on the M3 Freeway and hitchhike to a more secure location.
As we left McDonald's I thought my fate was sealed. I had accepted the fact that I was going to be forced into a bad situation.
And then we took a quick left into the Steenberg Wine Estate in Constantia.
All along, they had me fooled, and all along they planned a day of wine tasting and culinary delights for me.
We ended up tasting the full array of vintages at Steenberg. They had a delightful red blend (Nebbiolo, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot) called Catherina, which I picked up for my mom. They're Methode Cap Classique Sparkling Wine was also very good, as well as their Loire Clone Sauvignon Blanc. Unfortunately, their soil composition left a bit to be desired in their single varietals, most notably the Cab Sauv, which left a lot to be desired. But the beautiful location on a warm spring day with excellent company more than made up for the unsteady collection of wines.
From there we set off for Hout Bay for a delicious lunch of fresh seafood. I had my first taste of Kingklip, the local whitefish, which was prepared in my favourite style (deep-fried) and served with chips. Kingklip is interesting, meatier than haddock or sole, but still having a very good texture for everyday eating.
After lunch we made one more stop at Groot Constantia, the oldest vineyard in Africa, founded more than 300 years ago. They have apparently been living off that reputation ever since, because the wines were certainly lacking in quality. Add to the mix a boorish, snotty, uncaring staff and you have a recipe for wine tasting disaster. The flavours were all over the palate, no concentration. The oaked Chardonnay in particular felt like I was licking the inside of a charred barrel. Their shiraz and sauvignon blanc/semillon blend were each passable (especially the white blend, which I enjoyed again later that evening) but that was not enough to make the R20 cover charge worth it. Nonetheless, we all had a grand time in the decadent setting, and we got to keep the wine glasses, which is good since we're running out of things to eat and drink out of in our house.
After waking up with immense sensations of dread and despair, the day turned out to be one of my best so far in Africa. A perfect capstone to my 22nd year.
What will year 23 bring? Stay tuned we'll find out together.
23 October 2006
16 October 2006
Keepin' It Light, Keepin' It Fresh (The "Oh, right, I have a blog!" Edition)
It's been a while. But it's good to be back. I'm still feeling the after effects of both what (in my best estimation) was a bout of giardiasis, as well as the medication. N.B. Unless it's a life or death circumstance, avoid metronidazole at all costs. It's a serious drug that's not at all fun. But anyway, here's how I've been keeping busy in between doctor visits and bouts of anxiety.
- I've been to a couple cricket matches at the beautiful Sahara Park Newlands since last we spoke. The stadium itself, as Kevin described it, is very colonial with its ornate pavilion a playground for the Capetonian elites sitting just in the shadow of Table Mountain looming at long off. Also, cricket is probably the most wonderful, relaxing sport in the world short of, say, lawn bowling. You can show up after work, sit down on a lawn, occasionally get up and grab a beer or a boerewors, come back and nothing has happened. I'm slowly exposing my fellow interstudy counterparts to the regal sport, and I think some of them are getting the hang of it. Most of the time, however, when the action happens, and a cheer erupts from the fans gathered, they will slowly turn their heads and ask, "So...uh...what happened?" Trust me, explaining the leg before wicket rule is complicated when the other person has even a vague understanding of the laws of the game. Imagine then trying to explain this to Kevin, who is generally on his fourth or fifth Bosun's Bitter by the time such a question comes up. Nonetheless, a fun time is always had by all.
- Spent last Saturday night at the Grandwest Casino in Goodwood, north of town. The vast expanse of the gaming hall itself is staggering. I've spent a lot of time here in Africa feeling disoriented and turned around, but this was not an African disorientation. It's that Americanized, purposeful, "Please empty your wallets" disorientation which those of us who have been to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun or the entire city of Las Vegas know very well. Nonetheless, the casino itself is quite posh and entertaining, with not just the gaming pavilion, to take advantage of but also more than ten top-flight restaurants and several nightclubs for you to enjoy when the money runs out. Ashley - who spent most of the evening making friends all around her at the slot machines with her, shall we say, effusive and effervescent displays - and I decided to make a quick stop in the Jackson Hall bar after the evening's gaming was done. So there I was, wearing my proudly South African K-Way fleece, well-worn jeans and sneakers hitting the dance floor. Alone - with Ashley. I don't think I could have looked more awkward, White and American if I tried. Literally, to a person, everyone in the bar turned and looked at the dance floor when we hit it and started getting, what can only be referred to as, "jiggy." Possibly even "jiggy wit' it." Very soon, some of fellow taverngoers decided to join us. I choose to believe they were awe-inspired by my superior dance moves. That, or they were trying desperately to drown out my incredibly awkward dance moves and move me off to the side.
