DIY Stanford, Western Cape

Stanford is a picturesque village in the Western Cape 20 minutes east of Hermanus and 1.5 hours east of Cape Town. Nick and I spent a week here in his parents beautiful cottage in the centre of the village right next to the church.


Garden view of the Claude cottage

Here's also a short video of the house: 6 Church Street 

Stanford is a perfect place if you want to explore the Cape outside of Cape Town. All the famous wine estates around Stellenbosch and Franschhoek are only 1.5 hours away, but there's plenty to explore closer by. Up the road from Stanford lies Raka Wines with excellent reds and whites to taste and take home http://rakawine.co.za/ On the same road, if you want a tasty gouda or gruyere to accompany your wine, you find a lovely cheesemaker at Riviersonderend.

In Stanford itself there are plenty of places to explore, for restaurants have a look at this site: http://www.stanfordvillage.co.za/eating_out.html

Between meals at Springfontein

But the best meal we had was at Springfontein, 5 kms south of Stanford: http://www.springfontein.co.za/content/springfontein-eats The German Michelin star chef and his wife offers you an unforgettable food and drink experience. Utterly delicious!    Stanford is also a place to chill. Go for walks in the neighbourhood and have a proper Italian gelato at the recently opened Don Gelato on the main street. http://www.dongelato.co.za/ The icecream maker's name is Lionello who moved to Stanford from Venice whith his girlfriend, his father and mother not long ago.

 

 

If you travel further east from Stanford you come to De Kelders, where you can spot Southern Right Wales in September and October. Right next to De Kelders lies Gansbaai, famous for its great white shark diving: http://www.gansbaaiinfo.com/

 

Further on east you come to Pearly Beach, a lovely white sandy beach, about 20 kms from Stanford.

 

There are plenty more to explore in Stanford, like the African Queen River Cruises, http://www.africanqueenstanford.co.za/ but there has to be things for you to discover on your own. Enjoy!

 

Here you can book the Claude cottage: http://www.stanfordcountrycottages.co.za/claudes-on-church

DIY Safari – Gör-det-själv-safari

The alarm wakes us up at 03h45am. It’s pitch black, it’s baking hot and I’m dead tired. After a glass of juice in the outdoor kitchen where it’s a bit cooler (warm, not boiling) the idea of a morning walk comes across a bit better. We meet at reception at 04h15 together with four others and at 04h30 we’re off. After a 30 minute drive we reach the beginning of our walk. Our game ranger Dingaan and his colleague Sitha explain the rules of the game walk as the sun rises.  No talking, walk in a straight line and follow the ranger’s instructions at all times. Three hours later we have experienced what I think is close to the best game walk ever for me since first arriving in this country 20 years ago.

 

The sound of a snarling lion 20 metres from where you are standing is nothing like the sound of the MGM version on film. You become immediately and acutely aware of the fact that this is not a zoo and the lioness staring at you could easily kill you in the next ten seconds.  Dingaan keeps calm and urges us to move away from the pride of what we guestimate consists of four lionesses and a number of adolescent cubs. It is at moments like this you value the expertise and experience of a good game ranger.
 

When he says ‘crouch’ you crouch, when he says ‘don’t move’ you don’t run away even if your instinct is screaming ‘get the hell out of here!’ Dingaan appeared to read the mind of the large elephant bull that minutes before had seemed bent on causing trouble for our little group. When we politely moved away from his path and sat down behind a bush, the elephant turned around and walked towards the river. Confrontation with a six-ton beast averted.

We also came across a big rhino in his morning snooze but the second he picked up our scent he quickly ran away. Sorry rhino. It is tempting to only talk about our Big Five experiences, but it was as captivating seeing the Brown Baboon spider and the Blister Beetle. Be careful if the latter lands on your arm, if disturbed or stressed it will release a secretion that will give you ugly blisters, hence the name.

We had booked a 3 night stay in a bungalow at the camp Lower Sabie in the Kruger Park. We left Johannesburg on Wednesday afternoon and stayed overnight in Dullstroom, to cut the 6 hour journey in half and make it more pleasant. We stayed at the Dullstroom Inn, and enjoyed a great dinner at Mrs Simpson’s across the road.

