Saturday 9th April – Port Elizabeth Park
When telling people that I was going to Port Elizabeth for 3 nights, I was warned that there wasn’t much to do, and that I should reconsider. I ignored them, partly because it would mean I’d lose my deposit, but also because I was sure I could find things to do in a large, famous city. I was wrong.
Yesterday, after finding the cricket ground, I went off to explore the rest of PE. This didn’t take long. I wandered along the barren high street, to find not much, and I had a look in the park. After I had a read in the sun, I walked down to the other high street. This was busier, but there still wasn’t much going on. And that was Port Elizabeth.
While I’ve spent the past few nights going to out to nearby pubs or clubs, the fact that there aren’t any anywhere near my hostel means we spent the evening watching films back at base. We watched “Laws of Attraction”, “Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay” and “Envy”. Other than an offer of drugs (I declined) it was a pretty dull evening.
After waking up late (why bother getting up early?) I was asked by my roommates if I wanted to go out to the beach with them. You know when you just don’t want to go with certain people, but they’re insistent that you come. After racking my brains for convenient excuses, I just about blagged my way out of it, even though I did genuinely plan to go and do a bit of shopping at the mall. I may have taken up the offer to go to the beach, however, if it hadn’t been with my roommates. I genuinely don’t think I’ve met a pair of more dislikeable people in my life.
One is a 30-odd year old South African bloke who walks around topless, and keeps boasting about how many young girls he pulls. He evidently only goes backpacking just to see if he can find any new ones in the hostels, and preys on them there. He was also very controlling and manipulative of me, hoping to get me to come out to these weird clubs with him. I declined. My other roommate is just plain annoying. She looks like an ugly version of Nichole337 (for those asking whether that is possible – yes it is. I found the only other person in the world who is), but her looks pale into insignificance when you consider her personality. She is a German who lived in Birmingham, so she has developed the most grating accent I’ve ever heard. She has absolutely no self-awareness, and keeps telling me her most banal problems that I completely don’t care about. I’ve only known her one day, yet because I didn’t immediately tell her to f*ck off, she’s taken a shine to me, and rearranged her whole trip just so she can take the same Baz Bus journey as me. Great.
Anyway, instead of going to the beach with them, I took a walk to the big shopping centre which is about an hour away by foot. I bought some things, and then walked back. On the way back, I found a pub with a TV, and asked to put the Chelsea-Wigan game on. As the only one in the pub, that was fine, and the barwoman gave me the remote and told me to put on “whatever”. So I put on SS7, and watched the goalless first half.
While I’d watched the game pretty much on my own, one bloke had come in a few minutes before half time, and as soon as the whistle went, literally snatched the remote away from me, and put on the rugby. I was astonished by his lack of a) courtesy b) question c) explanation, and after politely enquiring as to why he was a massive bellend, I got the answer “rugby, mate”. After I questioned him further, he conveniently remembered he was Afrikaans and as such couldn’t speak English. Prick. So I got up and left.
I’m now in the park writing this, and am relying on texts from dad to keep my up to date with the score. I am struggling to find any redeeming features to PE at all, other than it having a “nice McDonalds”.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Friday 8th April - 1PM
Friday 8th April – St Georges Cricket Ground, Port Elizabeth
Wednesday night was a real night of contrast. To start, I was picked up by Bill from the Chelsea Supporters Club Knysna. Bill is a Londoner who’s supported Chelsea since the 50s, and has lived in South Africa for over 20 years. For all of the big games, he, along with other fans, met up at an Italian restaurant on the waterfront to watch the game.
After meeting the others, it turned out that Bill aside, there’s only one other actual Chelsea fan. The rest were made up by “football fans” who don’t have a set team, and one who was an Arsenal fan, but just liked the company. However, they were all supporting Chelsea, which is all that mattered.
The game itself wasn’t great, but I had a lovely pizza, and we all had an indignant moan about the poor decisions that Chelsea get in Europe.
After saying my goodbyes and being dropped back to the hostel by Bill, I changed out of my Chelsea shirt and into something els. Before going down to the Waterfront, a few of us at the hostel had arranged to go out and find what Knysna had to offer in terms of entertainment for an evening. They’d all been waiting for my return, so after I got back, we hit Knysna high street.
The first place we went to wasn’t the most glamorous place in the world. It was mainly filled by old men with no teeth, and we all had a right laugh at the mural of John Travolta peeking through some bushes that filled the whole wall of the toilets.
Bizarrely, some old bloke with grey wispy hair and an even wispier beard took our laughter as a sign of approval, and revealed that he was the painter. After telling him that his work was “certainly unique”, we soon drank up and left, and moved on to the next place.
It was a club called “Zanzibar”, and it was the first time I’ve ever been into a completely empty club. After taking the ironic photos of us filling the dancefloor, we moved on from there to, and to a club across the road called “Up”. The rest of the evening was spent in there, and a good time was had by all.
Here are some brief notes about the evening:
• People kept shouting “Holland! Holland!” at me, because I was wearing an orange shirt.
• Some South African asked me if I was English, which I confirmed, to which he exclaimed “Oh, Nasser Hussain!”. While I do respect Nasser as an ex-England captain and commentator, I was surprised that out of the pool of names such as Churchill, Shakespeare and Darwin, that Essex’s finest Nas was chosen to represent England…
• As an Afrikaans part of the world, the toilets were listed as “Ekoles” or “Ekeles”. I have no idea which one I am, so I guessed at “Ekole”. I have no idea if I was right.
I awoke the following morning to find that I’d won five flashing ice cubes and a string bag. How, I have no idea. I also had 10 minutes to check out or I’d be charged for another night. After just about meeting the deadline, I spent the next few hours exploring Knysna by daylight. It’s a very nice town, with a nice waterfront and mall.
My bus was due at around 4, so I returned to the hostel early so I’d be in plenty of time. Time, however, kept ticking on and on, and while there was a TV to watch and a few beers with those from last night, the fact that the bus was four hours late meant that it wasn’t an ideal way to spend the afternoon.
Eventually, without warning it did arrive, and I had to say a rushed goodbye to my friends-of-one-night. I guess that’s the nature of backpacking, you’re forced into making quick acquaintances, but you’re equally forced away from them just as fast, never to see any of them again.
My bus to PE took a further five hours, and I eventually arrived blurry eyed at around midnight. I collapsed into bed, and woke up late.
I’ve now spent my first morning in Port Elizabeth, having had breakfast in a small bakery and gone for a walk. As is my wont, I stumbled across St George’s Cricket Ground, and while I was prepared to pay for a guided tour, after a quick word with the security guard, I let myself in for a wander around the pitch and stands. I’m now writing this from the main stand, with a great view of everything.
I have no idea if I’m meant to be here, but here I am anyway. I should probably get moving, as a security guard is looking a bit edgy…
Wednesday night was a real night of contrast. To start, I was picked up by Bill from the Chelsea Supporters Club Knysna. Bill is a Londoner who’s supported Chelsea since the 50s, and has lived in South Africa for over 20 years. For all of the big games, he, along with other fans, met up at an Italian restaurant on the waterfront to watch the game.
After meeting the others, it turned out that Bill aside, there’s only one other actual Chelsea fan. The rest were made up by “football fans” who don’t have a set team, and one who was an Arsenal fan, but just liked the company. However, they were all supporting Chelsea, which is all that mattered.
The game itself wasn’t great, but I had a lovely pizza, and we all had an indignant moan about the poor decisions that Chelsea get in Europe.
After saying my goodbyes and being dropped back to the hostel by Bill, I changed out of my Chelsea shirt and into something els. Before going down to the Waterfront, a few of us at the hostel had arranged to go out and find what Knysna had to offer in terms of entertainment for an evening. They’d all been waiting for my return, so after I got back, we hit Knysna high street.
The first place we went to wasn’t the most glamorous place in the world. It was mainly filled by old men with no teeth, and we all had a right laugh at the mural of John Travolta peeking through some bushes that filled the whole wall of the toilets.
Bizarrely, some old bloke with grey wispy hair and an even wispier beard took our laughter as a sign of approval, and revealed that he was the painter. After telling him that his work was “certainly unique”, we soon drank up and left, and moved on to the next place.
It was a club called “Zanzibar”, and it was the first time I’ve ever been into a completely empty club. After taking the ironic photos of us filling the dancefloor, we moved on from there to, and to a club across the road called “Up”. The rest of the evening was spent in there, and a good time was had by all.
Here are some brief notes about the evening:
• People kept shouting “Holland! Holland!” at me, because I was wearing an orange shirt.
• Some South African asked me if I was English, which I confirmed, to which he exclaimed “Oh, Nasser Hussain!”. While I do respect Nasser as an ex-England captain and commentator, I was surprised that out of the pool of names such as Churchill, Shakespeare and Darwin, that Essex’s finest Nas was chosen to represent England…
• As an Afrikaans part of the world, the toilets were listed as “Ekoles” or “Ekeles”. I have no idea which one I am, so I guessed at “Ekole”. I have no idea if I was right.
I awoke the following morning to find that I’d won five flashing ice cubes and a string bag. How, I have no idea. I also had 10 minutes to check out or I’d be charged for another night. After just about meeting the deadline, I spent the next few hours exploring Knysna by daylight. It’s a very nice town, with a nice waterfront and mall.
My bus was due at around 4, so I returned to the hostel early so I’d be in plenty of time. Time, however, kept ticking on and on, and while there was a TV to watch and a few beers with those from last night, the fact that the bus was four hours late meant that it wasn’t an ideal way to spend the afternoon.
Eventually, without warning it did arrive, and I had to say a rushed goodbye to my friends-of-one-night. I guess that’s the nature of backpacking, you’re forced into making quick acquaintances, but you’re equally forced away from them just as fast, never to see any of them again.
My bus to PE took a further five hours, and I eventually arrived blurry eyed at around midnight. I collapsed into bed, and woke up late.
I’ve now spent my first morning in Port Elizabeth, having had breakfast in a small bakery and gone for a walk. As is my wont, I stumbled across St George’s Cricket Ground, and while I was prepared to pay for a guided tour, after a quick word with the security guard, I let myself in for a wander around the pitch and stands. I’m now writing this from the main stand, with a great view of everything.
I have no idea if I’m meant to be here, but here I am anyway. I should probably get moving, as a security guard is looking a bit edgy…
Wednesday 6th April - 6.30PM
Wednesday 6th April – Island Vibe, Knysna
A bit of a faf of a day. The Baz Bus was due to pick me up from Mossel Bay at around 1.45, so just to be sure I didn’t miss it, I planned to be around the BPers for 1ish, so I couldn’t go too far away in the morning.
Luckily enough in my walk arount MB, I did manage to find the actual beach (rather than yesterday’s rocks) and what a nice beach it was. Not at all busy, and quite sandy. As all the best beaches should be.
Having now seen all of Mossel Bay at both day and night, I feel informed enough to offer an opinion of it. While it is a nice, quiet, relaxed holiday town, it does feel as though time has moved on a bit without it. The main feature of the town is a giant Jesus cross on the hill, and the whole area seems as though it was built in the 60s and hasn’t changed much since. But still, nice enough place to spend a few hours and relax on the beach.
So after my walking tour of MB finished, I returned to the BPers to wait for the bus. Wait being the operative word. As the only soul in the MB BPers, I sat and waited for 2 ¾ hours while the bus didn’t arrive. Eventually, well after schedule, it did come, but after only about 2 minutes on the bus, the driver stopped for a half hour break so everyone could stretch their legs. My legs are plenty stretched thanks, how about getting on with the journey?
Eventually, a long time after schedule, I alighted and arrived in Knysna. Chelsea are playing tonight against Man U, so I’ve been invited to watch the game with the Chelsea Supporters Club Knysna. It’s been a long and frustrating day, so hopefully the result tonight can make up for it!
Come on the Chels!
A bit of a faf of a day. The Baz Bus was due to pick me up from Mossel Bay at around 1.45, so just to be sure I didn’t miss it, I planned to be around the BPers for 1ish, so I couldn’t go too far away in the morning.
Luckily enough in my walk arount MB, I did manage to find the actual beach (rather than yesterday’s rocks) and what a nice beach it was. Not at all busy, and quite sandy. As all the best beaches should be.
Having now seen all of Mossel Bay at both day and night, I feel informed enough to offer an opinion of it. While it is a nice, quiet, relaxed holiday town, it does feel as though time has moved on a bit without it. The main feature of the town is a giant Jesus cross on the hill, and the whole area seems as though it was built in the 60s and hasn’t changed much since. But still, nice enough place to spend a few hours and relax on the beach.
So after my walking tour of MB finished, I returned to the BPers to wait for the bus. Wait being the operative word. As the only soul in the MB BPers, I sat and waited for 2 ¾ hours while the bus didn’t arrive. Eventually, well after schedule, it did come, but after only about 2 minutes on the bus, the driver stopped for a half hour break so everyone could stretch their legs. My legs are plenty stretched thanks, how about getting on with the journey?
Eventually, a long time after schedule, I alighted and arrived in Knysna. Chelsea are playing tonight against Man U, so I’ve been invited to watch the game with the Chelsea Supporters Club Knysna. It’s been a long and frustrating day, so hopefully the result tonight can make up for it!
Come on the Chels!
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
Wednesday 6th April - 8AM
Wednesday 6th April - Mossel Bay
After finding a map that promised to show me to the beach, imagine my disappointment to find that it was just a large collection of rocks. While I did try to make myself comfortable, this didn't last long, so I quickly went off the idea of soaking up the sun. Instead, I returned to the BPers and had a swim in the pool.
After finishing there for the evening, and suitably showered and changed, I went out to see what Mossel Bay had to offer me in the ways of entertainment. Sadly, not much.
After walking the length of the high street, looking for somewhere, I realised that on my walk I'd barely set eyes on another person. It was like a ghost town. Hardly boding well for a buzzing night out...
Eventually I happened upon an Irish pub called "Patricks" where they had TVs, so I asumed the show the Real Madrid-Tottenham game. Other than the barman, I was the only one in there. There was a deal for steak and chips and 2 drinks for the equivalent of £3, so I took full advantage of the offer, and a bit more.
After my meal, and the obligatory ice cream, the game started, which was good as I had the place to myself. Until, of course, the only other people in Mossel Bay that evening arrived, and were disgusted by the football being shown. After a few drinks each (audibly tutting at me for watching football and allowing their night to be ruined by it), one of them had a bright idea. Going over to the jukebox, thet spent a bit of time deliberating, before picking a song and blasting it up as loud as the volume would go. So while I'd previously been able to listen to the commentary in peace, suddenly the voices of Ian Darke and Ray Wilkins were competing with Akon.
The group started dancing, and pointedly looking at me, hoping I would back down, take my football elsewhere, and leave. Having already taken full advantage of my dinner + drinks, and realising that Vodka Red Bulls were much cheaper than cider or beer, and given the fact I'd been waiting for a long while for the football to start, I'd had quite a few by now. So instead of leaving the pub, I took some change over to the jukebox and chose some songs for myself.
The group looked confused at my mind games, and stopped dancing. And after my songs had finished and the voice of Ray Wilkins began to boom out again, they drank up and left. Me 1 Mossel Bay 0.
The game itself was no great shakes, with Madrid beating 10 man Spurs very comfortably 4-0. So I paid up, and satisfied with my evening's travails, stumbled back to my hostel.
When I had gone out that evening, I had been the only one in my room, but when I returned, this clearly was no longer the case. Of the 6 bunk beds, 5 were filled with various sleeping strangers. My bed was the top bunk of the furthest bed away. I knew I had to be quiet. I knew they were all asleep. And I did try. But as I subtlely tried to climb the small ladder to my bed, there were all kinds of bumps and thumps. I wanted to get changed, or even put my phone, wallet and keys somewhere, but fearful of making even more noise, I had to lay there, with everything in my pockets, and sleep in what I went out in. As I was fairly uncomfortable (and because I'd had a fair bit of Red Bull) I was unable to sleep, and wary of moving in my bed in case I woke everyone up again, I just lay there.
At some point I must have got to sleep, as I was woken by German chatter at around 7 am. Revenge, I'm sure, for me waking them up the previous night.
That was my evening in Mossel Bay.
After finding a map that promised to show me to the beach, imagine my disappointment to find that it was just a large collection of rocks. While I did try to make myself comfortable, this didn't last long, so I quickly went off the idea of soaking up the sun. Instead, I returned to the BPers and had a swim in the pool.
After finishing there for the evening, and suitably showered and changed, I went out to see what Mossel Bay had to offer me in the ways of entertainment. Sadly, not much.
After walking the length of the high street, looking for somewhere, I realised that on my walk I'd barely set eyes on another person. It was like a ghost town. Hardly boding well for a buzzing night out...
Eventually I happened upon an Irish pub called "Patricks" where they had TVs, so I asumed the show the Real Madrid-Tottenham game. Other than the barman, I was the only one in there. There was a deal for steak and chips and 2 drinks for the equivalent of £3, so I took full advantage of the offer, and a bit more.
After my meal, and the obligatory ice cream, the game started, which was good as I had the place to myself. Until, of course, the only other people in Mossel Bay that evening arrived, and were disgusted by the football being shown. After a few drinks each (audibly tutting at me for watching football and allowing their night to be ruined by it), one of them had a bright idea. Going over to the jukebox, thet spent a bit of time deliberating, before picking a song and blasting it up as loud as the volume would go. So while I'd previously been able to listen to the commentary in peace, suddenly the voices of Ian Darke and Ray Wilkins were competing with Akon.
The group started dancing, and pointedly looking at me, hoping I would back down, take my football elsewhere, and leave. Having already taken full advantage of my dinner + drinks, and realising that Vodka Red Bulls were much cheaper than cider or beer, and given the fact I'd been waiting for a long while for the football to start, I'd had quite a few by now. So instead of leaving the pub, I took some change over to the jukebox and chose some songs for myself.
The group looked confused at my mind games, and stopped dancing. And after my songs had finished and the voice of Ray Wilkins began to boom out again, they drank up and left. Me 1 Mossel Bay 0.
The game itself was no great shakes, with Madrid beating 10 man Spurs very comfortably 4-0. So I paid up, and satisfied with my evening's travails, stumbled back to my hostel.
