To King William's Town

"I'm glad we took the road through Grahamstown," my father said.  I looked at him curiously. "because I'm never coming here again."
This pretty much summed up the little town where my father went to Rhodes University.  He grumbled and cursed as we drove through the little town with a small (er) cathedral at one end of the main street and the entrance into campus grounds at the other.  The place seemed okay to me, even quaint.  The church grounds and a couple of neighbouring streets were closed for a national arts' fair and accompanying food fair.  Would have been a nice spot to stop and grab some food and look at sculpture and paintings and stuff.  No dice.  Not only were we on a tight schedule to get to East London, but everything about the place rankled my father.  The onrush of memories caused some serious grumpiness.
Apparently, my father hated the town so much that he would hitchhike back to East London every weekend so that he could work at my grandfather's shop.  He would rather have worked for free than to spend any extra seconds in Grahamstown.  Apparently my sister wanted to show my niece and nephew the old country when they are old enough, but my father reckons on opting out of that adventure.  Hmm. Wonder who will have to bear the responsibility of being the tour guide on that trip, if that's the case?
Have shot a pack of snaps, but I'll wait until we're out of the car in East London before I start uploading them.  A lot of this stuff should hopefully make more sense with graphic illustrations.
Saw a warthog and an aardvark, but got no pictures, so don't hold your breath.
When we get back to Port Elizabeth, I'll also grab some snaps of the vicious and nasty canines that guard aunt Helen's place.  Julie can help me pick out the exact breeding of these monsters.
Until later.  Cheers,
—mARKUS