Grahamstown

Having left Port Elizabeth, we decided to ignore the advice of our relatives and take the inland road through Grahamstown and King Williamstown en route to East London  of the coastal road that goes through Port Alfred.  Leaving P.E., we noticed the most enormous wind turbine.  It was next to a large power station with towers that must have been at least three stories tall.  Next to the towers, the turbine stood at least ten times that height, making it almost as tall, if not taller than Manulife Place.  Alternative energy sources taken to the logical extreme.

The inland road is lovely.  After passing Bluewater Bay and some of the salt flats in the P.E. area, we find ourselves in rolling green hills and valleys, with the occasional outcropping of rock through which the road slices, exposing cross-sections of Africa most imprudently.  A fair amount of road construction, but otherwise the thoroughfare is very passable.  Loads of complaints from my father about the “gutless” Toyota Corolla 1.4 litre that we’ve hired.  Complaints justified by the first steep hill that we hit.  We drop from sixth gear to fourth, but even with the pedal to the metal in fourth, our speed drops from 120 km/h to 80.  The poor thing huff and puffs up the 15° slope until we csan crawl over the crest of the hill, having been overtaken by three other vehicles.

Numerous game reserves and safari parks along the way.  Also notice ostrich farms and waist-height anthills by the side of the road.  African sky just as I remember it: somehow larger than skies elsewhere.

And as though watching three footy games a day was not enough to do with the remainder of the visiting and kibbitzing and eating and the like, we’re headed to East London just in time for the big Rugby game on the international schedule.  South Africa just finished giving France a good hiding in Cape Town (a good omen for the last game of the group phase of the World Cup?) and are now set to play some other team, the identity of which eludes me.

We’ll stop in Grahamstown for a bit of brekkie (had to leave tea half-finished on the kitchen counter again), and then we’ll drive past my father’s old university, and then on to King Williamstown, where I’ll try and spot the places where my uncle used to play the football pools with Steve Biko and his pals.

No footy until early in the afternoon, and I hope to be in front of the telly with the laundry going at my aunt Jenny’s by then.  Here’s hoping that I can blog more frequently, now that I’ve got my happy netbook.  I’ve already burnt through more than a hundred rand on 3G airtime, and hopefully, the Word For Blogger add-in will allow me to be more conservative in my time spent online.

Cheers for now,

—mARKUS