When I had gone out that evening, I had been the only one in my room, but when I returned, this clearly was no longer the case. Of the 6 bunk beds, 5 were filled with various sleeping strangers. My bed was the top bunk of the furthest bed away. I knew I had to be quiet. I knew they were all asleep. And I did try. But as I subtlely tried to climb the small ladder to my bed, there were all kinds of bumps and thumps. I wanted to get changed, or even put my phone, wallet and keys somewhere, but fearful of making even more noise, I had to lay there, with everything in my pockets, and sleep in what I went out in. As I was fairly uncomfortable (and because I'd had a fair bit of Red Bull) I was unable to sleep, and wary of moving in my bed in case I woke everyone up again, I just lay there.
At some point I must have got to sleep, as I was woken by German chatter at around 7 am. Revenge, I'm sure, for me waking them up the previous night.
That was my evening in Mossel Bay.
Tuesday 5th April - 3PM
Tuesday 5th April - Mossel Bay Backpackers
So after 9 weeks in South Africa, I've finally decided to venture outside of Hout Bay! Other than the family camping trip to Kam'Bati (just outside Swellendam) this is the first time I've left the Cape Peninsula. My thinking is that I've come all of this way to this rich and beautiful country, so it would be a waste if I returned home next week without seeing any of it!
So last week I got busy with the internet and planned my week away. I'm going to Port Elizabeth and back in a week, stopping at Mossel Bay and Knysna on the way and Plettenburg Bay on the way back. I bought my ticket on the Baz Bus; the hop-on hop-off bus that circumnavigates SA, so after being dropped off bright and early in Sea Point, I hopped on the bus, and a few hours later, I've hopped off in Mossel Bay!
The journey, meant to last about 4 hours, ended up being a 7 hour trek, thanks to a combination of roadworks, a slow bus, and a driver more interested in getting Alvin and the Chipmunks 2: The Squakquel on the TV rather than driving the bus. Seriously, we stopped by the side of the road for 20 minutes while he fiddled with the DVD player. I didn't even watch the film.
While the journey did drag a bit, I amused myself by listening to old episodes of the Ricky Gervais Show (and trying to no audibly laugh at Karl Pilkington). Eventually we got here, and I've arrived in Mossel Bay!
Having never been backpacking before this gap year adventure in 2011, I was wary to do it at first, but after reasonable success in Tas, Adelaide and Perth, I now feel like an experienced backpacker. I was expecting a filled room where I'd have to fight for a bed, instead I'm now sitting in my 6 personn dorm on my own. I think I'm the only person in this BPers. Nice.
Anyway, they say Mossel Bay has the second most amount of sun in the world (second to only Hawaii) so I'm off to the beach!
So after 9 weeks in South Africa, I've finally decided to venture outside of Hout Bay! Other than the family camping trip to Kam'Bati (just outside Swellendam) this is the first time I've left the Cape Peninsula. My thinking is that I've come all of this way to this rich and beautiful country, so it would be a waste if I returned home next week without seeing any of it!
So last week I got busy with the internet and planned my week away. I'm going to Port Elizabeth and back in a week, stopping at Mossel Bay and Knysna on the way and Plettenburg Bay on the way back. I bought my ticket on the Baz Bus; the hop-on hop-off bus that circumnavigates SA, so after being dropped off bright and early in Sea Point, I hopped on the bus, and a few hours later, I've hopped off in Mossel Bay!
The journey, meant to last about 4 hours, ended up being a 7 hour trek, thanks to a combination of roadworks, a slow bus, and a driver more interested in getting Alvin and the Chipmunks 2: The Squakquel on the TV rather than driving the bus. Seriously, we stopped by the side of the road for 20 minutes while he fiddled with the DVD player. I didn't even watch the film.
While the journey did drag a bit, I amused myself by listening to old episodes of the Ricky Gervais Show (and trying to no audibly laugh at Karl Pilkington). Eventually we got here, and I've arrived in Mossel Bay!
Having never been backpacking before this gap year adventure in 2011, I was wary to do it at first, but after reasonable success in Tas, Adelaide and Perth, I now feel like an experienced backpacker. I was expecting a filled room where I'd have to fight for a bed, instead I'm now sitting in my 6 personn dorm on my own. I think I'm the only person in this BPers. Nice.
Anyway, they say Mossel Bay has the second most amount of sun in the world (second to only Hawaii) so I'm off to the beach!
Baz Bus Diary
OK, so I've returned back to the civilisation of hot water showers, warm beds and the internet. Throughout my week I kept a diary so I could type it all up when I'm back, so over the next few days (it could be a bit of a slog) I'm going to reprint them here for your enjoyment.
I must say at this point that I'd never kept a diary before, and this will almost certainly sound like a cross between Adrian Mole and Alan Partridge. Not the Anne Frank that I was looking for. But whatever.
Enjoy!
I must say at this point that I'd never kept a diary before, and this will almost certainly sound like a cross between Adrian Mole and Alan Partridge. Not the Anne Frank that I was looking for. But whatever.
Enjoy!
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Update
Hi there
I told you I wouldn't be on the internet for a week, but I've paid my 15 Rands just so I could sneak on here. I'm at "Albergo for Backpackers" at Plettenburg Bay. I've also been to Mossel Bay, Knysna and Port Elizabeth (mixed reviews), and you'll be pleased to hear I've been regularly keeping my diary.
However, I just wanted to post now, as I've just got back from doing the world's highest bridge bungee jump, and I'm rather buzzing. So I'm telling as many people as I can.
I told you I wouldn't be on the internet for a week, but I've paid my 15 Rands just so I could sneak on here. I'm at "Albergo for Backpackers" at Plettenburg Bay. I've also been to Mossel Bay, Knysna and Port Elizabeth (mixed reviews), and you'll be pleased to hear I've been regularly keeping my diary.
However, I just wanted to post now, as I've just got back from doing the world's highest bridge bungee jump, and I'm rather buzzing. So I'm telling as many people as I can.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Going Away
I started off this Gap Year blog with the intention of putting up a new post every so friends and family could see what I'd been up to, and know I was safe. However, for one reason or another, I hit a bit of a wall, and have become incredibly lax over the past few months. Sorry.
So here's a quick update since the last post - I went camping, went to a swanky boutique opening, won the Hout Bay quiz, and finally won a game of football. And that's just off the top of my head. I've been having a great time here in Hout Bay, but sadly (for this blog) I've massively neglected to tell you all of this, other than a cursory paragraph rushed out on a Tuesday morning.
So why has it been rushed out in such haste? Well, in a few minutes, I'm leaving Hout Bay. I'm off into the centre of Cape Town, where I'll catch the "Baz Bus". The BB is a hop-on hop-off shuttle bus that travels all around South Africa, stopping at various towns along the way. Over the course of the next week, I'll be working my way along the South African coast to Port Elizabeth and back, and I've got all kinds of exciting things planned, like elephant treks and bungee jumps.
And because I've neglected you, the poor reader, so much, I'm going to make it up to you. South Africa is a big place, so to get from one part to the other takes some time, so I've bought along a pen and my Christmas present of a pad, and will write a diary for the next week. When I get back to Hout Bay (I am without internet for the next week) I will type it all up, so there'll be a bumper set of blogs. Hope that makes it up to you.
Anyway, I'm off to catch the bus, so until next time!
Will
So here's a quick update since the last post - I went camping, went to a swanky boutique opening, won the Hout Bay quiz, and finally won a game of football. And that's just off the top of my head. I've been having a great time here in Hout Bay, but sadly (for this blog) I've massively neglected to tell you all of this, other than a cursory paragraph rushed out on a Tuesday morning.
So why has it been rushed out in such haste? Well, in a few minutes, I'm leaving Hout Bay. I'm off into the centre of Cape Town, where I'll catch the "Baz Bus". The BB is a hop-on hop-off shuttle bus that travels all around South Africa, stopping at various towns along the way. Over the course of the next week, I'll be working my way along the South African coast to Port Elizabeth and back, and I've got all kinds of exciting things planned, like elephant treks and bungee jumps.
And because I've neglected you, the poor reader, so much, I'm going to make it up to you. South Africa is a big place, so to get from one part to the other takes some time, so I've bought along a pen and my Christmas present of a pad, and will write a diary for the next week. When I get back to Hout Bay (I am without internet for the next week) I will type it all up, so there'll be a bumper set of blogs. Hope that makes it up to you.
Anyway, I'm off to catch the bus, so until next time!
Will
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
The Cyclists and the Cobra
I know I should have written about this earlier seeing as it was over a week ago now, but I forgot. I may have also forgotten important details of the day, so this blog will probably have a number of plot holes.
Sunday 13th March
The Argus is the world's biggest open entry timed cycle road race, so the day of the Argus is a massive event in Cape Town and the surrounding area. The route of the Argus passes right through Hout Bay; the cyclists come down off Chapman's Peak on the final stretch up Mount Rhodes before heading into Cape Town and the finish line. While other towns that the Argus goes through don't really embrace it, Hout Bay comes out in force to celebrate it, as well as to cheer on the riders as they make their way through.
This year's Argus was part of the 'Pink Drive' - set up to help support breast cancer charities (much like the Pink Test in Sydney) so everyone had pink shirts, pink wigs, pink clappers, pink hair and pink drinks (I had a strawberry milkshake to help out). Where we'd set up (outside Dario's next to the circle) loads of other people had gathered, and set up with pink balloons, and had spray painted pink slogans on surrounding walls and roads. The atmosphere was amazing, which was helped by someone belting out some really loud music that had everyone dancing along. The first cyclists (the elite ones) set off at around 6-6.30, and passed through Hout Bay just after 8am. It was great to sit out and have eggs and bacon early on Sunday morning - I didn't even mind that I had to get up at ridiculous o'clock (for me)!
After the elite peloton came through (very quickly), the masses followed not long after, with thousands upon thousands streaming through. The energy and colour of the crowds must have really inspired the cyclists, and many of them who acknowledged the crowds looked really motivated by the turn out - which is what we had set out to do. While the thousands of cyclists come through at their various paces throughout the day, after a couple of hours, we head off, as we had more plans.
Ratanga Junction is the main theme park of Cape Town, with all sorts of exciting rides. Located just out of the main city (in an area called Century City), Ratanga has all of the attractions that any good theme park should. I would compare it to Thorpe Park (only it was slightly bigger) as there are a lot of rides with water involved, and quite a few for younger thrill seekers to go on. We went with Richard, Sally and their kids, so in total there were four adults, three kids, and me, who's somewhere inbetween (which meant I could go on both the adult and kids rides).
We went on loads of rides over the course of our day out, both rollercoasters, log flumes, teacups, water slides and ones that spun, swung and generally threw us around. Ratanga being a big theme park would normally have massive queues, but because of the Argus (where people were either riding or cycling) queues were non-existent. We literally didn't have longer than a 5 minute queue for any given ride. One rollercoaster was so under populated, that after going all the way round, the controller asked if we fancied another. We ended up going around five times without stopping, and after a brief break to look at some of the photos, we went back for another five. Only the potential for motion sickness prevented any further goes on that one.
The headline ride at Ratanga is called the Cobra. It sticks out in the skyline above all of the others, and regardless what other ride you are on, you can't help seeing it whoosh past, with screams of terror from it's riders. We'd gone through the whole day avoiding it, going many times on the others. But just as watches were being looked at and kids getting restless, we decided to brave the Cobra. After a very brief queue (see above) we were strapped in - instead of a regular seated carriage we were winched into these things that came from above, and were left dangling in mid air. The ride itself was great - I really enjoyed the jolts, twists and loops, but judging by the shaky legs as others excited the ride I must have been the only one. Someone loudly exclaimed "never again" while walking off, while I was saying how I wanted to go straight back on!
The Cobra proved to be our final ride, and while we quickly went into Century City to do a bit of shopping ahead of our camping trip (more on that later) we soon head off for home, absolutely exhausted aftera knackering day. But it was great fun, we squeezed loads in and I had a blast. The Argus is a huge event, and I was glad to be around for one of Cape Town's premier days, and it was made better by the near VIP treatment at Ratanga.
I will blog about what's happened since, as well as hopefully more regular blogs, but later on. I'm still tired out from that Sunday, even though it was ages ago now.
Until next time, Will
Sunday 13th March
The Argus is the world's biggest open entry timed cycle road race, so the day of the Argus is a massive event in Cape Town and the surrounding area. The route of the Argus passes right through Hout Bay; the cyclists come down off Chapman's Peak on the final stretch up Mount Rhodes before heading into Cape Town and the finish line. While other towns that the Argus goes through don't really embrace it, Hout Bay comes out in force to celebrate it, as well as to cheer on the riders as they make their way through.
This year's Argus was part of the 'Pink Drive' - set up to help support breast cancer charities (much like the Pink Test in Sydney) so everyone had pink shirts, pink wigs, pink clappers, pink hair and pink drinks (I had a strawberry milkshake to help out). Where we'd set up (outside Dario's next to the circle) loads of other people had gathered, and set up with pink balloons, and had spray painted pink slogans on surrounding walls and roads. The atmosphere was amazing, which was helped by someone belting out some really loud music that had everyone dancing along. The first cyclists (the elite ones) set off at around 6-6.30, and passed through Hout Bay just after 8am. It was great to sit out and have eggs and bacon early on Sunday morning - I didn't even mind that I had to get up at ridiculous o'clock (for me)!
After the elite peloton came through (very quickly), the masses followed not long after, with thousands upon thousands streaming through. The energy and colour of the crowds must have really inspired the cyclists, and many of them who acknowledged the crowds looked really motivated by the turn out - which is what we had set out to do. While the thousands of cyclists come through at their various paces throughout the day, after a couple of hours, we head off, as we had more plans.
Ratanga Junction is the main theme park of Cape Town, with all sorts of exciting rides. Located just out of the main city (in an area called Century City), Ratanga has all of the attractions that any good theme park should. I would compare it to Thorpe Park (only it was slightly bigger) as there are a lot of rides with water involved, and quite a few for younger thrill seekers to go on. We went with Richard, Sally and their kids, so in total there were four adults, three kids, and me, who's somewhere inbetween (which meant I could go on both the adult and kids rides).
We went on loads of rides over the course of our day out, both rollercoasters, log flumes, teacups, water slides and ones that spun, swung and generally threw us around. Ratanga being a big theme park would normally have massive queues, but because of the Argus (where people were either riding or cycling) queues were non-existent. We literally didn't have longer than a 5 minute queue for any given ride. One rollercoaster was so under populated, that after going all the way round, the controller asked if we fancied another. We ended up going around five times without stopping, and after a brief break to look at some of the photos, we went back for another five. Only the potential for motion sickness prevented any further goes on that one.
The headline ride at Ratanga is called the Cobra. It sticks out in the skyline above all of the others, and regardless what other ride you are on, you can't help seeing it whoosh past, with screams of terror from it's riders. We'd gone through the whole day avoiding it, going many times on the others. But just as watches were being looked at and kids getting restless, we decided to brave the Cobra. After a very brief queue (see above) we were strapped in - instead of a regular seated carriage we were winched into these things that came from above, and were left dangling in mid air. The ride itself was great - I really enjoyed the jolts, twists and loops, but judging by the shaky legs as others excited the ride I must have been the only one. Someone loudly exclaimed "never again" while walking off, while I was saying how I wanted to go straight back on!
The Cobra proved to be our final ride, and while we quickly went into Century City to do a bit of shopping ahead of our camping trip (more on that later) we soon head off for home, absolutely exhausted aftera knackering day. But it was great fun, we squeezed loads in and I had a blast. The Argus is a huge event, and I was glad to be around for one of Cape Town's premier days, and it was made better by the near VIP treatment at Ratanga.
I will blog about what's happened since, as well as hopefully more regular blogs, but later on. I'm still tired out from that Sunday, even though it was ages ago now.
Until next time, Will
Sunday, 13 March 2011
My South African Cricketing Debut
Yesterday afternoon, while watching Bangladesh beat England in the Cricket World Cup, I got a text asking me if I fancied actually playing a game for myself. After finding that I had nothing better on, I accepted, before realising I had no kit or equipment. So no white shirt, trousers or boots, or bat, pads, helmet, arm guard, chest guard, thigh pad or even a box.
Luckily Will (who's real name was confusingly Adam) who offered to give me a game for The Claremont Fifths, sorted me out with some whites, and a lift to the ground.
I must at this stage admit that I haven't actually played cricket in a long time. While I've been watching and writing about cricket all around the world (literally) for a number of reasons I hadn't actually played a proper match of cricket in about two and a half years. Ouch.
My last game, for a very low-level Caterham side, was away to Sevenoaks. I volunteered to wicket-keep (and as such have claimed to be a wicket-keeper who also bats and bowls) in a game that only lasted about fifteen overs before being hit by the Kentish rain. However, in the intervening few years, I've cleaned up in all forms of the game - desk cricket, garden cricket, French cricket, and beach cricket. Games that require the players to be jack-of-all-trades all-rounders. So when asked by Will/Adam what sort of player I was, I told him I was a left-arm spinning all-rounder in the (and this is a direct quote) "Michael Yardy mould".
I must at this point reveal that I made a duck, and wasn't asked to bowl.
After being introduced to the rest of my teammates (learning nine names in one minute meant I'd forgotten them all immediately), and finding I was to bat at a lofty number ten (only ten had turned up - I was unproven, so was used down the order despite my all-round claims), we were asked to provide two umpires after Adam/Will won the toss and chose to bat. Being the new boy, I volunteered, thinking it would be a bit of fun. I'd never umpired before, but using the "I know the rules and I've seen it on TV loads so I'll be fine" method, I strolled out to stand at the pavilion end. After announcing the bowler ("right arm over") and giving Adam/Will his guard, I watched the first few balls of the game. Partway through the over, the bowler turned to me, and asked how many balls he had left. Panic set in. Was I meant to be counting? I looked around, hoping for a giant electronic scoreboard with all of the relevant details, plus a speedometer, and a third umpire in case a run out was close. Sadly I didn't have any of that at my disposal. Using what could only be called a "stab in the dark" I went for two, completely out of nowhere. It wasn't that I hadn't been paying attention - but that I'd been paying too much attention. Being my first umpiring experience, I'd been keenly watching the bowler's front foot in case of a no-ball, and was watching the delivery like a hawk in case there was an lbw appeal that I'd have to adjudge on. As well as that, I was checking that there were eleven fielders on the pitch, and that there weren't too many behind square on the leg-side, just in case the very medium pacer decided to try a revival of Bodyline. So with all of that going on, it's no wonder that I'd forgotten the umpire's simplest task - counting to six. And holding the bowler's hat while he bowls.
