Joburg Japes Part 2

I find myself staying at a backpacker lodge in one of the smarter suburbs of Joburg.  Cheap, at less than 10€ a night, including free tea and coffee all day and an all you can eat breakfast. Lots of very interesting fellow guests from South Africa including a 40 strong, black church choir and of course, a strong international presence to boot.

Yesterday, along with a few fellow intrepid explorers, we braved downtown Joburg. Saw the sights, did the obligatory cultural bit  and then debated over a visit to the South African Breweries World of Beer exhibition. For around 4.50€, one gets a tour, small beer served in a mocked up 1890 goldfield saloon bar, complete with pianola music and two beers of choice in the on site bar afterwards. They even let you keep the glass!

Taking a regretful leave of the exhibition, my by now, cheery companions and I retraced our steps to the lodge to arrive in time for dinner. South Africa is not the place to go on a diet. These guys don't screw about on the food stakes. 4€ buys a dinner to challenge the strongest waistband. No wonder all the Boers, (they are the ones in shorts with socks up to the knee),  I have met are built like brick shithouses.

Ever the insomniac, I cadged a lift with the transfer bus back into town this, (Sunday), morning. As we neared the centre, I saw crowds of people being marshaled into position outside overflowing churches by hi viz wearing church officials. From the open doors came the amplified sounds of preachers getting close up and personal with the Lord.  

Everywhere in town, I saw groups of people dressed in shining Sunday best.  Whatever the brand of religion is down here, it is a happy one. Many of the faithful were radiant with joy and it was impossible not to be caught up in the general euphoria. That is until I took a side street and found a very different Joburg.  

Strong smell of puke and wee wee, derelicts in doorways and a very heavy atmosphere. Not one to hang around in such situations, I beat a hasty retreat and found myself on a minibus rank

Joburg or Jozi, as the black South Africans call it, doesn't have a metro or even a great bus network. Instead, minibuses, in effect vans with seats, ply fixed routes but only leave when full. Used almost exclusively by blacks, the odd white face can occasionally be seen peering from the window, but these overwhelmingly belong to tourists. The fare is 9 Rand (60 cents), anywhere in the metro area.

Today, marooned in a less than salubrious part of downtown, I decided to give it a try. After a few false starts, I found the rank for buses going my way. Wedged between a bible carrying pastor and a large woman, laden down with shopping, I took a surreptitious peek at my travelling companions, to find 14 pairs of eyes fixed very firmly on me. The door slammed, we jerked into motion and the pastor told me,"open your hand." Expecting a blessing at least, I was shocked to find a stream of small coins poured into my palm. "Put in your 9 Rand and tell the driver 15", came the instruction, "but wait for the robots".

                                

I hurriedly explained my minibus virgin status and the whole vehicle clamoured to help.  I soon discovered that robots are what South Africans call traffic lights and that I had been elected honorary conductor for the journey. Everyone had advice on where to get off, how to cross the road safely and where to get a return service. I have seldom, if ever enjoyed a bus journey so much. 

There is a complicated system on hand signals in use when flagging down a minibus. Forefinger up means "to town", forefinger down is "local," There are several other combinations of finger and elbow gestures, but I thought discretion the better part of valour.

Downtown Joburg has one of the highest crime rates in the world. Constant vigilance is needed during the day, even in the 'safer' areas and at night...forget it. That said, the black South Africans I have met have been charming, helpful and friendly. I am looking forward to getting out of the city, into the heartlands and meeting more of these wonderful people.

Joburg Japes

Hallo vriende! Touched down in Joburg at 7 this morning. Bigger queues at Immigration than outside the dole office in Camborne. The airport seems absurdly familiar though. Laid out UK style with greatest hits of the 80s coming over the PA. A Vodafone shop, Upper Crust. Very exotic.

The less said about the flight, the soonest mended.  Nevertheless, if you want to be shoehorned into an aluminium tube, so old that it had dry stone walls rather than wing fences, denied in flight entertainment, booze and reclining seats, then Egyptair is for you. On the plus side, the staff were OK and the food good. Got me down here for a song anyway and the prayer to Allah over the PA, just before take-off seems to have worked.