It’s hot in the Kruger Park at the beginning of summer in South Africa (summer is December, January, February). The best thing to do is go for game walks or game drives early in the morning or late in the afternoon and spend the hottest hours of the day with a book in the shade, snoozing or in the swimming pool.

 

It’s easy to drive around the park on your own, just remember that the Kruger Park is huge (about the size of Ireland) so don’t overdo it and think you can drive from one end of the park to another. It takes about one hour to drive from camp to camp if you’re driving 50 km per hour, which is the maximum speed throughout the park. If you want to take it ease and have a chance to spot some animals it takes at least twice as long. Go for shorter drives and always keep a lookout for all animals and birds, not just the Big Five. Buy a map book of the park as soon as possible in any of the camp shops, it gives you valuable information and great charts of the most common animals, snakes and birds. Please follow the hints and tips and make sure you’re back in the camp before the gate closes which is 18h30 at Lower Sabie in the summer.

If you go on a sunset drive in the Kruger Park they usually leave around 5pm and get back around 8pm; the San Parks vehicles can return after the gate is closed. These drives are usually a rather relaxed affair; you try and enjoy the end of the day and the cooling of the air.

Very quickly into our sunset drive we encountered two large herds of elephants, one with a tiny baby that could have been born a week or so ago, small enough to walk under its mummy’s belly. We also saw six large rhinos, also with a baby in its midst. The dominant male sprayed his territory several times telling us to bugger off. We came across ostriches, shrub hares, dikop birds and night jars on the road. There were even two hippos walking out of the water to look for food for the night. 

After sunset the driver/ranger gave us control of three lamps to shine into the bushes, and even if the full moon shone upon us it didn’t look like we were going to see much before arriving back at the camp. But as we turned down into the last bend we all spotted a tail at the side of the road and as we came closer we realised the tail was attached to the most beautiful animal on this earth: a leopard. She was just about to cross the road as we arrived and disturbed her plans so she changed her mind and jumped back into the ditch. But not before we had a good look at her. She was all gold and shiny and looked absolutely beautiful!
 

If you are planning to come here for a safari from a colder climate, don’t under estimate the effect the heat will have on you. Always make sure you drink plenty of water, wear a hat, put on lots of sun cream and stay out of the sun during the hottest hours of the day. Wear loose fitting clothes in neutral colours, khaki, brown and green, especially for the game walks where you are trying to blend in with nature. No whites or bright colours or the game ranger will send you back to change.

When it comes to food, the tradition in the park is to braai. This means grill meat over an open fire and each bungalow and hut is equipped with its own grill. You need to bring your own charcoal or firewood and food of course. If you drive to the Kruger from Johannesburg, there’s a big mall just outside Nelspruit where you can do all your shopping. It’s about an hour’s drive from Nelspruit to the Malelane gate, one of the southern gates of the Kruger Park. Most camps are self-catering, but there are shops in each camp with most of the basic stuff you need for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Even booze and souvenirs. In Nelspruit, or before you leave Johannesburg, also make sure you buy a two-prong adaptor to charge your cell phone and camera batteries, the South African plug is three-prong and doesn’t usually feature in the universal adaptor you sometimes see for sale at airports.

The game reserve etiquette is to share knowledge of your animal sightings, especially if you see any of the big five or rare birds like the Ground Hornbill. There are also boards at each camp where anyone can post information of recent sightings that are updated every day.

+++

Flying and driving: If you arrive from overseas on a flight that arrives at OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg in the morning, you will be able to drive straight to the Kruger Park and arrive late in the afternoon. It takes about 6-7 hours with a short break to the southern parts of the park. Just remember to drive carefully especially if you haven’t had a good night’s sleep on the plane. Or you can stay in Dullstroom on the way as mentioned above.

Stay at least three nights in the park, which gives you two whole days for drives, walks and relaxing. If you fly out here from Europe, stay at least a week in South Africa and explore other parts of the country. There’s hardly any time difference so no jet lag. A big bonus.

You need to book a car and any car will do but if you have the funds book a 4x4 because you sit higher and see more.

The Kruger Park: Have a proper look at the website www.krugerpark.com and read up on the different camps available. We stayed at Lower Sabie which is good for both beginners and more seasoned game viewers. We paid R3165 for two people for three nights in a self-catering bungalow (approximately 2000SEK). Over and above the accommodation all guests in all South African National Parks need to pay a conservation fee which is R62 per person per night for local residents and R248 per person per night for international visitors.