All in all I stood for about 20 overs of the 35 over a side game, before I was recalled to the pavilion because I'd need to pad up (there was a fairly major collapse). And all passed without incident - there was one very optimistic appeal for a caught behind that passed about three yards away from the bat in all of the time I was up at the stumps. However, I did give a wicket when at square leg - putting up the finger to confirm a run out. After all of that excitement, I went off to pad up, and after 28 overs, the eight wicket fell. I was in.
I'd sort of been annoyed that I'd been put in at number ten. Didn't Adam/Will hear me earlier? I said I was an all-rounder. All-rounders don't bat at number ten. My experiences of beach / garden cricket, where I'd dispatched all comers to all parts of the beach / garden had given me confidence. As I walked out, I tried to look as professional as possible, to let the bowlers know that I meant business. As I was the tenth man of ten to bat, and there were still 7 overs left, my mission was to stay in and bat the final overs, and take any runs that are on offer. But don't get out. I watched the first six balls of the partnership from the non-strikers end, and loudly called "YES!" for one that was edged by my partner down to the boundary. We ran two. There was a wide as well, taking the partnership up to three. I hadn't faced yet, but if we won by one run, I'd be the hero, as if I'd got out, we wouldn't have got those three runs.
My partner and I touched hands at the end of the over, and I was to face the opposition's opening fast bowler, who'd been bought on for the death overs. I was confident. He ran up, and arrowed in his first delivery. It was through me before I knew where it was. It can't have missed the stumps by much, and by all rights I deserved to get out to it, as I played an awful attempt at a forward defence, about 10 seconds after the ball had hit the wicket-keepers gloves.
All of my confidence disappeared, as I got a sense of realisation. The only reason I'd been good at beach / garden cricket (especially in South Africa) was because I'd been playing against kids of half my age. Normally with a tennis ball. This bowler was ten years older than me, and was using a hard cricket ball. While I'd hoped I'd be good, I suddenly realised that ten was too high for me. I hadn't batted in a game for a long time, and as such, was horrendously out of practice. While all of this hit me in a wave, I looked up to see he was about to bowl his next ball. It was a bit off line, and while I hoped to just get bat on ball with a defensive stroke, the ball whistled past me. I wasn't even good enough to edge it.
The third ball was better, it was right on the stumps, but I pushed forward at it, and the ball hit the middle of the bat, and ran away. I was pleased - as all cricketers say, there's nothing better than getting bat on ball. Feeling pleased to have done it once, I got my head over the ball with yet another solid defence off the fourth ball. I was doing my job as the tail-ender, hanging around so my partner could score at the other end. The fifth ball was wider, hoping to get me to play (and as such, edge it), but knowing my role (and more importantly, my limitations) I left it with an air of authority. I lifted the bat high out of the way, and watched it sail past me. I had no intention of scoring runs, but why should I? The final ball of the over drifted down the leg side, and I again blocked it. A solid over. The bowler walked away happy because he'd bowled a maiden with only a few overs left of the innings, and I was happy because I hadn't got out.
After watching my partner face six from the other end, we took a well-judged two, to take the partnership to five. Crucial runs that couldn't have been made without me. At the end of the over, I was informed that another player had shown up, so with only three overs to go and the safety net of another batsman, I should play some shots, and actually try and score some runs.
The fast bowler who I'd faced in the previous over couldn't be bothered to waste excess energy bowling fast to me, so after a chat with his captain, decided he would bowl off-spin. Spin should be easy, it was much slower, so I could hack it away. He bowled his first ball, and then I played what can only be described as the worst shot in the history of cricket.
It was quite a full ball, on my leg stump. Not really knowing what to do with this delivery, I thought about coming down the ground and heaving it away straight. I thought about getting down on one knee, and sweeping it behind me. And I thought about a little deft touch around my legs. As it was, I ended up taking half a stride to nowhere, and playing a shot which even had ball hit bat wouldn't have gone anywhere. I then committed the cricket coaches cardinal sin of having my "head fall over" - or in simple terms, losing my balance and missing it. I didn't see the ball hit the stumps, but I didn't need to. I heard it.
I walked back to the pavilion, took my pads off, and looked in the scorers book, to check to see if I'd scored some runs that I'd forgotten about. All it said was
Number 10:Will ATKINS bowled 0
But instead of a 0, someone had actually taken the time to draw a very well-designed duck.
After all of that, and after the final wicket fell soon after I'd taken my pads off, we set them a target of 163 for victory off 35. And we should have won it.
The opening bowlers bowled well, taking a few wickets to leave them struggling at 19/2 after 12 overs. It was like a proper test match. But unlike a test match, the standard of umpiring was awful (unless the test match includes Daryl Harper... cricket banter!). Just as we'd had to during our innings, the oppo had put forward two blokes to umpire, and while we'd been giving each appeal on its merits, they were taking the view that "it is never out". Without being facetious, we must have had 10-15 appeals for lbw, of which 7/8 looked absolutely plumb. While I didn't have a view from my square leg fielding position, the other boys certainly thought that at least a few deserved to be given, and were understandably not too pleased about the decisions. Especially seeing as one batsman had 4 big appeals before he reached ten, and he eventually scored an unbeaten sixty something as they won by 5 wickets.
So my own performance in the field? Fielding is probably my strong point (which says more about my standard of batting and bowling) mainly because I like throwing my self about. Fielding at a very short square leg, I got to have a go at some probably unnecessary full length dives, and had a couple of shies at the stumps. But I had no catches, and due to the strong bowling attack, I didn't even get a chance to show off my Yardy-darts.
So that was my first cricket game in ages, and judging from what you've read, it's probably best that I stick to writing about it, rather than playing. However, I do love getting out there, so if any of you want to find me a cricket club for some games over the summer, I'll give some whole-hearted performances if nothing else. And hopefully if I start actually practicing and playing in nets then I'll be able to get back to the glory days which saw me to the lofty heights of the Caterham School Under 14 Captain (B team).
Until next time (and apologies about the epic, but I do like writing about cricket and I did get on a bit of a roll...), Will
Luckily Will (who's real name was confusingly Adam) who offered to give me a game for The Claremont Fifths, sorted me out with some whites, and a lift to the ground.
I must at this stage admit that I haven't actually played cricket in a long time. While I've been watching and writing about cricket all around the world (literally) for a number of reasons I hadn't actually played a proper match of cricket in about two and a half years. Ouch.
My last game, for a very low-level Caterham side, was away to Sevenoaks. I volunteered to wicket-keep (and as such have claimed to be a wicket-keeper who also bats and bowls) in a game that only lasted about fifteen overs before being hit by the Kentish rain. However, in the intervening few years, I've cleaned up in all forms of the game - desk cricket, garden cricket, French cricket, and beach cricket. Games that require the players to be jack-of-all-trades all-rounders. So when asked by Will/Adam what sort of player I was, I told him I was a left-arm spinning all-rounder in the (and this is a direct quote) "Michael Yardy mould".
I must at this point reveal that I made a duck, and wasn't asked to bowl.
After being introduced to the rest of my teammates (learning nine names in one minute meant I'd forgotten them all immediately), and finding I was to bat at a lofty number ten (only ten had turned up - I was unproven, so was used down the order despite my all-round claims), we were asked to provide two umpires after Adam/Will won the toss and chose to bat. Being the new boy, I volunteered, thinking it would be a bit of fun. I'd never umpired before, but using the "I know the rules and I've seen it on TV loads so I'll be fine" method, I strolled out to stand at the pavilion end. After announcing the bowler ("right arm over") and giving Adam/Will his guard, I watched the first few balls of the game. Partway through the over, the bowler turned to me, and asked how many balls he had left. Panic set in. Was I meant to be counting? I looked around, hoping for a giant electronic scoreboard with all of the relevant details, plus a speedometer, and a third umpire in case a run out was close. Sadly I didn't have any of that at my disposal. Using what could only be called a "stab in the dark" I went for two, completely out of nowhere. It wasn't that I hadn't been paying attention - but that I'd been paying too much attention. Being my first umpiring experience, I'd been keenly watching the bowler's front foot in case of a no-ball, and was watching the delivery like a hawk in case there was an lbw appeal that I'd have to adjudge on. As well as that, I was checking that there were eleven fielders on the pitch, and that there weren't too many behind square on the leg-side, just in case the very medium pacer decided to try a revival of Bodyline. So with all of that going on, it's no wonder that I'd forgotten the umpire's simplest task - counting to six. And holding the bowler's hat while he bowls.
All in all I stood for about 20 overs of the 35 over a side game, before I was recalled to the pavilion because I'd need to pad up (there was a fairly major collapse). And all passed without incident - there was one very optimistic appeal for a caught behind that passed about three yards away from the bat in all of the time I was up at the stumps. However, I did give a wicket when at square leg - putting up the finger to confirm a run out. After all of that excitement, I went off to pad up, and after 28 overs, the eight wicket fell. I was in.
I'd sort of been annoyed that I'd been put in at number ten. Didn't Adam/Will hear me earlier? I said I was an all-rounder. All-rounders don't bat at number ten. My experiences of beach / garden cricket, where I'd dispatched all comers to all parts of the beach / garden had given me confidence. As I walked out, I tried to look as professional as possible, to let the bowlers know that I meant business. As I was the tenth man of ten to bat, and there were still 7 overs left, my mission was to stay in and bat the final overs, and take any runs that are on offer. But don't get out. I watched the first six balls of the partnership from the non-strikers end, and loudly called "YES!" for one that was edged by my partner down to the boundary. We ran two. There was a wide as well, taking the partnership up to three. I hadn't faced yet, but if we won by one run, I'd be the hero, as if I'd got out, we wouldn't have got those three runs.
My partner and I touched hands at the end of the over, and I was to face the opposition's opening fast bowler, who'd been bought on for the death overs. I was confident. He ran up, and arrowed in his first delivery. It was through me before I knew where it was. It can't have missed the stumps by much, and by all rights I deserved to get out to it, as I played an awful attempt at a forward defence, about 10 seconds after the ball had hit the wicket-keepers gloves.
All of my confidence disappeared, as I got a sense of realisation. The only reason I'd been good at beach / garden cricket (especially in South Africa) was because I'd been playing against kids of half my age. Normally with a tennis ball. This bowler was ten years older than me, and was using a hard cricket ball. While I'd hoped I'd be good, I suddenly realised that ten was too high for me. I hadn't batted in a game for a long time, and as such, was horrendously out of practice. While all of this hit me in a wave, I looked up to see he was about to bowl his next ball. It was a bit off line, and while I hoped to just get bat on ball with a defensive stroke, the ball whistled past me. I wasn't even good enough to edge it.
The third ball was better, it was right on the stumps, but I pushed forward at it, and the ball hit the middle of the bat, and ran away. I was pleased - as all cricketers say, there's nothing better than getting bat on ball. Feeling pleased to have done it once, I got my head over the ball with yet another solid defence off the fourth ball. I was doing my job as the tail-ender, hanging around so my partner could score at the other end. The fifth ball was wider, hoping to get me to play (and as such, edge it), but knowing my role (and more importantly, my limitations) I left it with an air of authority. I lifted the bat high out of the way, and watched it sail past me. I had no intention of scoring runs, but why should I? The final ball of the over drifted down the leg side, and I again blocked it. A solid over. The bowler walked away happy because he'd bowled a maiden with only a few overs left of the innings, and I was happy because I hadn't got out.
After watching my partner face six from the other end, we took a well-judged two, to take the partnership to five. Crucial runs that couldn't have been made without me. At the end of the over, I was informed that another player had shown up, so with only three overs to go and the safety net of another batsman, I should play some shots, and actually try and score some runs.
The fast bowler who I'd faced in the previous over couldn't be bothered to waste excess energy bowling fast to me, so after a chat with his captain, decided he would bowl off-spin. Spin should be easy, it was much slower, so I could hack it away. He bowled his first ball, and then I played what can only be described as the worst shot in the history of cricket.
It was quite a full ball, on my leg stump. Not really knowing what to do with this delivery, I thought about coming down the ground and heaving it away straight. I thought about getting down on one knee, and sweeping it behind me. And I thought about a little deft touch around my legs. As it was, I ended up taking half a stride to nowhere, and playing a shot which even had ball hit bat wouldn't have gone anywhere. I then committed the cricket coaches cardinal sin of having my "head fall over" - or in simple terms, losing my balance and missing it. I didn't see the ball hit the stumps, but I didn't need to. I heard it.
I walked back to the pavilion, took my pads off, and looked in the scorers book, to check to see if I'd scored some runs that I'd forgotten about. All it said was
Number 10:
But instead of a 0, someone had actually taken the time to draw a very well-designed duck.
After all of that, and after the final wicket fell soon after I'd taken my pads off, we set them a target of 163 for victory off 35. And we should have won it.
The opening bowlers bowled well, taking a few wickets to leave them struggling at 19/2 after 12 overs. It was like a proper test match. But unlike a test match, the standard of umpiring was awful (unless the test match includes Daryl Harper... cricket banter!). Just as we'd had to during our innings, the oppo had put forward two blokes to umpire, and while we'd been giving each appeal on its merits, they were taking the view that "it is never out". Without being facetious, we must have had 10-15 appeals for lbw, of which 7/8 looked absolutely plumb. While I didn't have a view from my square leg fielding position, the other boys certainly thought that at least a few deserved to be given, and were understandably not too pleased about the decisions. Especially seeing as one batsman had 4 big appeals before he reached ten, and he eventually scored an unbeaten sixty something as they won by 5 wickets.
So my own performance in the field? Fielding is probably my strong point (which says more about my standard of batting and bowling) mainly because I like throwing my self about. Fielding at a very short square leg, I got to have a go at some probably unnecessary full length dives, and had a couple of shies at the stumps. But I had no catches, and due to the strong bowling attack, I didn't even get a chance to show off my Yardy-darts.
So that was my first cricket game in ages, and judging from what you've read, it's probably best that I stick to writing about it, rather than playing. However, I do love getting out there, so if any of you want to find me a cricket club for some games over the summer, I'll give some whole-hearted performances if nothing else. And hopefully if I start actually practicing and playing in nets then I'll be able to get back to the glory days which saw me to the lofty heights of the Caterham School Under 14 Captain (B team).
Until next time (and apologies about the epic, but I do like writing about cricket and I did get on a bit of a roll...), Will
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Sandy Camper
On Friday was Kronendal's annual camp-out (Kronendal being the school that Georgia goes to). It's Georgia's first year at the school, so as such, the first year Tom, Linda and Georgia have gone to the camp-out. So none of us knew what to really expect. Tom and I went down to pitch the tents, but found we were the first ones there. Where's the best place? Do we want to be right in the middle of the party (and not get any sleep), or be miles away (get loads of sleep but maybe not enjoy it).
As it was, we went for the nearest corner of the pitch, for no obvious reason. Tom, Linda and Georgia would be in one tent, and I would be in a one-man tent next door. We saved space around us for friends, so we could all be in the same place. However, as soon as they arrived, they were wondering why we'd decided to put up our tents the furthest place away from the braai (barbeque), which is the heart of the party. Anyway, our tents were up and we weren't moving, so in the corner we were.
The camp out was great fun. After going for a swim in the school pool, and playing frisbee with Georgia and her friends, I decided to play cricket with loads of random kids in the middle of the field. The way it was all set up was tents all around the edges of the field, with wide open spaces in the middle for people to run about and sit down. We played cricket on the flick strip for a good three hours, and I enjoyed beating children half my age at it. As the oldest (it's a primary school so being 18 I was naturally the biggest) I was looked upon to organise, so had to choose who the next batsmen and bowlers were, and organise the field. Setting up as wicket-keeper and waving fielders around, I felt like Adam Gilchrist. Every now and again, after taking yet another one-hand on-bounce catch, I'd put myself on for a bowl, and take another few wickets with my Mick Yardy-esque darts. My crowning moment has to be when fielding at short midwicket (apt), where I took a brilliant Paul Collingwood cum Jonty Rhodes dive low to my right. I jumped up in celebration and threw the ball to the sky as if I'd taken the catch to win the Ashes. I then looked to see I'd dismissed a six year old.
Sadly in my three hour game, I only batted for one ball. Wanting to dominate the attack (an eight year old), I was bowled a leg-stump half volley. I pushed it through the on side, and took the run. My partner (about four years old, looked younger) looked non-plussed as I ran towards him shouting "YES!", and stood his ground. Realising he wasn't going anywhere, I raced back to the strikers end, and despite my full length dive (still have the carpet burns from the flick strip) I was short of my ground when the bails were whipped off. I didn't get another bat. Disappointing.
After all of that excitement (and being thoroughly tired out) I went back to the tents, where the boring adults had been sitting and chatting (while us kids had been running around) for dinner. Sally and Richard had spent all evening making a traditional South African braai delicacy (it's pronounced poi-kee, but I have no idea how it's spelt), which was a sort of meat stew. And was lovely. After eating, and staying up for a chat around the circle, we retired to our tents at around midnight, absolutely knackered.
After being woken up at 7 (to find Tom and Linda had already packed their tent away), we went back home, in order to recuperate for Hout Bay's premier event of the year - the Sandcastle Competition. Both the Camp Out and the Sandcastle Competition are charity fundraising events for the two schools, and are really well represented. Tom was the MC - doing what he did best by talking loudly on the mic for four hours. Everybody in Hout Bay comes down to the beach (as well as plenty from elsewhere) to build sandcastles, and raise money for the pre-primary school.
While Tom had gone down for the start (what with being MC and all), after the previous exertions, I'd gone back to bed for a nap. So after we'd turned up, everything was in full flow, and it was packed. There were literally thousands packing Hout Bay beach; armed with buckets, spades and rakes, and making all manner of exciting sand sculptures. As we'd turned up late, the two hour competition had already started, so I wandered up and down looking at the various creations.
However, after I'd checked out a few, Georgia decided she wanted to build one (despite this being about an hour and a half into the competition). After quickly filling out the forms and finding a plot of sand, I got thinking what could be an easy and quick thing to make. We went for a snake, with me digging the shape of it, and Georgia and her friends using water to help make the body of the snake. After we'd made a nice wiggly snake, shells were found to give the snake eyes, and eyelashes (it was a lady snake). With a few minutes to spare, we finished our snake, and admired it.
