What else is near the court in Joburg?

We came from the airport, The Skinny One, and I. For sure, before that we came from our mother, but that was years ago. 38.5 years on average for the two of us. The time for court was set at 16:30. Read more of this elsewhere. In order for me not to see the traffic of the big smoke, and because we really wanted to be on time, we were 4 hours early. After circling the court building like the Jews did Jericho, the suggestion was made to go to the Constitutional court district. I liked the idea of being a tourist in my own country. But we are brothers, competition with your sibling is part of the reptile brain. (The part that handles things like breath in, breath out, ooh there goes a sexy woman, breath in, there goes another one!, breath out) So I had to do better. "What about the SAB World of Beer? " Chalk up another win for the little brother. OK, younger brother. I ceased to be the little brother about 60kg ago.


R30 for the tour. The tour is heavy on the use of video, leaving the tour guide with not too much to do. It traces the history of beer from the Sumerians to the Europeans, with special focus on South-African beer. You get to taste sorghum beer, something I haven't done before. A bit like lambic, must get used to it. The whole tour takes 90 minutes, which I thought could be quicker. As a beer geek I did not learn much, but the brother liked it. Impressive though is the hops they are growing indoors, in Johannesburg. Unfortunately it is Southern Promise, so it doesn't smell as good as Cascade or Saaz.

Geelbek

At the end they show you a composite video of South-Africa. Suddenly I go "That is Geelbek!" It is at the end of the lagoon I live next to. And next they show Paternoster, a village 45km from my house. Then they show the church where The Ghanaians got married. Also in Paternoster. And more of the lagoon. My place is famous in a beer museum. I think it means we have arrived. Don't know where though.

Skinny One being Super Tourist from the World of Beer Balcony

You get a small tasting glass, filled at the time with Castle Draught, 2/3 through the tour. By now you need it. At the end you get two beers of your choice. The bar stock all the SAB draught beer available in the country. Tasted my first Castle LITE draught. You can also get pub food here. Quite decent pub food. If you are in the vicinity, drop in. I won't go again though, but that is because I am a beer geek. The tour of the heritage brewery at the Newlands brewery was much better. And they let us pour our own draughts there.

My World Cup, Part 1

I flew to Johannesburg for the Ghana v Uruguay final on Friday. Saturday morning the magistrate said” You can go now. You are no longer needed.” Suarez received a red card and 1 match ban; I received a warning to appear in court. His 2010 tournament that cannot be named™ is more famous than mine, but I will try and diminish the difference.

My brother, The Skinny One, bought 2 tickets for the quarter-final at Soccer City as a 40th birthday present to himself. He, correctly, argued that never in his lifetime will world class football be so affordable to him. As he bought 2 tickets, he needed a companion. He choose me. I just had to make my own way there. When first approached I thought he got category 4 tickets. Relatively cheap tickets reserved for South Africans. Turns out it was category 2 tickets at R2100 each. This value will become important later on.

I flew on a low cost airline to Lanseria and learned the following:
1. Cheap people are short and thin. Why else would the seats be so close together and would I need an extension piece for the seat belt used by pregnant women and fat people?
2. Cabin crew can be very funny. That is, ha-ha funny. Not funny as in come with the large gentlemen and let him fasten your jacket at the back funny.
3. Small airports are better. I got off the plane, walked to the terminal and waited all of 20 seconds before picking up a bag (my own) and sauntered to the car rental area.

Spend the evening and next morning with my good school friend He-with-the-pretty-name and his lovely partner consuming vast quantities of wine. I then met up with the Skinny One, his wife, The Long Suffering One, and their offspring. The Ghanaian flag with legs is my niece. She asked not to show her face for fear of being ridiculed by being associated with me.

Flag with legs

I last rode on (or in) a train in South Africa 5 presidents ago (I don’t count the one between Mbeki and Zuma as you don’t know his name either) It was half my life and weight ago and we went from Pretoria Station to Park Station in Johannesburg. I bought my second, and last, vinyl record on that trip. We called them albums back then and not vinyl. Eet Kreef by Johannes Kerkorrel and the Gereformeerde Blues Band. This was me being as rebel as I ever got. This time I took a train to Soccer City and did not pay. On purpose. Well, the train was free. The trip, obviously the train cost money, but I did not have to fund it aarrghhh, back to the story. The narrative.

The Skinny One was like a small child. He kept repeating catch phrases “Soft vuvuzela” then blowing softly on the thing. We followed the Brazil v Netherlands game on various cell phones and when we realised the orange team won, his new catch phrase (phonetically) became “Nay der land!” We were not yet in Germiston and I was measuring the window to see if I can fit my brother through it. Only he had the tickets. In our compartment were a Mexican an Australian and normal people. Once at Park Station, the train filled up completely. Eventually we saw the stadium and the packed roads leading to it. Making our choice of transport the better one. Why I felt proud to be a South African at seeing the stadium, I don’t know. I did not make the steel, did not work on the project, I just took a train to see it. But I felt proud. For the first time in weeks the reality of the tournament that cannot be named™ hosted in my country struck me.