Other game reserves in South Africa: There are lots of other magnificent game reserves in South Africa. Another favourite of mine (and reasonably priced) is the Hluhluwe-Umfolozi game reserve in KwaZulu Natal and the Hilltop camp is great: https://bookings.kznwildlife.com/MakeABooking.aspx

There are loads of luxury reserves but they can easily be booked through travel agents across the world so I’m not going to bother with them. Just be prepared to pay 5-10 times more than in the national parks. But then food and drinks is usually included as well as a couple of game drives per day.

What to bring: A good camera is a must and a pair of good binoculars if you want to see what’s going on at a distance, especially birds. A good torch and a head-lamp are also useful in particular if there’s a power cut and you need to see what you’re cooking and eating. If you want to learn the names of the animals and birds that you are spotting and don’t think the information in the map book is enough then you must get a book at least on birds. The Sasol Birds of Southern Africa is one of the best and can be ordered online http://www.sasolbirds.co.za/

What else: Don’t forget to take it easy and relax. And when you don’t really know what to do, ask someone or use your common sense.

(Photos: Nick Claude)

 

How Swedish are You?

If you like IKEA, the old Saab and Pelle Howlin Petterson in The Hives, maybe you’re a little bit Swedish?

Here you can put your Swedishness to the test:

 http://kajsaclaude.polldaddy.com/s/how-swedish-are-you

ABBA

Dala horse

Midnight sun

Midsummer pole

Saab

Midsummer spread

The Hives

Stockholm panorama

Swedish girls drinking snaps, blogger centre

Everybody wants England to lose - and other short stories

We've been in South Africa for two years now and it's been quite a journey with amazement and frustration in equal doses. I am still battling with Home Affairs and their latest attempt to question me being here. They want additional proof of our marriage since the marriage certificate isn't enough. They want to see proof of the registration of our marriage, so we have to find the magistrate (in Krugersdorp), who might be dead, who registered our marriage, and find the entry in the physical register that no-one knows where it is. No online registers, just physical papers that can get lost, then you're in trouble.

Having said that, I must admit that my experiences of this country and its people have been overwhelmingly positive. I am thinking of writing a book, with the title above.

But before I start, I'd like to ask whoever is reading this blog, what you would like to know about South Africa and what you'd like me to write about? Any ideas are welcome.

Driving in Johannesburg

I once read that you don't learn to curse properly until you start to drive a car. When we moved to Johannesburg 20 months ago, I hadn't driven a car for 16 years. I had to reacquaint myself to driving in downtown Johannesburg (or the CBD as we call it here). It was an unforgettable experience, you had to be both absolutely fearless and equally fearful the whole time for what might happen. My colleague at the time said: Don't let the taxi drivers intimidate you. I have tried to follow that advice and some people actually say that I drive like one, which I try to take as a compliment.

Feeling at home

Why do I feel at home in South Africa?

I have asked myself this a million times and analysed it in every possible way. I don't know, but ever since I landed in Durban on 30 December 1993 I have felt at home in this country. Not at home as in I recognise all the habits and traditions in all the ethnic groups, no, it's more on the inside. Like leaves slowly falling to the ground after a windy day, with a mmm... nice to be home, kind of feeling.

Anyway. Tomorrow we are going to Durban for my birthday on Sunday, because for my birthday I need to be by the sea.

We're going home.

What's in a name?

Two years ago, I had colleagues with names such as Patrik, Birger, Jenny, Janna and Maria. Now my colleagues are Palesa, Dineo, Zani, Khanyisile and Nadeema.

Yesterday was Heritage Day in South Africa where we celebrate the diversity of this country and the wealth is amazing in terms of culture, traditions, religions and names.

My name is considered very strange and hardly pronouncable by many. I am usually called Kaiser, Keyser or Khanyisa (which means light in Zulu). I sometimes say, when introducing myself, that my name is like Kaiser Chiefs without the Chiefs! It makes it easier to pronounce but also causes confusion since Kaiser is a man's name. (To my non-South African readers: Kaiser Chiefs is one of two very succcessful football teams in Soweto, the other being Orlando Pirates.)

But what's in a name?

Touch - Pause - Engage!