The judges came and looked at our snake, and asked us a few questions about it. They looked, discussed, and wrote a few notes on their clipboards. They smiled encouragingly, and walked off. We were confident of a prize. While the judges went around and looked at all of the other entries, we were treated to a magician, who did all of the favourite kids magic tricks. And then Tom got on stage, and revealed the winners. There were a number of different categories, and thanks to my involvement, we were in the "teenagers" group. We thought we were in with a chance. The Hout Bay Sandcastle Competition is a massive thing, and loads of sponsors chuck in prizes, with 20-odd prizes just for coming third in a given category. So as the 3rd, 2nd and 1st places for the Teen category were read out, we were understandably gutted that we weren't mentioned. It was a fix!
The whole event was run superbly, and ran really smoothly. In fact, both events within a few hours were fantastic - with a real community spirit as well as being really enjoyable. And they both raised loads of money for the schools. I had great fun on Friday night and Saturday morning - but after all of that I needed quite a rest!
Until next time, Will
As it was, we went for the nearest corner of the pitch, for no obvious reason. Tom, Linda and Georgia would be in one tent, and I would be in a one-man tent next door. We saved space around us for friends, so we could all be in the same place. However, as soon as they arrived, they were wondering why we'd decided to put up our tents the furthest place away from the braai (barbeque), which is the heart of the party. Anyway, our tents were up and we weren't moving, so in the corner we were.
The camp out was great fun. After going for a swim in the school pool, and playing frisbee with Georgia and her friends, I decided to play cricket with loads of random kids in the middle of the field. The way it was all set up was tents all around the edges of the field, with wide open spaces in the middle for people to run about and sit down. We played cricket on the flick strip for a good three hours, and I enjoyed beating children half my age at it. As the oldest (it's a primary school so being 18 I was naturally the biggest) I was looked upon to organise, so had to choose who the next batsmen and bowlers were, and organise the field. Setting up as wicket-keeper and waving fielders around, I felt like Adam Gilchrist. Every now and again, after taking yet another one-hand on-bounce catch, I'd put myself on for a bowl, and take another few wickets with my Mick Yardy-esque darts. My crowning moment has to be when fielding at short midwicket (apt), where I took a brilliant Paul Collingwood cum Jonty Rhodes dive low to my right. I jumped up in celebration and threw the ball to the sky as if I'd taken the catch to win the Ashes. I then looked to see I'd dismissed a six year old.
Sadly in my three hour game, I only batted for one ball. Wanting to dominate the attack (an eight year old), I was bowled a leg-stump half volley. I pushed it through the on side, and took the run. My partner (about four years old, looked younger) looked non-plussed as I ran towards him shouting "YES!", and stood his ground. Realising he wasn't going anywhere, I raced back to the strikers end, and despite my full length dive (still have the carpet burns from the flick strip) I was short of my ground when the bails were whipped off. I didn't get another bat. Disappointing.
After all of that excitement (and being thoroughly tired out) I went back to the tents, where the boring adults had been sitting and chatting (while us kids had been running around) for dinner. Sally and Richard had spent all evening making a traditional South African braai delicacy (it's pronounced poi-kee, but I have no idea how it's spelt), which was a sort of meat stew. And was lovely. After eating, and staying up for a chat around the circle, we retired to our tents at around midnight, absolutely knackered.
After being woken up at 7 (to find Tom and Linda had already packed their tent away), we went back home, in order to recuperate for Hout Bay's premier event of the year - the Sandcastle Competition. Both the Camp Out and the Sandcastle Competition are charity fundraising events for the two schools, and are really well represented. Tom was the MC - doing what he did best by talking loudly on the mic for four hours. Everybody in Hout Bay comes down to the beach (as well as plenty from elsewhere) to build sandcastles, and raise money for the pre-primary school.
While Tom had gone down for the start (what with being MC and all), after the previous exertions, I'd gone back to bed for a nap. So after we'd turned up, everything was in full flow, and it was packed. There were literally thousands packing Hout Bay beach; armed with buckets, spades and rakes, and making all manner of exciting sand sculptures. As we'd turned up late, the two hour competition had already started, so I wandered up and down looking at the various creations.
However, after I'd checked out a few, Georgia decided she wanted to build one (despite this being about an hour and a half into the competition). After quickly filling out the forms and finding a plot of sand, I got thinking what could be an easy and quick thing to make. We went for a snake, with me digging the shape of it, and Georgia and her friends using water to help make the body of the snake. After we'd made a nice wiggly snake, shells were found to give the snake eyes, and eyelashes (it was a lady snake). With a few minutes to spare, we finished our snake, and admired it.
The judges came and looked at our snake, and asked us a few questions about it. They looked, discussed, and wrote a few notes on their clipboards. They smiled encouragingly, and walked off. We were confident of a prize. While the judges went around and looked at all of the other entries, we were treated to a magician, who did all of the favourite kids magic tricks. And then Tom got on stage, and revealed the winners. There were a number of different categories, and thanks to my involvement, we were in the "teenagers" group. We thought we were in with a chance. The Hout Bay Sandcastle Competition is a massive thing, and loads of sponsors chuck in prizes, with 20-odd prizes just for coming third in a given category. So as the 3rd, 2nd and 1st places for the Teen category were read out, we were understandably gutted that we weren't mentioned. It was a fix!
The whole event was run superbly, and ran really smoothly. In fact, both events within a few hours were fantastic - with a real community spirit as well as being really enjoyable. And they both raised loads of money for the schools. I had great fun on Friday night and Saturday morning - but after all of that I needed quite a rest!
Until next time, Will
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
What Have I Been Up To?
I started this blog because I wanted to keep everyone back home up to date with what I've been doing out around the world. However, since getting to South Africa I've been really bad at doing that. Sorry. Basically, over the last couple of weeks I've been doing some cricket writing for MWP - a journalist agency. The Cricket World Cup's been on, as has the Standard Bank Pro20 (South African cricket tournament), so most days I've been writing for them. And when I haven't been writing for them, I've been writing and podcasting for my own site. I've actually been fairly busy recently, so haven't had much "writing time". And all of my "writing time" has been filled up by writing about cricket. So here's a brief thing about the last week and a bit.
Thursday 17th
Mum, Dad and Molly arrived in South Africa. They spent the day sitting by the pool, and I showed them around the house.
Friday 18th
Walked into Hout Bay to show them around. We then went into Cape Town to watch U2 with Tom, Linda and loads of other Hout Bay-ites.
Saturday 19th
Went to the Hout Bay market in the morning. Went to the Lookout Point to watch the Chelsea FA Cup game. Got back miserable (Chelsea lost). Had a Skype with people back home who were on the uni road trip (Birmingham leg).
Sunday 20th
Everyone went off for a braai at someone's house, but I stayed at home to write up a Standard Bank Pro20 game (Dolphins v Lions, if you're interested. And if you're still interested, I'm now a Dolphins fan). After they got back we went to Chapman's Peak (clifftop spot with great views) to watch the sunset. Beautiful.
Monday 21st
Went into Cape Town to show the fam the Waterfront. Had lunch. Played football in the evening. We lost.
Tuesday 22nd
We climbed up Table Mountain. I wrote a blog about that. Look down there somewhere, it's all in there.
Wednesday 23rd
Went to Robben Island. I wrote a blog about that as well.
Thursday 24th
Day off. The fam went to the beach, I stayed in to watch South Africa v West Indies. Played football in the evening in the league versus a team called "Black Stars" (a team from the township). They destroyed us 14-3. We weren't that bad, but couldn't get the ball off them, and every time they got the ball they scored. But oddly we played quite well. I hit the bar with a left foot volley. Gutting.
Friday 25th
Went on a township tour. I should have written about it, but I didn't. It was great - awe inspiring. Really eye opening to see first hand how people live so differently, and how things that we take for granted are things they would never dream about. Humbling. In the evening, mum and dad went out to a party. I stayed in to write about the Pro20 semi (Dolphins v Warriors; Dolphins lost. Boo.) and then watched the Top 50 Hits of the 80s on VH1 with Molly. "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds won. Bad call.
Saturday 26th
Went to the market in the morning for a steak sandwich and a few drinks. Went out for lunch in Constantia. Then a wine tasting. I drove home (my first drive in an automatic car). Rugby in the evening, England and Stormers won. Great stuff.
Sunday 27th
Mum, dad and Molly went home. We went to the airport to see them off.
Monday 28th
I spent all day trying to record a podcast. Played football in the evening. It was very windy. We lost. I scored a nice goal though, Steve Gerrard esque into the bottom corner.
Tuesday 1st
Went to Georgia's charity swimathon to help count laps of the pool. Woke up late so missed the start. Ended up not being allowed to count laps. Went in the afternoon with Georgia and some of her friends to a water park. Spent all afternoon chasing 7 year olds down water slides. Got motion sickness because I went too often. Got bruises all down my chest from throwing myself tummy down onto slides. Worth it though. Watched Chelsea v Man U at home with Tom. Chelsea won. Gave some abuse to Arsenal fans on Facebook and to Man U fans on Twitter. Fun day.
Wednesday 2nd
England played Ireland at the World Cup. Ireland won. I used my Irish half and claimed I was supporting them all along.
So there we have it, that's what I've been doing. I will try and blog more regularly, but to be honest, for the next while it may be things like "I sat and watched cricket all day on TV and wrote it out in fancy formula so it looks nice on a website". So if that's your thing, you've got a lot to look forward to!
Until next time,
Will
Thursday 17th
Mum, Dad and Molly arrived in South Africa. They spent the day sitting by the pool, and I showed them around the house.
Friday 18th
Walked into Hout Bay to show them around. We then went into Cape Town to watch U2 with Tom, Linda and loads of other Hout Bay-ites.
Saturday 19th
Went to the Hout Bay market in the morning. Went to the Lookout Point to watch the Chelsea FA Cup game. Got back miserable (Chelsea lost). Had a Skype with people back home who were on the uni road trip (Birmingham leg).
Sunday 20th
Everyone went off for a braai at someone's house, but I stayed at home to write up a Standard Bank Pro20 game (Dolphins v Lions, if you're interested. And if you're still interested, I'm now a Dolphins fan). After they got back we went to Chapman's Peak (clifftop spot with great views) to watch the sunset. Beautiful.
Monday 21st
Went into Cape Town to show the fam the Waterfront. Had lunch. Played football in the evening. We lost.
Tuesday 22nd
We climbed up Table Mountain. I wrote a blog about that. Look down there somewhere, it's all in there.
Wednesday 23rd
Went to Robben Island. I wrote a blog about that as well.
Thursday 24th
Day off. The fam went to the beach, I stayed in to watch South Africa v West Indies. Played football in the evening in the league versus a team called "Black Stars" (a team from the township). They destroyed us 14-3. We weren't that bad, but couldn't get the ball off them, and every time they got the ball they scored. But oddly we played quite well. I hit the bar with a left foot volley. Gutting.
Friday 25th
Went on a township tour. I should have written about it, but I didn't. It was great - awe inspiring. Really eye opening to see first hand how people live so differently, and how things that we take for granted are things they would never dream about. Humbling. In the evening, mum and dad went out to a party. I stayed in to write about the Pro20 semi (Dolphins v Warriors; Dolphins lost. Boo.) and then watched the Top 50 Hits of the 80s on VH1 with Molly. "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds won. Bad call.
Saturday 26th
Went to the market in the morning for a steak sandwich and a few drinks. Went out for lunch in Constantia. Then a wine tasting. I drove home (my first drive in an automatic car). Rugby in the evening, England and Stormers won. Great stuff.
Sunday 27th
Mum, dad and Molly went home. We went to the airport to see them off.
Monday 28th
I spent all day trying to record a podcast. Played football in the evening. It was very windy. We lost. I scored a nice goal though, Steve Gerrard esque into the bottom corner.
Tuesday 1st
Went to Georgia's charity swimathon to help count laps of the pool. Woke up late so missed the start. Ended up not being allowed to count laps. Went in the afternoon with Georgia and some of her friends to a water park. Spent all afternoon chasing 7 year olds down water slides. Got motion sickness because I went too often. Got bruises all down my chest from throwing myself tummy down onto slides. Worth it though. Watched Chelsea v Man U at home with Tom. Chelsea won. Gave some abuse to Arsenal fans on Facebook and to Man U fans on Twitter. Fun day.
Wednesday 2nd
England played Ireland at the World Cup. Ireland won. I used my Irish half and claimed I was supporting them all along.
So there we have it, that's what I've been doing. I will try and blog more regularly, but to be honest, for the next while it may be things like "I sat and watched cricket all day on TV and wrote it out in fancy formula so it looks nice on a website". So if that's your thing, you've got a lot to look forward to!
Until next time,
Will
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Update
I logged onto Blogger as I realised I've been neglecting this blog, as I've been doing lots of (paid) writing about cricket (and even more unpaid stuff). I went to do a quick cricket blog, and then was going to tell you what I've been doing on here. I ended up writing three long cricket blogs, and am now too tired to write anything meaningful here. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Robben Island
Yesterday we went to Robben Island. I thought it was nice of them to name an island after Chelsea legend and flying Dutch winger Arjen Robben, but apparently the island was around before he was. That out of the way, here's what happened when we went.
After driving into the Waterfront to have lunch (I had an ostrich burger - was absolutely massive. But was lovely. Probably up there in terms of my best ever burgers) we got the ferry over to Robben Island. For those of you who don't know, Robben Island was where the political prisoners of apartheid were incarcerated, notably including Nelson Mandela, who spent 19 years on the island.
Before being a prison and a symbol for the disgusting regime that was apartheid, the island served as a leper colony - basically a place for those with leprosy to go and die. So there isn't a great deal of happiness associated with the island.
After the 30 minute boat journey from the mainland, we got on a bus and were shown around the island. It's a pretty bleak and desolate place, and while there are some people who live there (for some reason) it feels pretty inhospitable. While it was a beautiful sunny day in Cape Town, on the island was a low, cold fog that enveloped everything. It was a metaphor - despite the progress made since, the things that happened on Robben Island (and all that it stands for) means that the place will never really see sunlight. (I'm sure it will literally, but I was being profound).
Our guide then took us through the prison gates and into the prison. After looking around the prison yard, we were taken into F Section - a communal prison area. We were shown a few rooms and a few other bits and pieces, and the guide revealed that he had spent 9 years in F Section back in the day. We were then taken into B Section, which was a solitary cell section. After being shown the small garden that B Section inmates were allowed to look out of their windows at, we walked past the former cell of Nelson Mandela. The obligatory pictures were taken, and it was humbling to see the small, cramped space he was forced to spend 18 years in (with no bed and just a bucket to go to the toilet in) and the forgiveness that he shows now.
Shortly after seeing Mandela's cell the tour ended, and the obvious theme is forgiveness. Our guide spent 9 tortorous years on Robben Island, but in order to allow others to heal and find forgiveness, he shows them around the place that he must have awful memories of. There was a great quote from one of the inmates about Robben Island - which pretty much sums up the situation, and why the former inmates such as our guide, and Nelson Mandela, are willing to allow people to visit it and see it in it's former state, rather than taking out anger and frustration by destroying it.
This pretty much sums up it - from Ahmed Kathrada (who spent 26 years on the island):
After driving into the Waterfront to have lunch (I had an ostrich burger - was absolutely massive. But was lovely. Probably up there in terms of my best ever burgers) we got the ferry over to Robben Island. For those of you who don't know, Robben Island was where the political prisoners of apartheid were incarcerated, notably including Nelson Mandela, who spent 19 years on the island.
Before being a prison and a symbol for the disgusting regime that was apartheid, the island served as a leper colony - basically a place for those with leprosy to go and die. So there isn't a great deal of happiness associated with the island.
After the 30 minute boat journey from the mainland, we got on a bus and were shown around the island. It's a pretty bleak and desolate place, and while there are some people who live there (for some reason) it feels pretty inhospitable. While it was a beautiful sunny day in Cape Town, on the island was a low, cold fog that enveloped everything. It was a metaphor - despite the progress made since, the things that happened on Robben Island (and all that it stands for) means that the place will never really see sunlight. (I'm sure it will literally, but I was being profound).
Our guide then took us through the prison gates and into the prison. After looking around the prison yard, we were taken into F Section - a communal prison area. We were shown a few rooms and a few other bits and pieces, and the guide revealed that he had spent 9 years in F Section back in the day. We were then taken into B Section, which was a solitary cell section. After being shown the small garden that B Section inmates were allowed to look out of their windows at, we walked past the former cell of Nelson Mandela. The obligatory pictures were taken, and it was humbling to see the small, cramped space he was forced to spend 18 years in (with no bed and just a bucket to go to the toilet in) and the forgiveness that he shows now.
Shortly after seeing Mandela's cell the tour ended, and the obvious theme is forgiveness. Our guide spent 9 tortorous years on Robben Island, but in order to allow others to heal and find forgiveness, he shows them around the place that he must have awful memories of. There was a great quote from one of the inmates about Robben Island - which pretty much sums up the situation, and why the former inmates such as our guide, and Nelson Mandela, are willing to allow people to visit it and see it in it's former state, rather than taking out anger and frustration by destroying it.
This pretty much sums up it - from Ahmed Kathrada (who spent 26 years on the island):
“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil.
“A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Table Topper
Today we set off bright and early in our nice new rented car (for the week) as we set off to climb Table Mountain. As I've been getting up usually at around 10 / 11 (standard), the 7 o'clock start (after not getting much sleep as I was trying to watch Waterloo Road on a hooky internet feed that kept crashing) was a bit of a shock to the system, but off we went to the mountain.
Higher than anything in Britain, Table Mountain looks down on Cape Town, giving some fantastic views. While there is a cable car, I suggested we walked up (it would take a couple of hours) and get the cable car back down. This was agreed upon, so last night we looked up the relevant routes and dug out walking equipment. While for dad and myself this meant putting on relevant trainers, for Molly it wasn't so much. I would describe her shoes as 'slippers', whereas dad favoured 'espadrilles'. Either way, they didn't look as though they'd be able to traverse the steep climb that getting up the mountain required.
The climb started with a very steep rocky step thing that went straight up for a couple of kilometres. It was basically like climbing a massive rocky staircase for about 45 minutes. About 10-15 minutes in, and with Molly and mum already lagging well behind, they decided to turn back, realising if they couldn't handle the first part of the climb, they'd never be able to deal with the much greater challenges that lay ahead.
