Oyster Bay wrap-up, meeting Jack Parow and public transprt at OR Tambo International

WARNING: THIS WILL BE ABOUT AS RAMBLING AS MY TRIP BACK FROM OYSTER BAY.

The Fridge Guy, George, the Writer Vince's Chick, Adri and I left Oyster Bay at 5:15 in the morning to get to the Port Elizabeth airport in time for their 8am flight. Mine was scheduled for 10am so I was in good time.

At 6am we could be observed fixing a flat tyre in the rain. Nevertheless we still got to the airport in time for their flight and I had time on my hands to reflect on the time in Oyster Bay so I compiled a mental list of 10 things to do when in Oyster Bay.

1) Take good friends along. That is unless you yearn to be very much alone.
2) Braai a lot, be it fish or meat. Add good friends and wine and you won't believe how much you will enjoy Oyster Bay.
3) Relax ... there is not much else to do. If your idea of relaxing is to take long walks on semi-deserted beaches with soft white sand, Oyster Bay is the place to be.
4) Go and enjoy the splendid view from Bar-Nic-Les over a long tall cool one. Take friends along or make new ones there, but not when they are watching rugby.
5) Go to St Francis for shopping and lunch at Christie's Catch. Eat the hake and chips and buy the fresh catch of the day to braai later.
6) Take scenic drives and walks around St Francis and Oyster Bay.
7) Read a book or talk shit to your friends (highly recommended).
8) Relax (see 3)
9) Relax (see 3 and 8)
10) Relax (see all of the above)

That was the Oyster Bay wrap-up, no on to Jack Parow.

Until last week Wednesday I had no idea that their was a creature in existence who went by the name of Jack Parow. Then I chanced on an interview with him in the 1Time airline's in-flight magazine. Just by the way 1Time is my budget airline of choice in South Africa. They are always friendly and on time and as much as is possible with a budget airline, fun to fly with.

So then I learned that Jack Parow was an Afrikaans rap star of sorts. I don't like rap and dis not think Afrikaans even lent it to that genre. Jack tried, but failed to convince me otherwise in the magazine interview. I shrugged and forgot about him by the time I started reading the next article which I cannot remember what it was about.

Then on Friday around the lunch table Jack came up for discussion again and I was surprised that my friends (same age and older than me) knew about him and were even able to quote his lyrics. After my initial surprise, I forgot about Jack again until Saturday during half-time of the Sharks game when Nic the barman (Bar-Nic-Les geddit?) played Jack's current hit "Cooler than you or me" or something like that.

The song, if you can call anything by a rapper a song, mocks the self-satisfied middle-class people 'who have made it' in their own minds. The very types sitting in the bar and irritating me by filling the air with their impotent testosterone dregs. I immediately became a fan of Jack Parow as I saw their discomfort in the face while listening to the track.

Then while waiting for my flight, who should walk in but Jack Parow himself. I invite him to join my table and he accepts graciously. Unfortunately it is almost boarding time for me and I just have time to tell him how I became his oldest fan and he thinks that it is 'cool'. He also reminds me that we live in a small country then my flight is called.

On the flight my hopes to score a lift into town from one of my fellow passengers fade fast. The lady next to me is reading an Afrikaans Christian self-help book called 'n Doelgerigte Lewe (A goal orientated life) and she is going to Pretoria anyway.

On arrival in Joburg I momentarily believe that my incredible run of luck was continuing as someone taps me on the shoulder and calls me by my name. His name is Luke and he was one of my clients from the time I managed a gay bar in Melville. He says his sister is coming to fetch him and maybe she could pick me up as well.

It turns out that the sister is also going to Pretoria first, so I decide to investigate the public transport from the airport into Joburg. The short result of my investigation reveals that there is none. The long result is exactly the same.

I spot the shuttle service of a hotel chain and decide to book a room in one of their branches near Melville, take the shuttle and disappear at the hotel entrance. Alas, the shuttle only operates between their airport branch and the airport.

Then I take an un-metered taxi for a negotiated R300. He wanted R350 but immediately agreed when I offered R300, making me regret that I did not 0ffer R250 as an opening bid. And that is how I got back to Melville where I am happy to be back in my natural habitat