"He is a jockey-size player, but his heart is much bigger than that", was what the rugby commentator said about a Japanese player in the match against France on Saturday morning.

It's all happening. The Rugby World Cup started in New Zealand on 9 September and the temperature is HIGH in South Africa. Every newspaper has full-on specials about the game and I have found my source of information in the Mail & Guardian's "Rugby for dummies". And of course my mates who are all very happy to share their knowledge. I am learning all about the difference between a scrum a ruck and a maul. On paper at least, because they all look similar and very messy.

Today was South Africa's first match in the Cup, against Wales, and I can't say much about it other than it was a very tight win for South Africa, 17-16 to RSA and many dropped balls.

One of South Africa's key players, Bakkies Botha, wasn't playing today due to injuries and my all-time favourite Os du Randt ("born when meat was cheap") left professional rugby years ago. But after today, I think my new favourite is Francois Hougaard. More to follow.

I love SARS!

A Swedish friend of mine, living in Johannesburg, once compared South Africa and Sweden by saying:
" In Sweden, everything works and nothing is possible. In South Africa nothing works and everything is possible." And I have always thought that it kind of describes the South African attitude to things: even if it doesn't work we'll make it work!

This morning I went to the South African Revenue Services to present supporting documents for my tax return. I was expecting a Home Affairs experience, but was pleasantly surprised.

There were long queues of people every where and the service was somewhat both manual and automatic. On arrival I received an orange note that said "General" and was asked to wait in a queue that only led to the toilet. We went through to a large hall with rows of benches and were asked to take a seat. A man approached me and exchanged my orange General note with a number. High up on the wall there was an electronic board ticking the numbers and an automated voice calling them out as well. In addition, a lady, standing in front of the rows of benches, simultaneously called out the numbers, which created a kind of echo or stereo effect.

Anyway, not more that 30 minutes later, I was called to Desk 02 to present my supporting tax documents to a somewhat serious looking woman. The whole procedure only took three minutes and now I just have to wait and see. Just like anywhere else.

Driving to work

Traffic was hectically busy as always and a Toyota driver was annoying the hell out of everyone on the M1 north. He was driving slalom between cars in all three lanes without indicating and without paying any attention to the hooting and the upset waving from drivers around him.

As he almost drove into the car in front of me, a very small Citi Golf driven by a very large man, the traffic stopped so the Toyota and the Golf ended up right next to each other in the fast lane, right in front of me.

The large man unfolded himself out of the Golf, walked slowly over to the Toyota and with the palm of his right hand slammed hard in to the window on the side of the driver. The window didn't break, but the driver wound his window down (Why? Oh, why?) and Bam! the large man punched the driver in the face! Much commotion from the other Toyota passengers.

Then, the large man turned around, put the palms of his hands together in front of him and slowly bowed towards me, like a Martial artist after a fight, got in his car and drove off. The Toyota moved over to the slow lane and twenty minutes later I arrived at the office.

What I love about Johannesburg 1

"Johannesburg is like an ugly person with a great personality. Cape Town is like a beautiful person with a kak personality."

No, Joburg isn't pretty in the conventional meaning of the word but I find it both beautiful and fascinating. The people here are open yet private, stressed yet relaxed, helpful yet distant and always hustling.
I'm starting to sound like Alanis Morisette.

Joburg is more than anything full of stories. A couple of days ago, me and Nick were in a taxi cab with a Zulu driver named Themba, who told us all about the tradition of staying in close touch with your ancestors. He wore a goat skin bracelet, to show that when he bought a new house, he slaughtered a goat and talked to his ancestors about moving with him and his family to the new place. When you share the meal with your ancestors it's also important how you dress, you can't wear "British t-shirts", but short pants and a vest is okay. "Shoes would be disrespectful, you have to be bare feet."