So after taking the wallet and the car keys, they set off back down the slope, and went to the beach. Dad and I trekked on.
After the initial steep climb, it all flattened out, and there was a long, straight walk around the side of the mountain to take us to a gorge. This was great, as it allowed us to get our breath back, and get into the walk. Slowly but surely, we started to see the car park and cable car station disappear further away, and the gorge come ever closer.
By now we were about 2/5s up the mountain, and at the bottom of the rather steep gorge. To get up it, we had to pretty much scale the sheer face of the mountain. The previously tricky 'staircase' at the beginning paled into comparison with the challenge of the gorge, with clambering up boulders the only way to get higher.
As gravity dictates that we couldn't really go straight up, we had to take a windy windy path on the rocks to get higher and higher. By now we'd been walking for about an hour, and it was getting tough. We had to keep stopping for increasingly regular breaks, first every 15 minutes, but by the end it was after every 15 steps. It was gruelling.
While I was able to stick in my headphones and listen to some music to sort-of distract me, dad didn't have that luxury, so we had to keep encouraging each other to keep us going. It was getting harder and harder, and dad was clearly feeling it. Slowly but surely the top got ever closer, and the fact that we were overtaking other climbers showed that we were going at a fair pace.
Much of doing what we did is a mental thing, and we kept having to break it down into small chunks. Towards the end, we were only really able to go for about 10 metres at a time, but every 10 metres we climbed was another goal checked off, and another 10 metres closer to the summit.
As I said, I'd had my iPhone in my ears, and on shuffle. While I'd sort of been zoning in and out of what was playing, after however long of climbing, I distinctly heard one song end and another start. It was (embarrasingly) Glee - with their cover of "Don't Stop Believin'". By now I was within touching distance of the top, and thought about having another break, but the sounds of New Directions powered me on to the top. With a second wind, and the cramps in my legs ignored, I burst towards the line, and made it.
I stood for a moment looking down at what I'd achieved, before I noticed dad. In my Glee filled moment of euphoria, I'd forgotten that I'd sort of left him gasping for air a bit further down, but seeing me on the top, he powered through his discomfort to join me on the top of the table. After posing for the obligatory photos on top of the mountain, we wandered over to the cafe for a fry-up, before catching the cable car down.
Or so we planned.
As we got into the cafe (it annoyed us that people were sitting there happily having got the cable car up, having struggled to climb it ourselves), dad realised that when mum and Molly had left our ascent party, they'd taken his wallet so they could hire some sun loungers. He checked in his pockets, and found he had 100 rands (about 10 pounds). For one adult to get down the cable car (which we needed to go home), it's 180 rands. So breakfast was out of the equation.
For a childs (under 18 ticket), it was 90. The plan was for me to go down, find mum and Molly, get the money and take it back up to him. For much of my time being 18 (as well as the 17 years before it), people haven't believed me when I say that I am 18. So convincing the lady who sells cable car tickets that I need a childs ticket shouldn't be a problem. She looked at me, and immediately said that I wasn't a child.
She is literally the first person ever to think that I am over 18 from looking at me, and with no money to get down, she was the worst person to start. Using all of my powers of persuasion and blagging skills, I somehow managed to convince her that I wasn't 18, and was actually 17. Somehow.
After asking me for ID to prove that I was under 18 (which I couldn't, as all the ID I have proves I'm over 18) I told her that "I don't have any ID as I haven't passed my driving test yet as I'm only 17". I'm very proud of that out and out lie which was thought very quickly on my feet. After she then asked me for my date of birth, I told her it was the 4th November 1993. She then said "so you must be 18 then, as this is 2011. 1993 was 18 years ago". I panicked - had I picked the wrong year? Then I realised, I was born in 1992 and I'm 18. My "18th birthday" will be in November. I pointed this out to her, and she gave me a childs ticket. As I took the cable car down, I smiled at the irony of the situation. I've sat in pubs aged 17 trying to convince people that I'm 18, but as soon as I'm 18 I'm trying to convince people I'm 17.
Anyway, after a bit of wrangling (I didn't need to get back into the cable car, a ticket was bought for dad on the ground and he came down pretty easily after), we set off home, and I slept for ages. I was knackered. We then had my first braai in South Africa, and now I'm writing this. For those of you who were wondering, thinking there was a difference between a barbecue and a braai - there isn't. Braai is just the Afrikaans word for barbecue. Which was a shame, as I thought there'd be something cool, new and exciting about having a braai. But it was literally just a barbecue. Nice though.
Until next time, Will
Higher than anything in Britain, Table Mountain looks down on Cape Town, giving some fantastic views. While there is a cable car, I suggested we walked up (it would take a couple of hours) and get the cable car back down. This was agreed upon, so last night we looked up the relevant routes and dug out walking equipment. While for dad and myself this meant putting on relevant trainers, for Molly it wasn't so much. I would describe her shoes as 'slippers', whereas dad favoured 'espadrilles'. Either way, they didn't look as though they'd be able to traverse the steep climb that getting up the mountain required.
The climb started with a very steep rocky step thing that went straight up for a couple of kilometres. It was basically like climbing a massive rocky staircase for about 45 minutes. About 10-15 minutes in, and with Molly and mum already lagging well behind, they decided to turn back, realising if they couldn't handle the first part of the climb, they'd never be able to deal with the much greater challenges that lay ahead.
So after taking the wallet and the car keys, they set off back down the slope, and went to the beach. Dad and I trekked on.
After the initial steep climb, it all flattened out, and there was a long, straight walk around the side of the mountain to take us to a gorge. This was great, as it allowed us to get our breath back, and get into the walk. Slowly but surely, we started to see the car park and cable car station disappear further away, and the gorge come ever closer.
By now we were about 2/5s up the mountain, and at the bottom of the rather steep gorge. To get up it, we had to pretty much scale the sheer face of the mountain. The previously tricky 'staircase' at the beginning paled into comparison with the challenge of the gorge, with clambering up boulders the only way to get higher.
As gravity dictates that we couldn't really go straight up, we had to take a windy windy path on the rocks to get higher and higher. By now we'd been walking for about an hour, and it was getting tough. We had to keep stopping for increasingly regular breaks, first every 15 minutes, but by the end it was after every 15 steps. It was gruelling.
While I was able to stick in my headphones and listen to some music to sort-of distract me, dad didn't have that luxury, so we had to keep encouraging each other to keep us going. It was getting harder and harder, and dad was clearly feeling it. Slowly but surely the top got ever closer, and the fact that we were overtaking other climbers showed that we were going at a fair pace.
Much of doing what we did is a mental thing, and we kept having to break it down into small chunks. Towards the end, we were only really able to go for about 10 metres at a time, but every 10 metres we climbed was another goal checked off, and another 10 metres closer to the summit.
As I said, I'd had my iPhone in my ears, and on shuffle. While I'd sort of been zoning in and out of what was playing, after however long of climbing, I distinctly heard one song end and another start. It was (embarrasingly) Glee - with their cover of "Don't Stop Believin'". By now I was within touching distance of the top, and thought about having another break, but the sounds of New Directions powered me on to the top. With a second wind, and the cramps in my legs ignored, I burst towards the line, and made it.
I stood for a moment looking down at what I'd achieved, before I noticed dad. In my Glee filled moment of euphoria, I'd forgotten that I'd sort of left him gasping for air a bit further down, but seeing me on the top, he powered through his discomfort to join me on the top of the table. After posing for the obligatory photos on top of the mountain, we wandered over to the cafe for a fry-up, before catching the cable car down.
Or so we planned.
As we got into the cafe (it annoyed us that people were sitting there happily having got the cable car up, having struggled to climb it ourselves), dad realised that when mum and Molly had left our ascent party, they'd taken his wallet so they could hire some sun loungers. He checked in his pockets, and found he had 100 rands (about 10 pounds). For one adult to get down the cable car (which we needed to go home), it's 180 rands. So breakfast was out of the equation.
For a childs (under 18 ticket), it was 90. The plan was for me to go down, find mum and Molly, get the money and take it back up to him. For much of my time being 18 (as well as the 17 years before it), people haven't believed me when I say that I am 18. So convincing the lady who sells cable car tickets that I need a childs ticket shouldn't be a problem. She looked at me, and immediately said that I wasn't a child.
She is literally the first person ever to think that I am over 18 from looking at me, and with no money to get down, she was the worst person to start. Using all of my powers of persuasion and blagging skills, I somehow managed to convince her that I wasn't 18, and was actually 17. Somehow.
After asking me for ID to prove that I was under 18 (which I couldn't, as all the ID I have proves I'm over 18) I told her that "I don't have any ID as I haven't passed my driving test yet as I'm only 17". I'm very proud of that out and out lie which was thought very quickly on my feet. After she then asked me for my date of birth, I told her it was the 4th November 1993. She then said "so you must be 18 then, as this is 2011. 1993 was 18 years ago". I panicked - had I picked the wrong year? Then I realised, I was born in 1992 and I'm 18. My "18th birthday" will be in November. I pointed this out to her, and she gave me a childs ticket. As I took the cable car down, I smiled at the irony of the situation. I've sat in pubs aged 17 trying to convince people that I'm 18, but as soon as I'm 18 I'm trying to convince people I'm 17.
Anyway, after a bit of wrangling (I didn't need to get back into the cable car, a ticket was bought for dad on the ground and he came down pretty easily after), we set off home, and I slept for ages. I was knackered. We then had my first braai in South Africa, and now I'm writing this. For those of you who were wondering, thinking there was a difference between a barbecue and a braai - there isn't. Braai is just the Afrikaans word for barbecue. Which was a shame, as I thought there'd be something cool, new and exciting about having a braai. But it was literally just a barbecue. Nice though.
Until next time, Will
Saturday, 19 February 2011
A Beautiful Day
Yesterday we went to see U2 at the Greenpoint Stadium in Cape Town. You may have heard of U2, they have a number of songs that have been out in the hit parade. You may have heard of the Greenpoint Stadium - it hosted six games during last summer's World Cup, including the quarter-final between Germany and Argentina, and the semi between Holland and Uruguay. So off we went, with 75,000 others to take our seats for a fantastic evening.
It's fair to say that this evening has recieved quite a bit of attention in Cape Town. Everyone who is everyone was going, radio stations were talking about it non-stop, roads were closed, knock-off Bono sunglasses were being sold. Everyone was looking up U2 to find out some fun trivia facts (but as everyone went onto Wikipedia, everyone had exactly the same facts). Everybody who is anybody in Cape Town was going - it put the whole city to a standstill.
We got the park-and-ride bus along with every other Hout Bay-er who was going (pretty much everyone from the Republic), and got the 5pm bus into town, ready to have a few drinks and soak up the atmosphere nearby for a few hours before. After Tom pulled a few strings, we managed to blag our way (having been joined by the rest of the Hout Bay massive) into a five star hotel, and get into the very exclusive rooftop pool bar. Very swanky. It had a fantastic view of the stadium and the sea to one side, and Table Mountain and the city to the other. Fantastic. Although, up so high, it was a little windy (and cold).
After a couple of warm drinks (the barmen were pretty unorganised and unprepared for the clearly busy night) we decided that we were hungry. Realising that every restaurant in the city will have been booked for weeks, we went for a much higher cuisine - McDonalds. Say what you like, but a Big Mac really does hit the spot.
After the 20 or so of us all split our separate ways to go and take our seats all around the stadium, we set off to find ours. The stadium, purpose built for the 2010 World Cup, is amazing. Unlike most stadiums (and buildings) worldwide, the outside of the stadium is made out of a woven fabric instead of concrete or metal - allowing a cooling breeze to come through the stadium and keep everyone nice and temperate. The stadium itself is massive, but just like Wembley, it's been angled so that there simply isn't a bad seat in the house. We were on the third tier, but in the second row, so we had a great unobstructed view of everything.
The tour is called "U2 360", so the stage is down on the 'pitch', but was a big circle (where the band played), as well as having a bridge out to another concentric circle, so they could wander around while they played. It meant that everyone, wherever they were in the stadium were involved in the show. We were seated almost directly behind the direction they were facing, but as they all went for a stroll during songs, we were still part of it.
The stage itself was incredible. It was basically a giant space ship (something they kept referring to during the show), with a big 360 screen that moved about and did cool things. It's difficult to explain, so look at some pictures if that confused you.
The show itself was brilliant. It certainly surpassed my only other gig I've been to (S Club 7 at Wembley Arena) and was everything we all had hoped it would be. A special, memorable night.
What time is it in the world? It's showtime! Will
It's fair to say that this evening has recieved quite a bit of attention in Cape Town. Everyone who is everyone was going, radio stations were talking about it non-stop, roads were closed, knock-off Bono sunglasses were being sold. Everyone was looking up U2 to find out some fun trivia facts (but as everyone went onto Wikipedia, everyone had exactly the same facts). Everybody who is anybody in Cape Town was going - it put the whole city to a standstill.
We got the park-and-ride bus along with every other Hout Bay-er who was going (pretty much everyone from the Republic), and got the 5pm bus into town, ready to have a few drinks and soak up the atmosphere nearby for a few hours before. After Tom pulled a few strings, we managed to blag our way (having been joined by the rest of the Hout Bay massive) into a five star hotel, and get into the very exclusive rooftop pool bar. Very swanky. It had a fantastic view of the stadium and the sea to one side, and Table Mountain and the city to the other. Fantastic. Although, up so high, it was a little windy (and cold).
After a couple of warm drinks (the barmen were pretty unorganised and unprepared for the clearly busy night) we decided that we were hungry. Realising that every restaurant in the city will have been booked for weeks, we went for a much higher cuisine - McDonalds. Say what you like, but a Big Mac really does hit the spot.
After the 20 or so of us all split our separate ways to go and take our seats all around the stadium, we set off to find ours. The stadium, purpose built for the 2010 World Cup, is amazing. Unlike most stadiums (and buildings) worldwide, the outside of the stadium is made out of a woven fabric instead of concrete or metal - allowing a cooling breeze to come through the stadium and keep everyone nice and temperate. The stadium itself is massive, but just like Wembley, it's been angled so that there simply isn't a bad seat in the house. We were on the third tier, but in the second row, so we had a great unobstructed view of everything.
The tour is called "U2 360", so the stage is down on the 'pitch', but was a big circle (where the band played), as well as having a bridge out to another concentric circle, so they could wander around while they played. It meant that everyone, wherever they were in the stadium were involved in the show. We were seated almost directly behind the direction they were facing, but as they all went for a stroll during songs, we were still part of it.
The stage itself was incredible. It was basically a giant space ship (something they kept referring to during the show), with a big 360 screen that moved about and did cool things. It's difficult to explain, so look at some pictures if that confused you.
The show itself was brilliant. It certainly surpassed my only other gig I've been to (S Club 7 at Wembley Arena) and was everything we all had hoped it would be. A special, memorable night.
What time is it in the world? It's showtime! Will
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Just Visiting...
Hello. Long time no blog. Sorry about that.
So what have I been doing over the past week that’s been so interesting that I haven’t been able to blog? Well, not that much. I’ve been playing a bit of football, watching some cricket and generally lounging about. Pretty much what I do back home, only now I’m doing it in South Africa.
What you may or may not know, however, is that I’m about to be joined on my excursion. Just like a reality TV game show when they add a plot twist, the proverbial Ant and Dec have thrown me a curveball. Arriving in Hout Bay this morning are… my mum, dad and sister.
After deciding that they could do with a holiday, and that they haven’t seen me for a while, they unbeknownst to me booked flights out here for a 10 day stay. And they arrive in about 10 minutes.
All in all, I have sorted cheated at this gap year lark. When normal gappie travellers slum it in backpackers living off not much, in Sydney I stayed (for free) at a pretty swanky house, and in Tasmania I stayed with Colette and Rachel (also rent free). Ditto here in South Africa. When I did wasn’t really a backpack, so I couldn’t actually call myself a backpacker. And now the backpackers golden rule is about to be broken – a visit from your mum and dad.
However, I’m pretty happy not being a typical backpacker. I’ve had just a good time without it; in many ways a better time. So my visit from the family pretty much sums up the fact that I’m not really a backpacker at all, just someone who’s been on an elongated holiday for the past two months.
So mum, dad and sis stay for 10 days, in which time they’ll do plenty of relaxing by the pool, on the beach, and general tourist stuff. So if I don’t blog again, that’s probably what I’m doing. Oh, and tomorrow we’re all going to see U2 play at The Cape Town World Cup stadium. I might have a blog about that.
In the name, of love… Will
So what have I been doing over the past week that’s been so interesting that I haven’t been able to blog? Well, not that much. I’ve been playing a bit of football, watching some cricket and generally lounging about. Pretty much what I do back home, only now I’m doing it in South Africa.
What you may or may not know, however, is that I’m about to be joined on my excursion. Just like a reality TV game show when they add a plot twist, the proverbial Ant and Dec have thrown me a curveball. Arriving in Hout Bay this morning are… my mum, dad and sister.
After deciding that they could do with a holiday, and that they haven’t seen me for a while, they unbeknownst to me booked flights out here for a 10 day stay. And they arrive in about 10 minutes.
All in all, I have sorted cheated at this gap year lark. When normal gappie travellers slum it in backpackers living off not much, in Sydney I stayed (for free) at a pretty swanky house, and in Tasmania I stayed with Colette and Rachel (also rent free). Ditto here in South Africa. When I did wasn’t really a backpack, so I couldn’t actually call myself a backpacker. And now the backpackers golden rule is about to be broken – a visit from your mum and dad.
However, I’m pretty happy not being a typical backpacker. I’ve had just a good time without it; in many ways a better time. So my visit from the family pretty much sums up the fact that I’m not really a backpacker at all, just someone who’s been on an elongated holiday for the past two months.
So mum, dad and sis stay for 10 days, in which time they’ll do plenty of relaxing by the pool, on the beach, and general tourist stuff. So if I don’t blog again, that’s probably what I’m doing. Oh, and tomorrow we’re all going to see U2 play at The Cape Town World Cup stadium. I might have a blog about that.
In the name, of love… Will
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Hot-Shot
The last few days I've been getting further into Hout Bay life. I went food shopping with Tom and Linda on Saturday, enjoyed a lunch with some of their friends on Sunday, and went to Georgia's Sports Day on Monday. And as well as all of that excitement, I've been continuing with work.
