Cultural niche markets in porn and frowning friends .... (PG18)

When I mention to my friends that I intend writing about the different kinds of porn favoured by different nations ... some frown, others shake their heads and the writer Vince declares loudly and somewhat too angrily (in my view) that he will only read my blog if I stop writing "about shit and sex".

I try to point out to him that porn and sex only have an incidental connection, in that it involves nudity, but he is having none of that ... so OK bye Vince.

I suppose I am not an ordinary tourist. When I go to a new city, I want to know how ordinary people live there. Thus I spend most of my time in bars trying to connect to the locals. I will take in the odd museum here and there, but that would not be my main aim. No ... strolling the streets of New York, Paris, Budapest or where-ever and stopping for a beer here and there is more my scene.

In these wanderings I often land up in the seedier parts of whatever city I am in. Here one normally finds the brothels, stripshows and porn shops. I normally skip the brothels and strip shows, not out of any kind of prudery, but because my budget would not allow for it.

But as a consumer of porn, I do go into porn shops and this is where I learnt that different nations have different tastes in porn. I am not talking about the normal 'sucking and fucking' porn that you get everywhere ... it is more what I would call cultural niche markets in porn.

The careful observer will notice that certain types of porn would be given a more prominent place in the general display.

I begin with the Americans, not only because they're the biggest producers and consumers of porn, but also because their porn is so true to form. I may be mistaken, but it is my impression that the US is often trying to fuck the world up the arse with the best technology available to mankind ... and so is their porn ... clinical, high definition and anal.

The French prefer things to be au naturel and it is not surprising that they like amateur porn. They also have a little penchant for lesbian porn but I think amateur is their thing.

The Dutch and the Spanish have a surprising connection in porn. They seem to like animals. I suppose it must have something to do with those long sea voyages undertaken by their forbears ... you know that goat winking at one in a cute kind of a way after the third month on the open sea...

The Germans ... in a probable rebellion against their ordered existence, like it messy. Real messy ... like in scatological ... pissing and shitting ... OK let's move on.

The Japanese, in contrast, like it clean. For them it is pantyhose, short plaid tartan skirts, light bondage ... They are also not so obsessed with shaving off the last pubic hair in the world as the Americans are.

Surprisingly the Eastern Europeans seem to like public nudity. I is surprising in the light of the amount of it on display in say Budapest on a hot summer's day.

And South Africans? Well the darkies seem not to be interested at all and they probably think the whiteys are crazy for furtively sneaking into the shops where they man the cash registers in a bored kind of a way.

My own friends frown on porn, but they are not average South Africans. My own view is that South Africans like the emotional porn that is to be found in the twin magazines You and Huisgenoot.

A multi-billion dollar almost global media empire, Naspers/Media24, was built on the back of the schmaltz peddled in the form of 'human drama' by those two, the one in Afrikaans and the other in English.

Myself personally ... ? I like my porn soft. No penetrations, no spread-em wide, no insertions ... just beautiful naked women.

OK Vince, you can come back now ...

Meanwhile I dropped a 1.5l bottle of red wine on my big toe ... fortunately it did not break ... the bottle I mean .... my toe well ... let me put it this way: I am not as mobile as I was yesterday.

Fouriesburg and a taxi nightmare

Fouriesburg is a dusty three-bar town in the Eastern Free State. You will notice that I base my tourism on the number of bars in a town. If you can count them it is my kind of a place. Fouriesburg has few attractions as town in itself, but it is situated in one of the most beautiful corners of South Africa. It lies between magnificent sandstone formations at the foot of the Drakensberg (Maluti in seSotho) mountain range, about 8km from Lesotho and about 30km from the much more (too) touristic Clarens.

My friends John and Amanda have a weekend house here, so the Oyster Bay crowd, with some new additions in the form of Charli, Hannah and Carol decamped from Joburg for the weekend. For future reference I decided to name everyone here. They are : Jan (previously called the Laughing One), Madelein (previously the Laughing One's Chick), Vince (Writer), George (Fridge Guy), John (Lawyer), Amanda (no previous mention) and me. Charli debuted on my fist blog as the Wannabe Lawyer.

For the outdoors enthusiast Fouriesburg has much to offer. From rock-climbing to horse-riding, day walks, scenic drives ... you name it. Since I'm not much of an outdoors enthusiast myself I quickly ran out of possible things that the typical outdoors enthusiast might be interested in. But there is more outdoors here than you could reasonably shake the proverbial stick at, or in my case wave a wine glass at and I'm sure that there will be something for everyone.

Incidentally, the road between Fouriesburg and Clarens is one of the most beautiful in the country and the world perhaps. For more things to do in Fouriesburg see my guide about things to do in Oyster Bay.

As we speak, my friends are busy engaging with the outdoors. They invited, nay pleaded with me to come along but I said no. I pointed out to Jan that my time is no longer my own and that I have to satisfy the thirst of my 13 blog followers first and not be tempted by the lure of excursions into the mountains on foot. I must admit that I am running out of excuses for not going on these walks. I think last time I feigned a pain in the knee ... I was shot through it remember!

Anyway I walk enough in Joburg, not having a car and being reliant on public transport and taxis to get around.

The last minibus taxi I took was straight out of Stephen King. It had no tread on the tyres, and only the right front brake pad seemed to be working, but the driver made no allowance for this fact at all when it came to the speed he was driving at.

It was also raining and every time the driver braked, it would slide across two lanes to the right before coming to a standstill. When we almost smashed into the back of an oblivious police van, most passengers interrupted their fervent prayers to loudly voice their concerns ... this included me .... the atheist.

I still maintain that minibus taxis converted more people to prayer than any number of missionaries ever could. They are probably the most religious places in South Africa.

After the police van incident most passengers got off when the taxi stopped next. I followed suit and took a municipal bus ... which happened to come along at the right moment. Nobody knows exactly when or where these things run, but they are there. After the taxi it was a pleasant experience. The driver took my R6 without issuing a ticket and I did not mind.

This morning just before waking up I dreamt that I was on that taxi again ... but when I wanted to get off, the driver told me with a grin: "This is like the Hotel California. Once you get on ... you can never get off."

I woke up in terror.

Next time I will blog about a taxi user's etiquette.

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