Home of the Affairs, part 2

Today was the day I went back to Home Affairs downtown. I had an ambitious agenda: I wanted to claim the repatriation deposit back (paid in Sweden 18 months ago), since I had received my South African permanent residence permit. Close to 9,000 bucks is owed to me. I made it to the front of the queue quite quickly and I had all the required paper work ready, we had already been to Parkview Police Station for authorised copies of permit and passport. But the money owed to me will only be paid back in 9-12 months and the reason for that is something like: embassies in foreign countries always pay the monies into wrong accounts. Hm. Anyway, I was not ready to give up. On my agenda was also to apply for a South African ID book and a lady behind a counter gave me the necessary forms to complete. I made the fatal error of using a blue ink pen, so had to start all over again. With a black pen a drunk man lent us and tried to sell to us, I filled out as much information as possible, only to discover that a couple of small things were missing, so the lady was not prepared to give me a queue number. I added the missing bits and finally I got piece of paper with a number on it. The drunk man was thrown out of the building. After no more than an hour I made it to a man behind a desk who asked for a copy of our marriage certificate. Darn! Nick ran across the street to a copy shop place. Luckily the man behind the desk didn't need a certified copy. The same man sent me to the hallway where hundreds of people were queueing, maybe Zimbabweans, I don't know. In the hall was a man who took my fingerprints, very thoroughly one by one and the fingers together on each hand separately. Then I had to go back to the big room where lots of people on long rows of benches were waiting. An hour later I made it to a third person, another man, behind a desk, who printed a receipt and said: Do not loose this receipt. In 3-6 months we will send you an sms and you will need the receipt to come and collect your ID book. I can hardly believe that within 3-6 months I will be the owner of a South African ID book. When we were leaving the buildning the drunk man acosted us again asking for ten bucks and was thrown out again. After four hours, we arrived home to another great piece of news. The power cut was over! After 24 hours without electricity, it feels like luxury to be able to cook and shower and make tea! So all in all a good day.

Seven months later

Neither me nor Nick has posted anything on this blog since I started to work at Ogilvy seven months ago. Does that mean anything in particular? It has been and still is a ride, sometimes rocky sometimes smooth. Nick is writing his book and it's looking very promising. He's written thousands and thousands of words and I can't wait for it to be finished and send it to a publisher. I on the other hand am still discovering the world of South African PR and it's not boring. I work to much, just like I used to in Sweden. I am very much an 'on' or 'off' kind of person. But more importantly we are adjusting to life in South Africa. I am still struggling to get used to traffic in this hectic city, but I get by. This is it for now, friends, will try my best and write more often. Maybe even more intelligent thoughts next time?

Vår i Johannesburg

I morgon börjar jag på mitt nya jobb som Business Director på Ogilvy PR.

Våren har kommit på allvar till Johannesburg och det är soligt varmt på dagarna, uppemot 25-27 grader. Jag har planterat tre lavendelplantor och köpt Sydafrikas nationalfågel, den blå tranan, i pärlor och ståltråd.

Fas 1 av balkongplanteringen. Funderar på om inte en bougainvillea eller ett citronträd är nästa fas.

Home of the affair

Kajsa and I tootled off to the Department of Home Affairs ten days ago for our ”interview” with a department lackey in order to verify and process Kajsa’s application for permanent residence. I use the term "interview" as the process involved noting of the sort. It became a fight for survival against a bureaucratic octopus, that is strangling South Africa’s journey to a brighter future.

The Department of Home Affairs office we visited in Harrison Street reminded me a lot of the South African railways office building I worked in for a short while after leaving school. Ten stories tall, no computers, one photocopying machine, one working lift, large Afrikaners in military style uniforms ( I kid you not. Some of them even seemed to be in charge of stuff), reams of papers and ledgers, wooden benches, plastic seats, and room after room of incompetent, uncaring or just plain angry government officials ( a few managed to tick all boxes).

Not one computer in the permanent residence application office. I was about to say not one person either but we did see three different people so that averages out to about one I suppose.

Everything is written down. It is madness. There is thus no link between the residence and work permit office so one has to give the same documentation twice, hence the copier.

It was two hours into our “interview”, after our second walk down and up four flights of stairs in order to find the lone copier, that Kajsa cracked. I had been looking forward to telling the story of how we met, how excited we were to be back and how keen we were to contribute to a county we left 12 years ago but nobody seemed interested.

I think the catalyst to Kajsa’s rage for that is what it was, came after we were told the permanent residence application would take six-months to process. “What if I want to work, to contribute, and to earn money to survive?” I think it was the empty look from the official, a look that one could see meant she had no concept or understanding of the question that set things off. At one point I honestly suspected that said official might think that white people do not need to work but of course that is crazy talk.