Today I went into Cape Town, as I needed a few bits and pieces. Last week I played football in some dodgy Primark plimsolls, so I needed a proper pair of trainers to play in. And due to the excessive wear and tear on said £2.50 footwear, I needed a new pair of plimmers. So after being dropped off at St George's Mall in downtown Cape Town, I located and purchased said items, and went for a bit of a walk.
For those of you who don't know, Cape Town is a town on the sea, with a big harbour at one end, and a big mountain at the other. St George's Mall is somewhere in between - and with my limited geographical knowledge of a town I barely know I'd say pretty much slap bang in the middle of the city. So a quick walk down to the Waterfront (the thing I wrote about a few blogs ago - loads of shops, restaurants and attractions - busiest place in Africa) shouldn't take too long, right? Wrong. It didn't help that I was taking the walk right in the hottest part of the day (and in Cape Town it gots hot, sticky and uncomfortable) and wasn't 100% where I was going. I was going based mainly on instinct and having seen a cartoon map of Cape Town a few days ago. So after wandering down a few dusty streets (with a lot of roadworks going on) amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, I realised that it was probably much further than I first thought. This was about 5 minutes in to my walk. The bus terminal wasn't far away, if I stop now I could curse my foolishness at walking an unnecessary few hundred yards and head off home. Or I could stubbornly chose to keep going. I kept going.
Eventually I got into the Waterfront complex (which itself is huge. Like a really long strip of land with loads of things happening). After an already long walk, and with still a fair distance before I got to the main bit where everything's going on, I decided to continue with my local knowledge, and take a pretty obscure shortcut. To start, walking under a bridge when the main road went over it looked a good idea. The main road went a really round the houses route to get there, whereas this small path was aimed straight at the "Wheel of Excellence", which was my target (it's like the London Eye but not as good). This proved to be a mistake. The reason the main road goes off on a really odd angle is because there is quite a large area of water (also known as the Pacific Ocean) which separates my path from the Wheel of Excellence. As the crow flies, it's much shorter, but sadly I am not a crow. So after my already long walk from St George's Mall to the Waterfront Complex, after reaching a dead end I then had to double back on myself and go a much longer route again.
Eventually I got there. My mood and tired legs weren't aided by the fact that a bridge that connects one side of the harbour (which I needed to walk through) was raised, a la London Bridge. So I had to wait for this bloke on his little dinghy to go through (which he did very slowly) and then for the bridge to go back to it's original position before I could eventually pass. So overall, the "short walk" that I envisaged turned out to be a 40-45 minute trek through the city. Oh well. After all of that I treated myself to a burger and a chocolate milkshake. And because the waitress liked me I got some onion rings thrown in for free. Result.
After making the return journey back into the middle of the city, I got the bus back to Hout Bay. When driving, the route along the ocean road normally takes about 20 minutes. In England (and pretty much any other country I've ever got a bus in) there are pre-designated bus stops where people stand and wait, and can get on or off when the bus stops there. The driver knows where to stop, and the people know where they have to get off. The system works well in my opinion. In Cape Town, people randomly flag the bus down as though it were a taxi. And even when the bus clearly displays "HOUT BAY" on the front, they then ask the driver if they route can be changed purely to accommodate them. "Can you take me to Green Point". No. He can't. Because this bus is going to Hout Bay. Not Green Point. That would be the obvious thing for the driver to say, but instead he makes a massive detour from the route just to drop off this one person who didn't even have the decency to wait at a designated bus stop. And then whenever people want to get off, they just stand up, wave at the driver, and regardless of his position in the road or traffic around him, he then immediately stops the vehicle, and allows the people to get off.
This public taxi service means that the bus has to keep stopping to let people on, and keep stopping to let people off. And because the bus is acting as a private taxi, it will stop outside someone's front door, before starting again and carring on another 10 yards before stopping again as their neighbour was on the bus. Lunacy.
Anyway, this potential 20 minute journey took well over an hour. But it did drop me right outside the front of the estate.
As I said last week, a group of dads and older sons play football down at the local school every Monday night. What with it being sports day yesterday, it was moved to today. Last week, as I hadn't done any sport for a long time, my normally superb fitness was shot, and because I hadn't played football in a while, I had the proverbial "touch of a rapist". Today, I was quite frankly brilliant. Playing for the first time in my brank spanking new Nike astros, I scored a top-class hat-trick.
My first came after a defender miscontrolled it. Playing in midfield, I'd arrived late in the box, hoping to feed on the scraps. And when the ball played in from the wing popped up, I sent an opportunistic left foot volley from 12 yards right into the top corner. Great stuff.
My second (my favourite) came from a corner. The ball was played in from the left, while I hung back on the edge. It was taken down by one of our players, and after a few loud calls was rolled back to me. When trying to think of a similiar goal, sadly the only one I can think of was St*v*n G*rr*rd against Olympiakos a few years back in the Champions League. (You may have to cast your minds back a long way to remember Liverpool playing in that competition). I swept it from the edge of the box through a crowd of players, and it fizzed into the bottom corner, leaving the keeper no chance.
My third wasn't that exciting. After playing a one-two and setting up our striker, I saw his shot saved, but like the true poacher that I am (fox in the box) I turned in the rebound from a few yards out.
The hat-trick was good for a number of reasons. One - it's actually a very competitive game. It's taken very seriously by everyone involved, and the standard is very high (probably up there with what I play on Sunday mornings). Nobody likes to lose, so every challenge is fiercely contested and every goal celebrated. Two - it was a match winning contribution. While my first had made it 1-0 to us, at half time we were 5-1 down; a position nobody likes to be in. After a rousing team talk from our captain, we reshaped and blitzed them in the second half, eventually winning 7-6. Three - I was playing in midfield; not a natural scoring position. And four - before today I hadn't actually scored in about two years. Even though I'd knocked a few in in training, in the numerous games since my last goal (Tonbridge away, January 2009) for numerous teams (Hamsey Rangers, Warlingham Colts, the Caterham School Firsts) I hadn't got any in games since that scrambled one yarder in the Tandridge League. So I was pretty chuffed just to get my name on the scoresheet, let along bagging the match ball. (I wasn't really allowed to keep it).
Anyway, the other boys were so impressed with my performance that I've been invited to play for the Republic of Hout Bay in their matches on Thursday evenings. If my legs aren't too tired after all of that walking (or if my feet have recovered from the numerous blisters that playing football in new trainers always causes)I'll bring you further updates on my African football career!
Sorry for that being a really long post, but I haven't been doing many recently and thought you might appreciate a real epic one. I'm making no apologies for massively bigging myself up though. Will
Today I went into Cape Town, as I needed a few bits and pieces. Last week I played football in some dodgy Primark plimsolls, so I needed a proper pair of trainers to play in. And due to the excessive wear and tear on said £2.50 footwear, I needed a new pair of plimmers. So after being dropped off at St George's Mall in downtown Cape Town, I located and purchased said items, and went for a bit of a walk.
For those of you who don't know, Cape Town is a town on the sea, with a big harbour at one end, and a big mountain at the other. St George's Mall is somewhere in between - and with my limited geographical knowledge of a town I barely know I'd say pretty much slap bang in the middle of the city. So a quick walk down to the Waterfront (the thing I wrote about a few blogs ago - loads of shops, restaurants and attractions - busiest place in Africa) shouldn't take too long, right? Wrong. It didn't help that I was taking the walk right in the hottest part of the day (and in Cape Town it gots hot, sticky and uncomfortable) and wasn't 100% where I was going. I was going based mainly on instinct and having seen a cartoon map of Cape Town a few days ago. So after wandering down a few dusty streets (with a lot of roadworks going on) amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, I realised that it was probably much further than I first thought. This was about 5 minutes in to my walk. The bus terminal wasn't far away, if I stop now I could curse my foolishness at walking an unnecessary few hundred yards and head off home. Or I could stubbornly chose to keep going. I kept going.
Eventually I got into the Waterfront complex (which itself is huge. Like a really long strip of land with loads of things happening). After an already long walk, and with still a fair distance before I got to the main bit where everything's going on, I decided to continue with my local knowledge, and take a pretty obscure shortcut. To start, walking under a bridge when the main road went over it looked a good idea. The main road went a really round the houses route to get there, whereas this small path was aimed straight at the "Wheel of Excellence", which was my target (it's like the London Eye but not as good). This proved to be a mistake. The reason the main road goes off on a really odd angle is because there is quite a large area of water (also known as the Pacific Ocean) which separates my path from the Wheel of Excellence. As the crow flies, it's much shorter, but sadly I am not a crow. So after my already long walk from St George's Mall to the Waterfront Complex, after reaching a dead end I then had to double back on myself and go a much longer route again.
Eventually I got there. My mood and tired legs weren't aided by the fact that a bridge that connects one side of the harbour (which I needed to walk through) was raised, a la London Bridge. So I had to wait for this bloke on his little dinghy to go through (which he did very slowly) and then for the bridge to go back to it's original position before I could eventually pass. So overall, the "short walk" that I envisaged turned out to be a 40-45 minute trek through the city. Oh well. After all of that I treated myself to a burger and a chocolate milkshake. And because the waitress liked me I got some onion rings thrown in for free. Result.
After making the return journey back into the middle of the city, I got the bus back to Hout Bay. When driving, the route along the ocean road normally takes about 20 minutes. In England (and pretty much any other country I've ever got a bus in) there are pre-designated bus stops where people stand and wait, and can get on or off when the bus stops there. The driver knows where to stop, and the people know where they have to get off. The system works well in my opinion. In Cape Town, people randomly flag the bus down as though it were a taxi. And even when the bus clearly displays "HOUT BAY" on the front, they then ask the driver if they route can be changed purely to accommodate them. "Can you take me to Green Point". No. He can't. Because this bus is going to Hout Bay. Not Green Point. That would be the obvious thing for the driver to say, but instead he makes a massive detour from the route just to drop off this one person who didn't even have the decency to wait at a designated bus stop. And then whenever people want to get off, they just stand up, wave at the driver, and regardless of his position in the road or traffic around him, he then immediately stops the vehicle, and allows the people to get off.
This public taxi service means that the bus has to keep stopping to let people on, and keep stopping to let people off. And because the bus is acting as a private taxi, it will stop outside someone's front door, before starting again and carring on another 10 yards before stopping again as their neighbour was on the bus. Lunacy.
Anyway, this potential 20 minute journey took well over an hour. But it did drop me right outside the front of the estate.
As I said last week, a group of dads and older sons play football down at the local school every Monday night. What with it being sports day yesterday, it was moved to today. Last week, as I hadn't done any sport for a long time, my normally superb fitness was shot, and because I hadn't played football in a while, I had the proverbial "touch of a rapist". Today, I was quite frankly brilliant. Playing for the first time in my brank spanking new Nike astros, I scored a top-class hat-trick.
My first came after a defender miscontrolled it. Playing in midfield, I'd arrived late in the box, hoping to feed on the scraps. And when the ball played in from the wing popped up, I sent an opportunistic left foot volley from 12 yards right into the top corner. Great stuff.
My second (my favourite) came from a corner. The ball was played in from the left, while I hung back on the edge. It was taken down by one of our players, and after a few loud calls was rolled back to me. When trying to think of a similiar goal, sadly the only one I can think of was St*v*n G*rr*rd against Olympiakos a few years back in the Champions League. (You may have to cast your minds back a long way to remember Liverpool playing in that competition). I swept it from the edge of the box through a crowd of players, and it fizzed into the bottom corner, leaving the keeper no chance.
My third wasn't that exciting. After playing a one-two and setting up our striker, I saw his shot saved, but like the true poacher that I am (fox in the box) I turned in the rebound from a few yards out.
The hat-trick was good for a number of reasons. One - it's actually a very competitive game. It's taken very seriously by everyone involved, and the standard is very high (probably up there with what I play on Sunday mornings). Nobody likes to lose, so every challenge is fiercely contested and every goal celebrated. Two - it was a match winning contribution. While my first had made it 1-0 to us, at half time we were 5-1 down; a position nobody likes to be in. After a rousing team talk from our captain, we reshaped and blitzed them in the second half, eventually winning 7-6. Three - I was playing in midfield; not a natural scoring position. And four - before today I hadn't actually scored in about two years. Even though I'd knocked a few in in training, in the numerous games since my last goal (Tonbridge away, January 2009) for numerous teams (Hamsey Rangers, Warlingham Colts, the Caterham School Firsts) I hadn't got any in games since that scrambled one yarder in the Tandridge League. So I was pretty chuffed just to get my name on the scoresheet, let along bagging the match ball. (I wasn't really allowed to keep it).
Anyway, the other boys were so impressed with my performance that I've been invited to play for the Republic of Hout Bay in their matches on Thursday evenings. If my legs aren't too tired after all of that walking (or if my feet have recovered from the numerous blisters that playing football in new trainers always causes)I'll bring you further updates on my African football career!
Sorry for that being a really long post, but I haven't been doing many recently and thought you might appreciate a real epic one. I'm making no apologies for massively bigging myself up though. Will
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Hopping on and off
Yesterday, after a few days messing around in Hout Bay, I decided to go and see what was going on in Cape Town. There is a hop-on hop-off bus that does a big lap of the peninsula which has a bus stop only just down the road, so I wandered down there at about 12.30, with the intention of hopping-off in Cape Town, doing a big of wandering about and shopping (at my own leisure), before hopping-back-on a few hours later in the afternoon.
The bus came. I hopped on.
If you saw that episode of the Apprentice where they had big red double-decker tourist buses that toured around London (you know, the one where Baggs the Brand started a fight with Chris Bates. And where Stella did a sing-a-long on her bus. And where Liz got fired. Still haven't got over that awful decision. Disgrace), you'll have an idea of the bus that was used. However, instead of having Jamie standing at the front of the bus telling me how the Thames is the second biggest river in London, I was given some red earphones, which plugged into the side of the bus. This had a running commentary of our journey, with important landmarks to look out for, and general interesting information for me to know. And it was really rather good.
It was interesting to see for myself what Mr Lesser had taught us about South Africa in History (and too hear about all of the other stuff that he didn't / I slept through) about apartheid and such, and just the history of Cape Town in general. It's a really fascinating place, and after I'd hopped off (and later hopped back on again) at the Waterfront, I listened attentively to my tour guide for the rest of the journey (apart from the bit where we went round some botanical gardens, I had a nap during that bit).
After getting back, there was a 'games night' fundraiser at Georgia's old school, so we went along. Sadly I didn't win the raffle, but it was a good night and it seemed to raise a lot of money for the school. After all that excitement, I was just about awake enough to stay up and see England win the rugby in Cardiff. Great stuff.
Until next time, Will
The bus came. I hopped on.
If you saw that episode of the Apprentice where they had big red double-decker tourist buses that toured around London (you know, the one where Baggs the Brand started a fight with Chris Bates. And where Stella did a sing-a-long on her bus. And where Liz got fired. Still haven't got over that awful decision. Disgrace), you'll have an idea of the bus that was used. However, instead of having Jamie standing at the front of the bus telling me how the Thames is the second biggest river in London, I was given some red earphones, which plugged into the side of the bus. This had a running commentary of our journey, with important landmarks to look out for, and general interesting information for me to know. And it was really rather good.
It was interesting to see for myself what Mr Lesser had taught us about South Africa in History (and too hear about all of the other stuff that he didn't / I slept through) about apartheid and such, and just the history of Cape Town in general. It's a really fascinating place, and after I'd hopped off (and later hopped back on again) at the Waterfront, I listened attentively to my tour guide for the rest of the journey (apart from the bit where we went round some botanical gardens, I had a nap during that bit).
After getting back, there was a 'games night' fundraiser at Georgia's old school, so we went along. Sadly I didn't win the raffle, but it was a good night and it seemed to raise a lot of money for the school. After all that excitement, I was just about awake enough to stay up and see England win the rugby in Cardiff. Great stuff.
Until next time, Will
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Washed Hair and Work
There haven’t been many blogs over the last couple of days. Mainly because I haven’t really been doing much over the last couple of days.
Probably the biggest thing to write home about was me getting a haircut. I decided to wander down to the local hairdressers for a couple of reasons; 1) because my hair was getting too long (standard reason for getting a haircut) and 2) because when my hair is in the sun for ages, it goes quite ginger. And it was really getting to be quite a coppery hue. So I was booked in for an appointment at the local hair emporium.
What can I say about my haircut experience? Not much. Although after years of skinheaded blokes simply getting out the razor and clippers to my head, it was nice (and a bit of a surprise) to have my hair washed, conditioned and dried, before the lady bought out some scissors. Shock horror. And I even got a wash and dry after my hair was cut. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been involved in someone else washing my hair since I’ve able to do it myself. But it was nice, and my hair looks OK.
In other news, I’ve got a job. Nothing too exciting, but it keeps me busy during the day and earning a bit of pocket money. I thought that one of the attractions of getting a job would be going out and meeting new and interesting people, but after my first morning at the office, I was told that I could actually do my job from home. Which means I don’t have to dress up (I don’t actually have to dress at all) and I can wake up whenever I like. Which suits me fine.
This hasn’t really been a massively exciting blog. Sorry about that. Maybe I’ll do some more interesting stuff soon. Until then, Will
(The sad thing is that the most exciting thing I've been doing recently has been dominating the Champions League on Football Manager. Go on FC Utrecht!) (No, I don't know why I'm them either).
Probably the biggest thing to write home about was me getting a haircut. I decided to wander down to the local hairdressers for a couple of reasons; 1) because my hair was getting too long (standard reason for getting a haircut) and 2) because when my hair is in the sun for ages, it goes quite ginger. And it was really getting to be quite a coppery hue. So I was booked in for an appointment at the local hair emporium.
What can I say about my haircut experience? Not much. Although after years of skinheaded blokes simply getting out the razor and clippers to my head, it was nice (and a bit of a surprise) to have my hair washed, conditioned and dried, before the lady bought out some scissors. Shock horror. And I even got a wash and dry after my hair was cut. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been involved in someone else washing my hair since I’ve able to do it myself. But it was nice, and my hair looks OK.
In other news, I’ve got a job. Nothing too exciting, but it keeps me busy during the day and earning a bit of pocket money. I thought that one of the attractions of getting a job would be going out and meeting new and interesting people, but after my first morning at the office, I was told that I could actually do my job from home. Which means I don’t have to dress up (I don’t actually have to dress at all) and I can wake up whenever I like. Which suits me fine.