We had about 40 minutes left before kickoff. The din of vuvuzelas in the train station was amazing. The joy of thousands of people converging on the stadium was palpable. Overwhelming support for Ghana. Most people probably could not point to it on the map, but it was the last African team remaining. We were proudly African. I was ardent Ghana supporter for oh, about a week.

As we joined the queues at the first security checkpoint, The Skinny One gave me my ticket. And his was taken by a pick pocket. And a very unusual, but ultimately edifying experience started.

My Meerlust story

South-Africa does not have a formal ranking of wine farms. Should be grape farms really. A wheat farm is not called a bread farm. If, however, this country did have a classification similar to that of Bordeaux, then Meerlust will be a first growth. And the Bordeaux blend Rubicon is their flagship. Drank some tonight at my favourite restaurant, Froggy’s in Langebaan.

I bought tonight’s bottle at The Grey Goose, near Newcastle upon Ncandu, which is roughly 6600 furlongs from where it is made. The work sent us for a course to Newcastle. On the room service menu of the place they had Meerlust Rubicon 2000 for R250. Which I thought was quite a good price. But I have never tasted it and it is quite a bit of money to spend on something ephemeral in your mouth. Still, it was a good price.

After several days my curiosity triumphed over my lower middle class parsimony and I bought a bottle with dinner. No the work did not pay for it. But I sold a few glasses to my colleagues at a profit. It is indeed a good wine and they kept it well. A happy experience all round.

Several months later we returned for the rest of the course. First thing I did was check if they still had the Rubicon. Yup! And so I made haste to the restaurant and enquired as to the remaining stock level of the Rubicon. All right, I asked “How many of these Rubicons do you still have?” Much less pompous than enquiring about stock levels.

They had 6 bottles. (Some people will refer to this as a case. In my world it is a half case.) “I will take all 6”, I informed them. And that is how the wine started the return journey to the Cape of Good Hope and/or Storms. The baggage handling thieves at both airports missed it, so tonight I drank the second last one. The last of the Rubicons will stay with me for another year or two and then I am out of some of the best wine I ever owned.

Irish Ale House

Irish Ale house with open air pizza kitchen

Not an easy place to find, but worth the drive. Unless you come from another continent. Then it is worth the fly and drive. As it was for me. I came from a small village north of Cape Town to be part of the quarter finals of the 2010 world cup. I also managed to visit friends who stay about 40min out of so called civilisation in the direction of Hartebeespoort Dam. A bit further along is a microbrewery we set out to find.

After some interesting navigation of dirt roads near Hartebeesboort dam in the ever willing rental car we come to a collection of small buildings on a slight slope. This is Broederstroom, North West Province so the Vierkleur I expected, but not the Irish flag. Chickens and geese walk around marking time until Christmas. This is the Irish Ale House

We attract attention as tourists do in any local. On this side of the counter three regulars hold it upright. “Any one of you called Dirk?” An uncertain pause. Apparently in this part of the world if a large guy ask for you by name you run.

But from behind the bar comes an affirmative followed by a counter “Are you Leon?” Now everybody is happy. Happiness soon to be increased by a tour of the brewery. I see the famous Broederstroom blonde in the fermentation tank. Nicely built into a large ex-cooldrink fridge. The counter flow chiller hangs on the wall. Dirk is slightly embarrassed by his electrical connection to the mash tun. His electrical contractor, himself, was in a hurry.

We go outside to sit in the Highveld sun and drink some beer. Soon a Broederstroom pizza comes, accompanied by a vegetarian. As am I. Very good pizza's made in the semi-open air kitchen (on the left of the picture above).

The Broederstroom Blonde is still fermenting and therefore not ready for me.(As are most blondes the world over it seems)

My fat fingers warming the beer unnecessarily

We spent the whole afternoon soaking up the sun and the beer. Dirk joined us for a while recklessly leaving the bar in the hands of his wife. We talk about the number of new breweries opening up in the area (Cullinan and Rustenburg) On a good day you can even partake in donkey racing here. As I understand it, you don't have to race against the animals. Dirk gets quite animated when talking about the virtues of the donkey. I did not have the heart to tell him that my only experiences with donkeys was in Donkey Kong, and the odd "steak" pie.

We tasted a Lambic, not Dirk's, but aged on the premises. A complete revelation to my companions. They loved it. For me it is still an acquired taste which I still have to acquire.

Go to the Irish Ale House, but don't be in a hurry. The atmosphere is relaxed, the beer good and the company, even if you don't take your own, is lovely.