“I want to leave this fucking place. We are going back to Sweden!!” With that we left to wait 30 minutes for a taxi. That’s another thing. Taxis arrive when they can, and charge what they can. Stockholm it aint.

Not that it’s all gone to hell in hand basket. It seems South Africa has realised the importance of harnessing as many of the meagre tax revenues available (5 million registered tax-payers in a country of forty million) Okay I queued for around two hours but got a tax number on the spot. And the office uses the number system familiar to many Swedes. It works. Plus the guy who helped me, Peter, was engaging and helpful. We actually had a chat.

Feel it

The tall thin cop with an automatic rifle strapped across his chest walked towards me with a smile on his face. It was my third police roadblock in as many days and two days to kick-off.

”Can you catch it?” he said, pushing out his right hand and making to catch the air.

“Can you feel it?” he asked rubbing his tummy. He then leaned into the car and still smiling said “Driver’s license please”.

It has been crazy here. This city was crackling on Friday hours before kick-off. Endless streams of VIP’s in siren-blaring convoys filled the roads, helicopters and surveillance aircraft circled overhead and everybody (bar three I reckon) had on a Bafana shirt. Yellow was the colour of the day. It is difficult to explain the palpable sense of hysteria and excitement that enveloped Jozi last Friday. The morning after the opening game and ceremony I was really proud to be a South African and it goes some way to explaining why I spent most of the day drinking steadily. Best opening ceremony ever. Best opening goal ever. Just the best ever.

Yesterday I felt it properly myself. I went to Soccer city with my mum and a couple of friends to watch Holland play Denmark. It was quite something. The Dutch fans outnumbered the Danes by considerable numbers. There is a group of them here who drove through Africa for ten weeks to enjoy the event. Respect. Many of them were dressed in crazy outfits from body-hugging Day-Glo orange to bright orange fishing waders (huh?) The stadium is vast, spacious and comfortable. Beer, I mean Budweiser, was on sale during the game and despite the constant drone of the vuvuzelas a rousing time was had by all. Although it took three hours in traffic to get there (A train journey to the next game is a definite) the stadium cleared in no time and we were home within an hour and a half of the final whistle.

My World Cup has begun and I am very excited for the next few weeks. Anders and Tommy arrive from Stockholm on Thursday lunch-time and I have a feeling things are going to get turned up a notch. We have tickets for six games including Ivory Coast-Brazil and Germany-Ghana. Boo Selekta! I am looking forward to getting out and about at night to meet visiting fans and we have a number of activities lined up including a visit to Hluhluwe Game Reserve. We hired Prospero’s plane for that one. Once in a lifetime is the slogan for this month. World Cup rules apply. Anything goes.

Hands in the air

Last Saturday I went jorling for the first time since we arrived in Jozi a few months back. It’s not like I haven’t been out to various great restaurants and the three bars (it might actually be two) that cater to the hundreds of thousand, dare I say millions of people who live in the northern suburbs but this was new. This was a trip downtown on a Saturday night to the dark heartland of Jozi, the Newtown Precinct.

Actually the precinct itself buzzed with activity when we arrived at Sophiatown (I think, I was a bit dizzy) around 11.00 at night. The precinct is an urban renewal and regeneration project with a fascinating history. After a turbulent history the area is today host to a mix of bars, restaurants, galleries and museums. Mary Fitzgerald square, the precincts centrepiece is also host to a World Cup fan park and I plan to be there for the opening game.

Mental as anything

It was a mate’s birthday and a few of us had spent the initial part of the evening at a place called The Woods for the clubs “dubmental” night. It wasn’t mental it was terrible. Maybe I am getting old but I was raised on classic Jamaican dub where mix masters like King Tubby, Scientist and Scratch Perry dominated. They produced laidback bass-heavy versions with an emphasis on crucial brass sections and re-mixed voice. Modern dub is a cacophony of electronic hail backed up by a gut-crunching bass that seemed to digest my dinner. The venue itself was like a garage with a light bulb. The owners must have pumped all of a grand into the joint. The best thing about it was the cheap drinks.

The small crowd, all white, was made up of the traditional smattering of waifs, students, extroverts, Goths, hustlers and dirty-old men you find in dimly lit clubs posing as alternative. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. After an hour under low decibel tremble/high decibel electronic screech assault we decided to move on down to Newtown proper. Steve and I decided to walk the four-hundred meters or so to the bar Sophiatown. The others pleaded with us to drive, that we were taking our lives in our hands and that we should be very careful.