This hasn’t really been a massively exciting blog. Sorry about that. Maybe I’ll do some more interesting stuff soon. Until then, Will
(The sad thing is that the most exciting thing I've been doing recently has been dominating the Champions League on Football Manager. Go on FC Utrecht!) (No, I don't know why I'm them either).
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Rumours, Speculation and Helicopters
I spent this morning getting acquainted with Hout Bay. I took a stroll from the estate where I’m staying (when I say estate, don’t think sink estate. It’s seriously nice) down the road to the town. After having a look in a few shops and getting some money out of the bank, I went for a walk on the beach. It’s really nice, with white, soft sand, so no doubt I will be frequenting it many times. On my way back, I stopped off in the local coffee house for a chocolate milkshake and bacon sandwich. One good thing about South Africa (especially compared to the weak pound to dollar ratio in Australia) is that things are sort of cheap – so it was only a couple of quid. Also handy is the exchange rate. I never really got my head around the rate between the sterling and the Aussie dollar (there were one and a bit dollars to the pound), so I was mainly going on gut instinct and guess work. This often meant I ended up getting it wrong and spending far too much on things (hence paying about £9 for half a pint of cider), but here it’s nearly 10 to 1 – so if something is 100 rands, it’s about 10 quid. (It’s actually a bit less - about 8ish, but dividing by 10 is much easier mentally).
After getting home, I turned my attention to Transfer Deadline Day. It’s a day in the footballing calendar that everyone looks forward to, and while the last few have been a real let down, today’s has been brilliant. Rumours, speculation and helicopters meant that BBC’s Live Text was being followed hawkishly. Normally at home I would be glued to Sky Sports News (makes a change…) so I looked to the South African equivalent – “Sports Blitz”. As I’m sure you’ll know, SSN on TDD (Sky Sports News on Transfer Deadline Day)devote all 24 hours to it; have reporters at every training ground, Jim White going into overdrive, Andy Burton pretending he’s talking to all of the agents, and Georgie Thompson. While SSN repeat stories every hour (with new ones every now and again when stories break), Sports Blitz evidently don’t. They have 15 minutes of news, which includes 10 minutes about the South African league, 5 minutes about the Women’s Hockey World Cup, and 4 minutes of adverts. That leaves 1 minute every news cycle for transfer gossip every quarter hour. And it’s the same transfer “news” (this hasn’t updated once throughout the day) – there’s a video of Robbie Keane scoring the scrappiest goal ever, and a video of Paul Konchesky running onto the pitch. Two very minor transfers in the grand scheme of things. Nothing about Torres, Carroll, Suarez, Aguero, Forlan or Adam. The 15 minute cycle then repeats after the adverts (word for word), so I’ve now seen the goals from Ajax Cape Town’s 2-0 win on Saturday about 40 times. And they’re not even that good. There’s an interview with the Platinum Stars coach, who says he was pleased with the boys performance, and then more adverts. For someone who’s used to the great moving and updating coverage of SSN, Sports Blitz has let me down. Luckily, I had my man in the field (dad) who was keeping me posted via a series of texts. And Chris Bevan on the BBC Live Text.
Continuing the football theme, I made my South African league debut this evening. The parents (and older kids) from the local school meet up every Monday and Thursday evenings, so I was brought in as a highly touted signing for tonight’s game. For what could be seen as a bit of a kickabout was really hard fought and competitive, and by the end I was absolutely knackered (although my fitness levels, which leave a lot to be desired at the best of times, haven’t been helped by two months of doing absolutely no running about). My performance? Well, despite the fitness issues (not helped by blazing heat, even at 6pm) and the not great footwear (£2.50 plimsolls from the Australian equivalent of Primark), I had a couple of nice touches in midfield, and set up a couple of goals. However, I did miss an a bit of a sitter - I laid off the ball to the left wing and burst into the middle. The ball was flighted in, and with a free header about 5 yards out and the goal gaping, I missed the ball with my head and ended up shouldering it wide. Our side lost 7-4, but I look forward to getting involved and playing more over the next few weeks. Although I will be looking to get more appropriate footwear for next time!
So that was my football heavy day – and to all of my Liverpool supporting friends, can I just say
He’s now a blue he was a red, Torres! Torres!
He hates the Kop he loves the Shed, Torres! Torres!
He used to go out on the rob, but now he’s got a proper job
Fern-an-do Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!
Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na, na na na na, na na na na na na na,
Fernando Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!
After getting home, I turned my attention to Transfer Deadline Day. It’s a day in the footballing calendar that everyone looks forward to, and while the last few have been a real let down, today’s has been brilliant. Rumours, speculation and helicopters meant that BBC’s Live Text was being followed hawkishly. Normally at home I would be glued to Sky Sports News (makes a change…) so I looked to the South African equivalent – “Sports Blitz”. As I’m sure you’ll know, SSN on TDD (Sky Sports News on Transfer Deadline Day)devote all 24 hours to it; have reporters at every training ground, Jim White going into overdrive, Andy Burton pretending he’s talking to all of the agents, and Georgie Thompson. While SSN repeat stories every hour (with new ones every now and again when stories break), Sports Blitz evidently don’t. They have 15 minutes of news, which includes 10 minutes about the South African league, 5 minutes about the Women’s Hockey World Cup, and 4 minutes of adverts. That leaves 1 minute every news cycle for transfer gossip every quarter hour. And it’s the same transfer “news” (this hasn’t updated once throughout the day) – there’s a video of Robbie Keane scoring the scrappiest goal ever, and a video of Paul Konchesky running onto the pitch. Two very minor transfers in the grand scheme of things. Nothing about Torres, Carroll, Suarez, Aguero, Forlan or Adam. The 15 minute cycle then repeats after the adverts (word for word), so I’ve now seen the goals from Ajax Cape Town’s 2-0 win on Saturday about 40 times. And they’re not even that good. There’s an interview with the Platinum Stars coach, who says he was pleased with the boys performance, and then more adverts. For someone who’s used to the great moving and updating coverage of SSN, Sports Blitz has let me down. Luckily, I had my man in the field (dad) who was keeping me posted via a series of texts. And Chris Bevan on the BBC Live Text.
Continuing the football theme, I made my South African league debut this evening. The parents (and older kids) from the local school meet up every Monday and Thursday evenings, so I was brought in as a highly touted signing for tonight’s game. For what could be seen as a bit of a kickabout was really hard fought and competitive, and by the end I was absolutely knackered (although my fitness levels, which leave a lot to be desired at the best of times, haven’t been helped by two months of doing absolutely no running about). My performance? Well, despite the fitness issues (not helped by blazing heat, even at 6pm) and the not great footwear (£2.50 plimsolls from the Australian equivalent of Primark), I had a couple of nice touches in midfield, and set up a couple of goals. However, I did miss an a bit of a sitter - I laid off the ball to the left wing and burst into the middle. The ball was flighted in, and with a free header about 5 yards out and the goal gaping, I missed the ball with my head and ended up shouldering it wide. Our side lost 7-4, but I look forward to getting involved and playing more over the next few weeks. Although I will be looking to get more appropriate footwear for next time!
So that was my football heavy day – and to all of my Liverpool supporting friends, can I just say
He’s now a blue he was a red, Torres! Torres!
He hates the Kop he loves the Shed, Torres! Torres!
He used to go out on the rob, but now he’s got a proper job
Fern-an-do Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!
Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na, na na na na, na na na na na na na,
Fernando Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!
Sunday, 30 January 2011
My first day in South Africa
I'm in South Africa! A new blog post, and a new continent. I arrived early doors yesterday morning, and with bleary eyes after the flight from Perth to Jo'burg (and from Jo'burg to Cape Town) I was welcomed to Africa by Tom. On our way back to Hout Bay (just outside Cape Town), we stopped off in the local market for my first beer on SA soil, as well as my first bit of food - a lovely prego roll. (Basically a steak sandwich with some nice sauces cooked into it. Lovely).
We arrived back at Tom's house (and my home for the next couple of months) to say hi to Linda and Georgia, and I just about had time to have a quick shower and throw on my Chelsea shirt before we headed back into Cape Town to watch Chelsea play Everton.
Tom is the chairman of the Cape Town Chelsea supporters club, and the members meet up to watch the games in a bar on the Waterfront. (Incidentally, the Waterfront is the most visited place in the whole of Africa - guess we got lucky to get a parking space!). It wasn't a great performance from Chelsea but the game itself wasn't too bad. The atmosphere in the bar we watched it in was also good, as the Cape Town Toffees had joined us to give a bit of rivalry and excitement to proceedings. So naturally, they were all giving it the big 'un when Louis Saha put Everton ahead, but were soon silenced when Salamon "Hasn't Got A" Kalou scuffed in an equaliser for the reigning FA Cup winners. 1-1 wasn't really a fair result (Chelsea deserved to go down by a few goals) but it was graciously accepted by both clubs, with handshakes at the end.
The supporters themselves were a good bunch and the rivalry between the two teams was only friendly banter. The 'predict a goal' competition (where you pay 2 rands to pick a minute, and whoever is closest to when the first goal is scored wins the pot) was won by Elton, an Everton fan, which helped keep the Toffees in good voice. Evidently one of their star performers (and favourites of the Cape Town Toffees) was Seamus Coleman. The name Seamus, for those of you who don't know, if pronounced "Shay-muss", but the CT Toffees kept saying it as though it rhymed with the word seabass. The frequent sounds of a few (with noticably strong SA accents) shouting "Come on Sea-mass!" was rather amusing.
After the game, we headed over to one of Tom and Linda's friends house for a small gathering. The women sat inside while the men and young children larked around in the pool. Deciding to class myself as a child (the oldest of which was otherwise 9), I joined in the general larking about. However, one of the games involved throwing each other off our woggles. (Or noodles, if you're politically incorrect). During a particularly heated exchange with the nine year old, where he was unable to get me off mine using sheer force, he decided to punch me in the face. Right in the mouth.
I've been lucky in my life to have previously avoided being punched in the face. Due to a combination of small stature and general cowardice, I've avoided being in fights mainly by either diffusing the situation with words, or simply running away. So when involved in a harmless game in the swimming pool with a child of half my age, I wasn't expecting a punch. It all happened in slow motion. I had been underwater, and bobbed my head up for a split second to breathe. I saw his face, filled with anger and fury, and I saw his fist moving towards my face. I tried to avoid it, but I didn't react quickly enough, and his right hand made contact with my top lip. I was stunned by this unprovoked blow, and immediately let go of my woggle, which he happily grabbed.
I said "Ow". He started laughing. I realised that as much as I wanted to smack him one back, it probably wouldn't go down well with his dad about 5 yards away. So I got out of the pool.
By this stage I was absolutely knackered. I'd been on the go since 9am the previous morning in Perth (which had a major time difference to SA), and other than a few uncomfortable hours of plane sleep, I hadn't been able to get any rest since that morning in the YHA. So after the gathering finished and we set off home, I went straight to bed, and slept for a solid 15 hours. Probably a new personal best.
So that was my first day in South Africa.
We arrived back at Tom's house (and my home for the next couple of months) to say hi to Linda and Georgia, and I just about had time to have a quick shower and throw on my Chelsea shirt before we headed back into Cape Town to watch Chelsea play Everton.
Tom is the chairman of the Cape Town Chelsea supporters club, and the members meet up to watch the games in a bar on the Waterfront. (Incidentally, the Waterfront is the most visited place in the whole of Africa - guess we got lucky to get a parking space!). It wasn't a great performance from Chelsea but the game itself wasn't too bad. The atmosphere in the bar we watched it in was also good, as the Cape Town Toffees had joined us to give a bit of rivalry and excitement to proceedings. So naturally, they were all giving it the big 'un when Louis Saha put Everton ahead, but were soon silenced when Salamon "Hasn't Got A" Kalou scuffed in an equaliser for the reigning FA Cup winners. 1-1 wasn't really a fair result (Chelsea deserved to go down by a few goals) but it was graciously accepted by both clubs, with handshakes at the end.
The supporters themselves were a good bunch and the rivalry between the two teams was only friendly banter. The 'predict a goal' competition (where you pay 2 rands to pick a minute, and whoever is closest to when the first goal is scored wins the pot) was won by Elton, an Everton fan, which helped keep the Toffees in good voice. Evidently one of their star performers (and favourites of the Cape Town Toffees) was Seamus Coleman. The name Seamus, for those of you who don't know, if pronounced "Shay-muss", but the CT Toffees kept saying it as though it rhymed with the word seabass. The frequent sounds of a few (with noticably strong SA accents) shouting "Come on Sea-mass!" was rather amusing.
After the game, we headed over to one of Tom and Linda's friends house for a small gathering. The women sat inside while the men and young children larked around in the pool. Deciding to class myself as a child (the oldest of which was otherwise 9), I joined in the general larking about. However, one of the games involved throwing each other off our woggles. (Or noodles, if you're politically incorrect). During a particularly heated exchange with the nine year old, where he was unable to get me off mine using sheer force, he decided to punch me in the face. Right in the mouth.
I've been lucky in my life to have previously avoided being punched in the face. Due to a combination of small stature and general cowardice, I've avoided being in fights mainly by either diffusing the situation with words, or simply running away. So when involved in a harmless game in the swimming pool with a child of half my age, I wasn't expecting a punch. It all happened in slow motion. I had been underwater, and bobbed my head up for a split second to breathe. I saw his face, filled with anger and fury, and I saw his fist moving towards my face. I tried to avoid it, but I didn't react quickly enough, and his right hand made contact with my top lip. I was stunned by this unprovoked blow, and immediately let go of my woggle, which he happily grabbed.
I said "Ow". He started laughing. I realised that as much as I wanted to smack him one back, it probably wouldn't go down well with his dad about 5 yards away. So I got out of the pool.
By this stage I was absolutely knackered. I'd been on the go since 9am the previous morning in Perth (which had a major time difference to SA), and other than a few uncomfortable hours of plane sleep, I hadn't been able to get any rest since that morning in the YHA. So after the gathering finished and we set off home, I went straight to bed, and slept for a solid 15 hours. Probably a new personal best.
So that was my first day in South Africa.
Friday, 28 January 2011
My Aussie Highlights
I'm about to leave Australia. I've really enjoyed it - it's a great country, with great people. Each place I've been to has been almost totally different from the place before, which has made this leg of my trip incredibly diverse, interesting and fun. I've been lucky enough to do the things that I've wanted to for the last month, and I've been very lucky that Australia has offered these things to me. While it may seem quite a corny thing to say, when I look back at my month in Oz, I honestly wouldn't change any of it, as it's been one of the best months of my life. I don't know if I've changed as a person, but I've probably taken a lot out of this in terms of trying new things on my own, and lots of great stories (and showing off) that I'll be able to do. So in the spirit of showing off my experiences (isn't what this blog's all about?), here's my Top 5 Australian moments.
5. Beating the Aussies on Australia Day
This was mainly a good day because England beat Australia in the cricket, but it was genuinely a great thing to be in Australia on Australia Day. To be part of the real celebration of everything Australian was a great experience, and it's a shame that England isn't like that on St George's Day. But anyway, it was good fun.
4. My first day with the Barmy Army
I've been a cricket fan for yonks, but Day 2 of the Sydney test was my first time I've been sitting in with the Barmy Army, and it was brilliant. England's good performance (as well as my fashion decision about the pink neckerchief) meant that this was a good day. And I got read out on the BBC.
3. Going to Stanley with Colette and Rachel
I had a great time with Colette and Rachel in Tas, and this trip was probably my favourite bit. It was so enjoyable both because of the cool things we did, and because I was lucky enough to spend it with some great people. I had a lovely time in Stanley (as I did for the rest of my time in Tassie) but the trip to Stanley was my favourite. Honourable mentions to go my first Chicken Parmi (which was gorge), but the crowning moment has to be me winning at both Scrabble and Monopoly.
2. My second road trip around Tas
As a road trip, it didn't really work because the bus broke down. As a tour, it didn't really work because we didn't do much. But as an experience, it was great. Much of life is down to the people you meet, and the other people on the tour were pretty cool. My favourite bit was going for a walk along the beach late at night with everyone else in bed looking for pengiuns. And it indirectly led to me meeting three England cricketers in a bar, so it was good.
1. The day England won the Ashes
Easily my favourite day in Australia; maybe even my favourite day full stop. It started with a brilliant atmosphere in the SCG watching England win the Ashes in the morning, and continued to a brilliant atmosphere in The Retro celebrating England winning the Ashes in the evening. It was just pretty awesome, on pretty much every level.
Thanks Australia. I'm going to miss you. But don't worry, I'll be back before too long.
5. Beating the Aussies on Australia Day
This was mainly a good day because England beat Australia in the cricket, but it was genuinely a great thing to be in Australia on Australia Day. To be part of the real celebration of everything Australian was a great experience, and it's a shame that England isn't like that on St George's Day. But anyway, it was good fun.
4. My first day with the Barmy Army
I've been a cricket fan for yonks, but Day 2 of the Sydney test was my first time I've been sitting in with the Barmy Army, and it was brilliant. England's good performance (as well as my fashion decision about the pink neckerchief) meant that this was a good day. And I got read out on the BBC.
3. Going to Stanley with Colette and Rachel
I had a great time with Colette and Rachel in Tas, and this trip was probably my favourite bit. It was so enjoyable both because of the cool things we did, and because I was lucky enough to spend it with some great people. I had a lovely time in Stanley (as I did for the rest of my time in Tassie) but the trip to Stanley was my favourite. Honourable mentions to go my first Chicken Parmi (which was gorge), but the crowning moment has to be me winning at both Scrabble and Monopoly.
2. My second road trip around Tas
As a road trip, it didn't really work because the bus broke down. As a tour, it didn't really work because we didn't do much. But as an experience, it was great. Much of life is down to the people you meet, and the other people on the tour were pretty cool. My favourite bit was going for a walk along the beach late at night with everyone else in bed looking for pengiuns. And it indirectly led to me meeting three England cricketers in a bar, so it was good.
1. The day England won the Ashes
Easily my favourite day in Australia; maybe even my favourite day full stop. It started with a brilliant atmosphere in the SCG watching England win the Ashes in the morning, and continued to a brilliant atmosphere in The Retro celebrating England winning the Ashes in the evening. It was just pretty awesome, on pretty much every level.
Thanks Australia. I'm going to miss you. But don't worry, I'll be back before too long.
Perth Wow!
I'm about to leave Perth. I didn't really spend a lot of time in it, so I can't give a particularly insightful review of it. So here's my opinion of Perth. It's very hot.
