Not clear why I wanted to write about Hazyview ...

My parents live on my brother Abrie's farm near Hazyview. That's about 400km from Joburg and I'm going there tomorrow.

Initially the plan was to rustle up the usual suspects and go as a group ... my brother has a backpacker facility on the farm. After initial excitement about the prospect my so-called friends began cancelling on me ... but all was fine ... The back-up plan was that my sister Emily and her kids would go ... then Emily cancelled yesterday.

A visit to my elderly parents is really long overdue ... I was last there two years ago ... so I decide I will go alone and book a ticket to the somewhat pompously named Kruger International outside Nelspruit in the Lowveld. The last time I was there it looked more like the Kruger Backwater, but that was some time ago and things change ... sometimes for the better ... one can only hope.

With the main leg of my trip taken care of I phone my brother Abrie to hear if he'll come and fetch me ... no problem ... farmers are always looking for an excuse to go to the nearest big town.

Now it's time to train my considerable intellect on the vexing problem of getting to the airport from my house ... I am loathe to ask one of my so-called friends to take me and averse to spending a fortune on a real taxi ... that means public transport in the form of minibus taxis...

When I faced with the same problem coming back from Oyster Bay I even wrote a blog about the lack of public transport to and from OR Tambo International ... your gateway to the nearest traffic jam ... but that was before I knew about the only 'real' public transport here.

A kindly reader then sketched the route for me and said a trip to the airport should come in below R20 if you know where you are going ... So once again I'm faced with a three-leg voyage before I can embark on the second leg of my real trip.

First I have to get to Park Station in Joburg Central ... from there I must take another taxi to Kempton Park and from there another one to the airport. I'll start out early....

Now Hazyview is somewhat of a tourist destination itself. In itself it has all the charm of a gigantic but poorly planned shopping mall, but there are more types of accommodation to suit every pocket and people use it as a base-camp to explore the many natural delights of the Lowveld about which I will write at length once I am there.

Where am I going with this blog? That is my more immediate concern ... my view has indeed become very hazy about that. I could swear I had a point when I started out... seems to have deserted me ... I'll just publish and be damned .... and such a poor piece on top of Rian Malan's must-read piece of earlier today... I'm shooting myself in the foot. What the hell maybe inspiration will hit me in Hazyview .... and then again not ... the locals call it Lazyview in the Slowveld...

Welcome to Rachel Tolton... and Hazyview.

The Boerewors Curtain lifts... and i could not do a spellcheck

So there they were ... in Soweto ... thousands of them ... all dressed in blue ... all slightly drunk and all Blue Bulls supporters ...

But they were in great spirits (no pun intended) for this historic occassion and in no small measure, I guess, excited as I was about the 'meaning' of the event.

Something to tell your grandchildren about: "I was there when the Bulls first played in Soweto..."

So there they were ... in Soweto ... all with dark skins ... all slightly drunk ... millions of them ... lining the roads ... shouting encouragement to the invading army ... some to sell 'safe' parking ... others to sell whatever and most just there for the 'gees' (see my blog about language).

All in great spirits...

So there I was ... on the back of a motorcycle ... ably driven by my boss Charles Moore ... slightly drunk ... in Soweto ... dressed impeccably in three pairs of longjohns, three thermal vests and my outer clothing ... light blue shirt by Gant ... fauve chinos from Woolworths ... black leather jacket from Markhams for Men ... pointy black shoes from a cheap shoeshop ... in fact they were not cheap ... R800 ... and an Iverness Cape.

All in good spirits ...

When Charles tells me that we will go to Soweto on the bike my stomach tightens. Those of you who read my blog regularly would know I'm not the adventurous type. Bikes give me the jitters ...

To deal with that problem I invite my sister Emily to lunch and she tells me she is also going but by public transport ... Rea Vaya (seSotho for: "We're going/moving"). The 'rapid bus transport' system between Soweto and the Joburg CBD. It is supposed to link up many parts of the metropole ... and should have been done by now ... but ain't ... this is Africa.

There was a joke about SA politicians saying: "Everything would be ready by 2010 ... Oh fuck this is 2010!!!!"

I phone Charles to tell him the good news but he points out to me that it's fine to go on the Rea Vaya ... but to come back would probably entail a long wait... and he wants to be back in time to catch the next semifinal game ... the Stormers from Cape Town against the Waratahs from New-South Wales in Australia ... So it's going to be the bike...

I'm not the type of person to shirk a personal phobia so after lunch with Emily I head to the nearest bar ... where fortunately I see Scot ... He hears my pain and buys me a tequila ... I respond in kind and then Inge arrives ... also on her way to the game ... and she responds by buying a round of tequila ... and I respond in kind ... then Charles arrives and we decide it's probably a good idea to have a tequila ... I wash all the tequila down with a cleansing beer ...

Then we set out for Soweto. I try to count flags as we go ... and get to 135 at Soccer City, the new World Cup stadium outside Soweto where some big soccer match is going down. Too many flags ... In fact the final between Wits University and Mamelodi Sundowns in the Nedbank Cup.

My previous boss ... yes the one who fired me ... once remarked: "What will they have next ... a Paper Cup?"

Once at Orlando Stadium we drive straight to the bottom of the steps ... with a ticket checker running after us ... I swear I did not hear him trying to call us back ... and apologises profusely to him when he catches up with us ... He accepts the apology and all is well.

We head for the beer garden surrounded by thousands of Blue Bulls ... with blue faces and
hard-hats with bull horns sticking from them... I sigh ... these are my people ...

I check for people ... darkies I mean ... not many in attendance ... I would say a 1000 or 2000 out of the 45000 spectators.