Hippity hop

Apart from a few homeless people and a couple of car guards clustered around an open fire on the pavement, the streets were empty until we entered Mary Fitzgerald Square. People hustling and bustling between bar and car, street and club. The place was hopping. At one point I was the only whitey in the joint as the crowd sang along to Li’l Wayne’s Lollipop. At some point I battled to the DJ booth and asked for the Dre/Tupac hopper California Love but no luck. I am not saying I recognised every tune but there was some Jay-Z, some Ice-Cube and some whining R&B rubbish.

Idiots

The vibe was relaxed and I was getting the odd flirtatious glance from the girls and a nod or a thumbs up from the guys. Most of the guys anyway. There was a knee-high Rasta who kept on telling me he got my back, but I told him my back was cool. I think he was running a scam where he has mates who cause shit and then he comes to the rescue for a small fee. Then some other guys started harassing the girls in our crowd and things went a bit south. Grabbing them and insisting on a dance, standing all over them and generally acting like assholes. The girls with us are gay and there have been a string of “corrective” rapes in South Africa recently, the most horrific involving the rape and murder of the captain of the South African women’s football team.

The situation got a little unpleasant without getting violent but did leave an unpleasant taste. At least the bouncer seemed interested when I made contact just to test his attitude. I spoke to the girls with us and they were cool. For all that, and the hangover I sported the next morning I am keen to investigate some of the other stuff on show down in Newtown. As with many things here you just have to be on your toes and expect the unexpected and realise that the air of normalcy hides a chasm of chaos.

Ett liv utan knäckebröd

Innan vi reste till Sydafrika tänkte jag att jag skulle skriva små betraktelser var och varannan dag om mitt vardagliga liv i Johannesburg.

Men det har inte varit möjligt. Jag har fullt upp med att uppleva och leva själv. Först nu har jag distans och även om vi har varit här i fyra månader känns det ändå som jag ganska nyligen klev av planet.

Men jag börjar vänja mig, det kan jag berätta. Jag börjar vänja mig vid trafikköer, vägarbeten och tiggare vid varje trafikljus. Jag börjar vänja mig vid ett vänligt kaos vid utgångskassorna i snabbköpet och jag börjar vänja mig vid blanketthysteri och byråkrati.

Uppvärmingen i lägenheten där vi bor är lite skruttig men vi har köpt extra element och extra duntäcken så det går ingen nöd på oss när det blir kallt om nätterna. De element som finns är från 50-talet då huset byggdes.

Varje morgon när vi vaknar är det sol och 15 grader varmt så vi öppnar balkongdörren och lyssnar på fågelsång och trafikbrus.

Jag dricker mitt rooibosté och äter papaya till frukost och saknar inte Pyramidknäcke och keso som jag åt varje morgon i Sverige. Jag badar bubbelbad nästan varje morgon i mitt aldeles egna vackra badrum med inbyggda kranar och fönster.

Jag öppnar inte galleriet förrän klockan 10 om förmiddagarna så jag har tid att både njuta av utsikten från vårt arbetsrum och läsa nyheter på nätet innan jag ger mig iväg hemifrån. Svenskan, DN, BBC och sydafrikanska Mail&Guardian hinner jag scanna innan det är dags att ge sig ut i trafiken.

Mitt nya liv som gallerist

Sedan drygt tre veckor arbetar jag på ett fotogalleri i downtown Johannesburg. Mitt i smeten. Se krysset på flygbilden här intill.

Galleriet heter Bailey Seippel Gallery och ingår i ett nybyggt konstcentrum som heter Arts on Main. Kvarteren är slitna och ganska ruggiga men förhoppningen är att konst, konstnärer och besökare ska bidra till upprustningen av centrala Johannesburg. Den del av Sydafrika som gett hela landet dåligt rykte.

Galleriet specialiserar sig på afrikanskt dokumentärt fotografi från 1950-talet fram till idag. Just nu har vi en utställning med en sydafrikansk fotograf som heter Paul Weinberg som bland annat tog den historiska bilden av när Nelson Mandela röstade för första gången i sitt liv.