- Which reminds me of one final encounter I should probably relay to you, dear reader. As I was walking back from the boerewors stand last Friday during the Cape Cobras match with the Warriors at Newlands, one of the ushers approached me, with a big grin on his face and asked me if I had seen the movie "Hitch." He actually thought I was the King of Queens himself, Kevin James. This, of course, is only because I am still goatee-less. Nonetheless, I immediately cracked up laughing, as, though the thought had not yet occurred to me, the usher was pretty dead on. So, if the whole politico thing or the chef thing doesn't work out in the long run, perhaps I can fall back on celebrity impersonator. In Africa. I just have to work on the whole White man overbite thing...
Cheers.
- I've been to a couple cricket matches at the beautiful Sahara Park Newlands since last we spoke. The stadium itself, as Kevin described it, is very colonial with its ornate pavilion a playground for the Capetonian elites sitting just in the shadow of Table Mountain looming at long off. Also, cricket is probably the most wonderful, relaxing sport in the world short of, say, lawn bowling. You can show up after work, sit down on a lawn, occasionally get up and grab a beer or a boerewors, come back and nothing has happened. I'm slowly exposing my fellow interstudy counterparts to the regal sport, and I think some of them are getting the hang of it. Most of the time, however, when the action happens, and a cheer erupts from the fans gathered, they will slowly turn their heads and ask, "So...uh...what happened?" Trust me, explaining the leg before wicket rule is complicated when the other person has even a vague understanding of the laws of the game. Imagine then trying to explain this to Kevin, who is generally on his fourth or fifth Bosun's Bitter by the time such a question comes up. Nonetheless, a fun time is always had by all.
- Spent last Saturday night at the Grandwest Casino in Goodwood, north of town. The vast expanse of the gaming hall itself is staggering. I've spent a lot of time here in Africa feeling disoriented and turned around, but this was not an African disorientation. It's that Americanized, purposeful, "Please empty your wallets" disorientation which those of us who have been to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun or the entire city of Las Vegas know very well. Nonetheless, the casino itself is quite posh and entertaining, with not just the gaming pavilion, to take advantage of but also more than ten top-flight restaurants and several nightclubs for you to enjoy when the money runs out. Ashley - who spent most of the evening making friends all around her at the slot machines with her, shall we say, effusive and effervescent displays - and I decided to make a quick stop in the Jackson Hall bar after the evening's gaming was done. So there I was, wearing my proudly South African K-Way fleece, well-worn jeans and sneakers hitting the dance floor. Alone - with Ashley. I don't think I could have looked more awkward, White and American if I tried. Literally, to a person, everyone in the bar turned and looked at the dance floor when we hit it and started getting, what can only be referred to as, "jiggy." Possibly even "jiggy wit' it." Very soon, some of fellow taverngoers decided to join us. I choose to believe they were awe-inspired by my superior dance moves. That, or they were trying desperately to drown out my incredibly awkward dance moves and move me off to the side.
- Which reminds me of one final encounter I should probably relay to you, dear reader. As I was walking back from the boerewors stand last Friday during the Cape Cobras match with the Warriors at Newlands, one of the ushers approached me, with a big grin on his face and asked me if I had seen the movie "Hitch." He actually thought I was the King of Queens himself, Kevin James. This, of course, is only because I am still goatee-less. Nonetheless, I immediately cracked up laughing, as, though the thought had not yet occurred to me, the usher was pretty dead on. So, if the whole politico thing or the chef thing doesn't work out in the long run, perhaps I can fall back on celebrity impersonator. In Africa. I just have to work on the whole White man overbite thing...
Cheers.
06 October 2006
Explaining the Radio Silence
Some of you already know this, but for those who don't, get ready to laugh.
I, Michael David McGeary, have contracted African Death Sickness, otherwise known as parasites. Where, how and when these little invaders mounted their campaign on my indoor kid body, I'm not entirely sure, though I have an inkling it may have happened in Namibia. In any case, for about the last ten years, I had been feeling run down, like I was hungover for an extended period of time. Finally, after consulting doctors yesterday, it was decided I should be put on a strict regimen of Ciprofloxacin and Metronidazole to try to kill off whatever is making me feel this way.
In any case, dear reader, that's why you haven't heard from me in while. I'm going to a cricket match this afternoon, though, so I'll bet you hear something about that.
I, Michael David McGeary, have contracted African Death Sickness, otherwise known as parasites. Where, how and when these little invaders mounted their campaign on my indoor kid body, I'm not entirely sure, though I have an inkling it may have happened in Namibia. In any case, for about the last ten years, I had been feeling run down, like I was hungover for an extended period of time. Finally, after consulting doctors yesterday, it was decided I should be put on a strict regimen of Ciprofloxacin and Metronidazole to try to kill off whatever is making me feel this way.
In any case, dear reader, that's why you haven't heard from me in while. I'm going to a cricket match this afternoon, though, so I'll bet you hear something about that.
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