Joburg is a huge, sprawling city 1 mile high. They say that it takes a minute longer to boil an egg here than at sea level. If breakfast is late, I will now know why. Looks to be prosperous enough, the parts I have seen so far that is. Nevertheless, quite disconcerting to see UK style houses behind steel gates, razor wire and electric fences.

I was given a map of safe walking routes at my 'lodge'.  A short stroll of 3 Km was quite enough. It's around 28c by day and the altitude makes physical exertion that little bit more taxing. Quite a hilly place too. 

 I tried a restaurant and the waitress was horrified when I asked for a salad. This is a meat eaters' country. Portions are enormous and it is possible to eat well for around £4, although you can pay much more. I had to explain that I had just flown in and my lack of appetite was nothing to do with the restaurant. Strolling round the Eastgate mall, I was intrigued to see Woolworths, but selling top brands like Gucci, Nothing like the dear old UK Woolies which we think we all remember with such fondness.

First impressions...folk are open enough, even the old gal in the biltong shop who kept talking to me in Afrikaans until I explained that I had just landed. "Vy then, haff you gott such a suntan?" she finally grated.  The black people I have met have been fine, curious but very dignified. One old lady called me Baas and it made me feel quite unreasonably ashamed.

Now it's time for a Castle Lager and a look at the top South African 'soapie' on the bar TV.

Magic Carpets

Having more or less successfully negotiated the Athens Metro Airport line, I found myself aboard an Egyptair Embraer 170 for the hop to Cairo. Yet another aircraft designed for the vertically challenged, but the service aboard was exemplary. Friendly crew, out to please although the "English" announcements were hard to follow. 

The guy sat next to me, dark glasses, stubble, nasty suit and even worse cologne had the air of a wannabe pyramid salesman, though even he proved sociable enough. I was tempted to speculate that he might be paying a visit to his Mummy, but away with that thought!

 This is a dry airline, which is probably a good thing as even George Best would have turned his nose up at my liver had it been offered to him as a transplant.  Once past the over-sweet fizzy pop and juice, the meal was smoked salmon with cheese and salad.  If they can do that on a puddle jump, then I am looking forward to the offerings aboard the 8 hour leg to Jo'berg.

Now I am relaxing in the transfer area listening to flight departures for cities where no sane person would venture without at least an AK 47 in their back-pack. Tripoli, Beruit, Sana, Nairobi, Algiers. Not Sidari though. All very exotic nevertheless.

I was mildly concerned at the prospect of flying with Egyptair via Cairo, but these fears have proved groundless. The airport is quite small, but clean and modern. Dubai it ain't, but who cares? After all, the tickets were mindbogglingly cheaper than Emirates or Sath Efrican Airways.

Sleepless in Athens

Thus far, I haven't even left Greece, but sleepless in Athens, due to the row created by people foraging through the litter bins outside my hotel window; I thought that I would begin this blog a little previously.

 Things went reasonably well yesterday. Having warily entrusted my person to Olympic Air, I was whisked down to Athens in a turboprop Dash 8/400. I even got an upgrade to Premium Economy, in effect, green instead of blue seats and first dibs at the compo soft drinks. Flying at 23,000 feet gave a great view of the Greek coastline, but noise levels are high and the passenger cabin designed with Kalahari Bushmen in mind, size-wise. 

Athens is in the grip of strikes for a change. Because of protests, many of the central metro stations were closed, allegedly on safety grounds. Walking through the city in 28c with a backpack is never going to feature high on my list of golden memories.

Picking my way gingerly through discarded protest placards and the odd expended tear-gas canister, I finally reached destination. One quick shower and a short walk later, I was ensconced in the excellent Kati Allo restaurant, just a javelin throw from the original 1896 Modern Olympic Stadium.

The restaurant is a gem, one of the cheapest and best grill rooms in a nicer part of Athens. I was particularly impressed by the use of a parked pick-up as the stage for an impromptu floral display.

Now, as dawn breaks, I shall go off in search of a cheese pie to sustain me, before plodding hopefully off to the metro which may be working properly today. Next stop Athens airport and then Cairo.