Så här glad ser jag ut när jag öppnar galleriet om morgnarna. Jag jobbar varje dag utom måndagar och det är en jämn strid av besökare nästan varje dag.

Gården utanför galleriet är en populär mötesplats. Här kan man äta goda luncher, ta en drink på eftermiddagen eller äta en tallrik gröt på morgonen för elva kronor!



I galleriet säljer vi också affischer med gamla omslag från den legendariska tidningen Drum som gavs ut 1951-1978. Det var en av de få publikationer där svarta fotografer och journalister fick jobba.

Se ett par av omslagen längst ner, ett med Miriam Makeba och ett annat med Winnie Mandela.

Affischerna ges ut i en begränsad och numrerad upplaga och kostar 1 800 rand styck.

Drivers seat

For someone who has not driven a car much over the last 12 years (except while on holiday in Europe) Jozi is a test of patience, reactions, patience, eyesight, mind-reading, ability, skill, and more patience. It also requires a kind of Zen attitude to the incompetence, aggressiveness and selfishness that unfolds on the average commute.

There’s the taxi overtaking on the inside (the minibus taxis here proudly stop anywhere, anytime without indicating), a truck changing lanes from the right, check rear-view mirror, a pedestrian dodging between lanes, look ahead, a BMW driver doing what BMW drivers do, a gaggle of guys selling stuff at every intersection (mainly flags and football paraphernalia but also phone chargers and a host of other mainly useless stuff made in China), glue-sniffing beggars, glue-free beggars (there’s an old guy with scraggly hair operating an intersection down the road from us who has a sign saying “poodle needs a wash”), potholes, uncovered drains and the broken traffic lights. Plus the cops.

I mentioned a few weeks back that I was fined for driving an unregistered vehicle. R500 paid without complaint. By the beginning of this week I had still not got the problem sorted. Lo and behold we were on the way into town on Tuesday morning when we bump the mother of all roadblocks. It was like there was a manhunt on. All the traffic was being funnelled from five lanes into two. My initial thought was accident. Then as we got closer the reality dawned. Metro Police. The Johannesburg Metro Police. The gang that have a reputation for incompetence, corruption and violence bar none. Who always get their bri…man. Although I have not experienced any of their traits personally I have many friends who have paid bribes, usually while driving drunk.

Invisible car

So here we are heading slowly towards the inevitable. I felt like a drug smuggler or a defector. There was no way out. There were about a hundred cops (Okay forty. A lot) checking every license disc on every car that passed, and pulling over those that did not comply. There was even a mobile office where the unlucky could pay their fines on the spot. The Asian guy in his Volvo, the delivery guy in his bakkie, a housewife in her Merc and of course the usual collection of taxis. Nobody seemed immune. I had given up hope.

And yet as we approached the point of impact the sea of police parted. It was like Moses in the bible. We became invisible for the two minutes (thirty seconds) we inched through the control zone. Suddenly we had a green light and open road ahead. You’ll never take me alive coppers. I was ecstatic, euphoric, explaining what happened in terms of divine intervention. It reminded of the time many years ago my mates and I were pulled over by the cops while in possession of contraband that was never found. (It’s a long story)

Not very

I am in favour of the cops doing their work and would have paid up no problem but it’s quite fun to dodge a bullet that way. Later in the day I was driving to a meeting on the northern side of Jozi (Rivonia). I do not know this part of town and although I looked at a map before departure it’s difficult to navigate as most of the street names are written on the kerb, and street signs are either missing, or too small to read until it’s to late. It’s like Daaaarn that was the turning and you have a guy who looks like a bouncer driving a BMW aggressively a metre behind you. Try your luck at the next turn buddie.

So there I was heading down Rivonia Road, lost and disoriented (Not as badly as my mate at the bar last Saturday) when I saw my salvation. Cops. This time, the SAPS Flying Squad. The elite. The guys who know their shit, know their way around, know Jozi streets much better than me. I pulled up next to the car and rolled down the passenger window. Ja howzit I’m looking for Mutual Road. Can you help? I saw by the look in the drivers face four words into the sentence he couldn’t. He in turn spoke to his three colleagues.

The passenger cop leaned towards me and said “It’s best if you just drive up and down checking the street names”.

No shit broo. Thanks.