Checking out of Aussie hostels takes place at 10am. My flight from Adelaide to Perth was at 9pm. So I had to kill time for 11 hours while lugging my luggage about. Luckily, there are worse cities worldwide to be stranded in for a day than Adelaide, so I wandered around a few shops, ate a Chicken and Bacon Ranch Footlong in Subway (I finally had money for food!) and sat in one of the many parks, whiling away the time. And it wasn't too bad. While I was hampered by the fact that I had to keep hold of my three bags (main bag, laptop bag and overspill bag), I still managed to find an internet cafe where I could print out my boarding passes and documents for the days ahead, and I was also able to smash some top scores on Tap Tap Revenge. For those of you who understand Tap Tap, I'm just going to say this. Cascada's 'Evacuate the Dancefloor' (on Extreme). 1,081,662 points. 834 hit streak. The perfect game. Don't believe me? Here's a screenshot...
Anyway, the three hour flight to Perth from Adelaide left at 9.15, and arrived at 9.25. Confused? I was. Then I was told that there is a three hour time difference from Perth to the east coast of Aus. This only further upset my mind when trying to work out time compared to time back home. In Sydney and Hobart, it's an 11 hour difference, so it's just been a case of adding 1 to the time. Easy enough. Adelaide was more of a challenge, as it was adding 1 and a half. But in Perth, I have to take away 8. That was too much of a challenge for this Maths D Student (admittedly at A level after picking up an A* at GCSE...) so I had to keep using the inbuilt world clock on my phone.
So my flight arrived on Thursday evening in Perth. I checked in at about 10ish at night. Due to the flights that have been booked, I had to then check out at 10am the next morning, and wait around until 2345 for my flight. Which is what I'm doing now, in Perth airport, waiting for my flight to Johannesburg, South Africa.
So all of that meant I had only one day to explore Perth. I didn't really know much about Perth - much of my experience of it has been playing games on the Perth Wow website (as it wasn't blocked by the school's firewall). After checking out at about half nine, I had a look at a few maps and tourist brochures of things to do in the city. I had a few plans of things to do. I stepped out of the hotel, and was hit by a solid wall of heat. It was in a word, ridonculously hot. After only a few yards down the road, I was uncomfortable. It was too hot to even think straight, and the humidity made it hard to even breathe. I did the only sensible thing, and found somewhere air conditioned. Luckily, this place also did a full English breakfast, so I treated myself. I'd give it a 6 out of 10 - it did a job, but the beans didn't taste right. (And there is no place for scrambled eggs in a full English - it's fried eggs or no eggs).
I had a walk around Perth's shopping precinct, and then decided to take a walk down to the Swan River. (I realised that the Swan River is the main feature of Perth, so I wore my Graeme Swann tshirt just to fit in with the locals). It was partly a walk down to the river, but mostly a walk to the WACA (Perth's cricket ground). I've been to cricket grounds all over Australia now, and it would be churlish for me to come all the way over to Western Australia and not go for a look at the WACA. Sadly it was all locked up, but I had a little peek through the gates. I couldn't really see much, so I can't really offer an opinion of the WACA. Sorry. But I can tell you that it was hot (and I did feel the Fremantle Doctor - if you don't know what that is look it up).
After all of the heat and the walking (to get to the WACA it was an hour's round trip of walking - which when wearing flip flops really does take it out on the insides of the big toes), I was feeling all sticky and uncomfortable. Luckily, the Perth YHA (where I'd stayed for my one night in Perth) was pretty swanky for a backpackers hostel and had a swimming pool, so I was able to cool down nicely. And then, I got the bus to the airport, which is where I am now.
It's a bit of a shame that I couldn't spend longer in Perth. It all felt rushed - from having to quietly sneak into my room when I arrived so I didn't wake up my 3 roommates (who had left before I woke up so I didn't even get to see what they looked like), to having to get up when I didn't want to so I could meet the check out deadline, to not really being able to go too far away from the hotel just in case something happened. It wasn't really how I wanted to experience Perth. Which is why my review of Perth is basically of not being able to see into a locked cricket ground, and it being very hot. Which is a shame.
Checking out of Aussie hostels takes place at 10am. My flight from Adelaide to Perth was at 9pm. So I had to kill time for 11 hours while lugging my luggage about. Luckily, there are worse cities worldwide to be stranded in for a day than Adelaide, so I wandered around a few shops, ate a Chicken and Bacon Ranch Footlong in Subway (I finally had money for food!) and sat in one of the many parks, whiling away the time. And it wasn't too bad. While I was hampered by the fact that I had to keep hold of my three bags (main bag, laptop bag and overspill bag), I still managed to find an internet cafe where I could print out my boarding passes and documents for the days ahead, and I was also able to smash some top scores on Tap Tap Revenge. For those of you who understand Tap Tap, I'm just going to say this. Cascada's 'Evacuate the Dancefloor' (on Extreme). 1,081,662 points. 834 hit streak. The perfect game. Don't believe me? Here's a screenshot...
Anyway, the three hour flight to Perth from Adelaide left at 9.15, and arrived at 9.25. Confused? I was. Then I was told that there is a three hour time difference from Perth to the east coast of Aus. This only further upset my mind when trying to work out time compared to time back home. In Sydney and Hobart, it's an 11 hour difference, so it's just been a case of adding 1 to the time. Easy enough. Adelaide was more of a challenge, as it was adding 1 and a half. But in Perth, I have to take away 8. That was too much of a challenge for this Maths D Student (admittedly at A level after picking up an A* at GCSE...) so I had to keep using the inbuilt world clock on my phone.
So my flight arrived on Thursday evening in Perth. I checked in at about 10ish at night. Due to the flights that have been booked, I had to then check out at 10am the next morning, and wait around until 2345 for my flight. Which is what I'm doing now, in Perth airport, waiting for my flight to Johannesburg, South Africa.
So all of that meant I had only one day to explore Perth. I didn't really know much about Perth - much of my experience of it has been playing games on the Perth Wow website (as it wasn't blocked by the school's firewall). After checking out at about half nine, I had a look at a few maps and tourist brochures of things to do in the city. I had a few plans of things to do. I stepped out of the hotel, and was hit by a solid wall of heat. It was in a word, ridonculously hot. After only a few yards down the road, I was uncomfortable. It was too hot to even think straight, and the humidity made it hard to even breathe. I did the only sensible thing, and found somewhere air conditioned. Luckily, this place also did a full English breakfast, so I treated myself. I'd give it a 6 out of 10 - it did a job, but the beans didn't taste right. (And there is no place for scrambled eggs in a full English - it's fried eggs or no eggs).
I had a walk around Perth's shopping precinct, and then decided to take a walk down to the Swan River. (I realised that the Swan River is the main feature of Perth, so I wore my Graeme Swann tshirt just to fit in with the locals). It was partly a walk down to the river, but mostly a walk to the WACA (Perth's cricket ground). I've been to cricket grounds all over Australia now, and it would be churlish for me to come all the way over to Western Australia and not go for a look at the WACA. Sadly it was all locked up, but I had a little peek through the gates. I couldn't really see much, so I can't really offer an opinion of the WACA. Sorry. But I can tell you that it was hot (and I did feel the Fremantle Doctor - if you don't know what that is look it up).
After all of the heat and the walking (to get to the WACA it was an hour's round trip of walking - which when wearing flip flops really does take it out on the insides of the big toes), I was feeling all sticky and uncomfortable. Luckily, the Perth YHA (where I'd stayed for my one night in Perth) was pretty swanky for a backpackers hostel and had a swimming pool, so I was able to cool down nicely. And then, I got the bus to the airport, which is where I am now.
It's a bit of a shame that I couldn't spend longer in Perth. It all felt rushed - from having to quietly sneak into my room when I arrived so I didn't wake up my 3 roommates (who had left before I woke up so I didn't even get to see what they looked like), to having to get up when I didn't want to so I could meet the check out deadline, to not really being able to go too far away from the hotel just in case something happened. It wasn't really how I wanted to experience Perth. Which is why my review of Perth is basically of not being able to see into a locked cricket ground, and it being very hot. Which is a shame.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Oh Adelaide! Is Wonderful!
Before I talk about the cricket (and don’t worry non-cricket fans, this will be the last cricket blog I do), I’ll talk about why I ended up going to watch cricket in Australia on Australia Day.
Four years ago, England were playing against Australia. They’d just lost the Ashes 5-0, and had been similarly heavily beaten in the first few ODIs. Surprising, seeing as England were fielding such greats as Sajid Mahmood, Mal Loye and Paul Nixon. Australia had won the first few ODIs convincingly, and they then played against England on Australia Day. The Australia Day game is a massive thing out here; it’s a celebration of all things Aussie, and a chance for everyone to stick on their giant flags and as much green and gold face paint as possible. On Aussie Day 2007, England were, for want of a better word, absolutely merked. It wasn’t even a contest. After being bowled out for not many, Australia then chased it down to record a win of mind-blowing ease. While I didn’t watch the game (I was still in bed due to time difference), I did see the post-match interviews, where a number of Aussies claimed that England were a disgrace for playing so poorly on Australia Day, and they weren’t fit to even line up against their boys. This rankled with me a touch. While England amazingly recovered to win the series, the chip on my shoulder from that day has stayed with me ever since. So when England were due to play Australia on Australia Day this year, I knew that I needed to go. And I knew that only an England win could erase the pain of four years ago.
So I went to the Adelaide Oval yesterday. And didn’t England go and blooming smash the Aussies!
As a Chelsea fan, I take great delight in the misfortunes of rival clubs. One of my favourite things in football is when they show the crowd after an Arsenal, Man United, or Liverpool defeat (for one team this happens more than the others) and it shows small children in Arsenal, Man United or Liverpool shirts crying. I revel in their pain. You could say that I hate those clubs. However, as a cricket fan, I don’t hate the Aussies – in fact I quite like them. Yes, I dislike a few of their players, but I don’t actively laugh in the faces of crying Australian children. But yesterday, on the day where all Australians celebrate being Australian, I did enjoy seeing England crash the party. Fireworks, that were meant to celebrate how brilliant Aussies are were actually celebrating Chris Tremlett bowling the final over.
My day at the cricket was unusual. Normally, I spend much of the day flicking through Twitter on my phone and adding valuable insights / pointless banalities live from the ground to my 150 odd followers. But I’ve used up all of my data this month, so I couldn’t. As I often go to cricket on my own (sad face) using Twitter to see what others are saying and to chat about the cricket is a good way of making me feel like I have some friends. But not today. I couldn’t even go on Facebook and reassure myself about my popularity by looking at my statuses people have commented on. So I had to talk to actual people. As it was Australia day, the English were few and far between. Any English that were there weren’t openly “out”, as they would massively stand out amongst the massive displays of Aussie patriotism. However, I was there to support England, so I had my England shirt on, and I was the only person in my area to belt out “God save the Queen” when it was played before the game. After signing it (and listening to the Aussies sing “Advance Australia Fair”), a few Englanders came over to me. Safety in numbers I think. So we had a nice time watching England dominate, and by the end, with loads of Aussies streaming out, we were the only people there (slight exaggeration).
So my phone worries weren’t too bad. Especially when compared to my other thing I was lacking – money. In other, older posts, I’ve spoken about how I have to go and queue up in a bank to get some money out, as my card doesn’t work in ATMs (and certain shops – Hungry Jack’s being a prime example). I’ve also spoken about the ridiculous times that Australian banks operate, and opening at 10.30 and closing at 4 is quite frankly stupid. After going to the beach the other day (and knowing that after buying fish & chips and a tram ticket I only had $1.75 left in cash) I went straight to the local Commonwealth Bank at about 4.15, making sure I had plenty of time before the (I thought) 5.00 close. I arrived to find a locked door. And Australia Day being a bank holiday, they were closed again the next day. So I had $1.75 to buy me food and drink (as well as any bus tickets or general expense) for the next day. Another thing about Australia Day – every shop is closed. Every one (even McDonalds). So even if my $1.75 was able to buy me anything, I couldn’t go into a shop to spend it. So basically, the day of the 26th of January 2011 was spent as a fast by me. There were times when it was hard. At the cricket they had all sorts of food stalls, and smelling chips, burgers, and even curries (that was the hardest stall to walk past) certainly got me salivating. But because it was so hot, I didn’t actually feel too bad. Water-wise, I have a giant 2 litre bottle which I’ve been filling up from taps for free, so that wasn’t an issue. Somehow, I managed to walk there and back, as well as spending the day at the cricket, without eating a thing. I did well. And I’ve now had some cornflakes this morning, so I made it! (Mum, if you’re worried by that last paragraph, I’ve just been to the bank, so now I have money to buy as many burgers as I like)
I’m writing this blog in the Adelaide Travellers Inn; about 10 minutes before I have to check out. It’s been good in Adelaide. I’ve really liked how it’s both a big city with loads of stuff going on, and quite small and accessible. You can literally walk anywhere. Where I’ve been staying is right in the south east of the city, and it’s only a 25/30 minute walk right over to the other side. There are parks everywhere – which is really nice as well. Overall, I’ve had a great time in Adelaide, and will be sorry to leave it. Next stop Perth!
(And as the group of England fans were singing last night – “Oh Adelaide! Is wonderful! Oh Adelaide is wonderful! We won the test, the 20 and the one day! Oh Adelaide is wonderful!)
Will
Four years ago, England were playing against Australia. They’d just lost the Ashes 5-0, and had been similarly heavily beaten in the first few ODIs. Surprising, seeing as England were fielding such greats as Sajid Mahmood, Mal Loye and Paul Nixon. Australia had won the first few ODIs convincingly, and they then played against England on Australia Day. The Australia Day game is a massive thing out here; it’s a celebration of all things Aussie, and a chance for everyone to stick on their giant flags and as much green and gold face paint as possible. On Aussie Day 2007, England were, for want of a better word, absolutely merked. It wasn’t even a contest. After being bowled out for not many, Australia then chased it down to record a win of mind-blowing ease. While I didn’t watch the game (I was still in bed due to time difference), I did see the post-match interviews, where a number of Aussies claimed that England were a disgrace for playing so poorly on Australia Day, and they weren’t fit to even line up against their boys. This rankled with me a touch. While England amazingly recovered to win the series, the chip on my shoulder from that day has stayed with me ever since. So when England were due to play Australia on Australia Day this year, I knew that I needed to go. And I knew that only an England win could erase the pain of four years ago.
So I went to the Adelaide Oval yesterday. And didn’t England go and blooming smash the Aussies!
As a Chelsea fan, I take great delight in the misfortunes of rival clubs. One of my favourite things in football is when they show the crowd after an Arsenal, Man United, or Liverpool defeat (for one team this happens more than the others) and it shows small children in Arsenal, Man United or Liverpool shirts crying. I revel in their pain. You could say that I hate those clubs. However, as a cricket fan, I don’t hate the Aussies – in fact I quite like them. Yes, I dislike a few of their players, but I don’t actively laugh in the faces of crying Australian children. But yesterday, on the day where all Australians celebrate being Australian, I did enjoy seeing England crash the party. Fireworks, that were meant to celebrate how brilliant Aussies are were actually celebrating Chris Tremlett bowling the final over.
My day at the cricket was unusual. Normally, I spend much of the day flicking through Twitter on my phone and adding valuable insights / pointless banalities live from the ground to my 150 odd followers. But I’ve used up all of my data this month, so I couldn’t. As I often go to cricket on my own (sad face) using Twitter to see what others are saying and to chat about the cricket is a good way of making me feel like I have some friends. But not today. I couldn’t even go on Facebook and reassure myself about my popularity by looking at my statuses people have commented on. So I had to talk to actual people. As it was Australia day, the English were few and far between. Any English that were there weren’t openly “out”, as they would massively stand out amongst the massive displays of Aussie patriotism. However, I was there to support England, so I had my England shirt on, and I was the only person in my area to belt out “God save the Queen” when it was played before the game. After signing it (and listening to the Aussies sing “Advance Australia Fair”), a few Englanders came over to me. Safety in numbers I think. So we had a nice time watching England dominate, and by the end, with loads of Aussies streaming out, we were the only people there (slight exaggeration).
So my phone worries weren’t too bad. Especially when compared to my other thing I was lacking – money. In other, older posts, I’ve spoken about how I have to go and queue up in a bank to get some money out, as my card doesn’t work in ATMs (and certain shops – Hungry Jack’s being a prime example). I’ve also spoken about the ridiculous times that Australian banks operate, and opening at 10.30 and closing at 4 is quite frankly stupid. After going to the beach the other day (and knowing that after buying fish & chips and a tram ticket I only had $1.75 left in cash) I went straight to the local Commonwealth Bank at about 4.15, making sure I had plenty of time before the (I thought) 5.00 close. I arrived to find a locked door. And Australia Day being a bank holiday, they were closed again the next day. So I had $1.75 to buy me food and drink (as well as any bus tickets or general expense) for the next day. Another thing about Australia Day – every shop is closed. Every one (even McDonalds). So even if my $1.75 was able to buy me anything, I couldn’t go into a shop to spend it. So basically, the day of the 26th of January 2011 was spent as a fast by me. There were times when it was hard. At the cricket they had all sorts of food stalls, and smelling chips, burgers, and even curries (that was the hardest stall to walk past) certainly got me salivating. But because it was so hot, I didn’t actually feel too bad. Water-wise, I have a giant 2 litre bottle which I’ve been filling up from taps for free, so that wasn’t an issue. Somehow, I managed to walk there and back, as well as spending the day at the cricket, without eating a thing. I did well. And I’ve now had some cornflakes this morning, so I made it! (Mum, if you’re worried by that last paragraph, I’ve just been to the bank, so now I have money to buy as many burgers as I like)
I’m writing this blog in the Adelaide Travellers Inn; about 10 minutes before I have to check out. It’s been good in Adelaide. I’ve really liked how it’s both a big city with loads of stuff going on, and quite small and accessible. You can literally walk anywhere. Where I’ve been staying is right in the south east of the city, and it’s only a 25/30 minute walk right over to the other side. There are parks everywhere – which is really nice as well. Overall, I’ve had a great time in Adelaide, and will be sorry to leave it. Next stop Perth!
(And as the group of England fans were singing last night – “Oh Adelaide! Is wonderful! Oh Adelaide is wonderful! We won the test, the 20 and the one day! Oh Adelaide is wonderful!)
Will
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)