Three of them are sitting just behind me and I ask them why they are there ... They're not Bulls supporters ... The response is good ... They are there for the country ... as am I.

Meanwhile my sister Emily reports that outside the stadium the Bulls and the darkies were bonding big time ... She did not have a ticket and was just there to report on the 'gees' or vibe. When she went into shebeen (bar, tavern) for a beer it was packed with Bulls ... and there was not a drop left to drink ... she was referred to the funeral parlour next door ... which was packed by Bulls and there was still a beer on sale ... you got to love this country!

Well done Soweto ... and well done Pretoria. The Boerewors Curtain lifted and it was a magnificent thing ... and it was good to be there.

I can tell you much more ... but I'm tired now ... there were so many things worth writing about.

Reflections on race and the World Cup in a bar in Randburg

I am waiting for my boss Charles Moore to give me a lift home from the offices in Randburg. Earlier the day when I went to get some Chinese take-aways I bumped into my old friend Roman .... he is really old (69) and an old friend too.

Roman is a German and a chef and in his most recent incarnation the front-of-house manager at a sportsbar called Paddy's in Randburg.

Meanwhile Gabrielli ... my other German 'friend' asked me to write something about the upcoming Soccer World Cup in South Africa.

The seminal event is scheduled to begin in exactly 33 days from today and I must admit that I have not reflected too much about it ... mainly because I think it will be a cheerful shambles at best and a total disaster at worst. Let's hope for the best. My money is on a cheerful shambles.

With all these elements neatly in place, I tell Charles that I will wait for him in Paddy's in order to study the local fauna in their natural habitat because ... Randburg is not Melville.

Being of a scientific bent I count all the patrons in view (some people call this counting business of mine a disorder ... screw them).

There are 48 after-work drinkers in view at Paddy's at the time I begin my survey at 5:25pm.

They are ... 25 whitey males ... 8 whitey females ... 2 coloured girls ... 2 darkie chicks ... 5 darkie guys and 6 coloured guys ... This is not Melville.

To begin with there would be more darkies, coloureds and women in any bar in Melville, but the ambiance is also different.

There is an urgency in the air that I suspect stems from the fact that all the patrons look as if they are in sales of some sort. They talk rapidly and somewhat too loudly (their laughter is the same) as if they are sniffing a deal.

They are mostly between 20 and 35 in age and the guys are all in shirt-sleeves or T-shirts despite the fact that I find the autumn evening quite chilly ... but these are clearly hot-blooded guys ... I wonder why they they are sitting mostly with other guys ...

But I am here to reflect about the upcoming World Cup, as well, so I turn my attention to that... I count three guys wearing the Bafana Bafana (the nickname for our national football team ... meaning: "The boys, the boys") shirts. Of these two are whiteys and one a coloured.

I also notice that all the waiters, who are all darkies, also wear the Bafana shirts ... under some warmer tops. They have good sense because it is cold.

By the way most waiters in South Africa are darkies and since they only get something like 3,5% of their turnover as commission, tipping is essential here ... the going rate is 10-15% and it's rude not to do it.

This is not Melville because the waiters are attentive. My friend Jan once remarked that 95% of people would become uncomfortable if one would stare at them long and hard and the other 5% become waiters in Melville.

But I digress ... There is a campaign on to get World Cup fever going. It consists of 'Flagging the World Cup" meaning that you have to fly the South African flag. I duly buy a SA flag for my sister Emily's car ... car pointing out to her that it was not only the duty of darkies to be patriotic. I also intend to by her a French flag since we are both francophiles.

While on the subject of my sister Emily ... oh no ... it is actually the World Cup, I decide some more research is needed and I take Emily for lunch at Sakura ... a Japanese sushi and teppenyaki restaurant in 7th Street Melville. They do a decent if not spectacular sushi and teppenyaki and I'm quite fond of the latter.

Emily orders herself a French soccer jersey from a street vendor called Amen ... and I pay a R50 deposit for him to also bring me a French flag for her car. She is dubious about just giving Amen the money and i tell her not to worry.

Although I do not know Amen, he knows me. All the street vendors know me because I banned them from pushing their wares into my customers' faces when I managed the gay bar ... and enforced this policy .... quite vigourously. Amen took her number and has just phoned to say that the merchandise is ready for collection.

The reason for this outing is to count the number of flags on cars as a means to measure WC fever ... In the parking lot in front of Paddy's in Randburg I counted ... zero on about 300 cars ... I did not count the cars ... OK I just counted one row and multiplied it by three ... so do not say anything about disorders.

Melville is not Randburg but I'm disappointed to count only about 17 in all. But this is early days so I'll keep you posted about the number of flags I coun... see.

Everybody is trying to make a quick buck out of the WC ... my maid Zita wants to be a hooker and her boyfriend Martin is in on the deal as pimp. Some other people are planning to rent out their houses and live in their garden sheds ... I just hope more people read and follow my blog. It is a work in progress.

The latest news is that 'they' are now stealing the flags off the cars ... no doubt to re-sell as shop-soiled wares. Nobody knows who 'they' are. I know but I won't tell. It is especially the rear-view mirror flag covers that are being targetted. So be aware.

I will also keep you posted on World Cup fever but for now I'm off to watch rugby ... My team the Cheetahs are playing against some other also-ran team but the Cheetahs have been hitting some good form lately and my hope is that they will improve their standing from 13th on the log to say ... 12th. One can only hope.

By the way welcome to Braam van Straaten an lemartle ... or something like that ... one day you will proudly tell your grandchildren that you were some of the first to join this world famous blog.