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23^rd July-29^th July – Days 296-302 – Cape Town and Stellenbosch, South Africa

Just as we were considering running off to Saudi Arabia in order to have a few weeks free of the devil's juice, we faced a weekend of double celebrations, neither of which we really wanted to miss. So that flight to Jeddah was postponed yet again. The first took place not in Stellenbosch, where we were, but in the Newlands district of Cape Town and so, along with Mav, we dragged ourselves onto the MetroTrain to the unglamorous station of Salt River before eventually putting ourselves on another one to Observatory station. There, we met up with Mav again after he'd got onto a train and we failed to fit onto it (because of backpacks, not beer bellies) and found ourselves a hostel in which to set up camp. The “Green Elephant” was quite nice, once you'd configured the positioning of your tent and its doors in the garden so as to avoid having to play dodge-the-dogturds when you turned in for the night.

We did things that civilised human being do from time to time such as showering and so on (and in my case, applying cream to a delightful sty that had sprouted up on my left eye) before going out to meet Emma, a friend of a friend from Finland who we got to hear about in complicated circumstances that I can't be bothered to explain here (and if I did, you wouldn't find them very interesting). We had a few civilised drinks, went to a bar/club with the world's most appalling DJ (whose talents M very diplomatically explained to him at the end of the evening - “DJ, you're KAK!”. Ok M, let's go. “No, I don't think he heard me, I'll go to tell him again”. No you won't, let's go. “OK”). We kept it very low-key aside from that, knowing that it was only the warm-up to the big event.

Mav takes a well earned rest on the way to Newlands

The big event began at 11am the next day as we piled onto the MetroTrain once again down to Newlands where, after wandering around in circles for quite a while, we eventually found the pub we were looking for – the Forester's Arms. It was in the carpark of this pub that Bast and Grant, lunatic cyclists par excellence who we'd last seen in Ethiopia in November last year, were about to finish their mammoth trip from the northern tip of Scotland to the southern tip of Africa, in just a little of 12 months. And so, as they pulled in, a crowd awaited them waving flowers and bottles of champagne (for the better off) and jugs of beer bought at a knock-down price (for the likes of Dixon, Mav and us). When the mass subsided, the poor sweaty things were finally allowed inside and we got back to what we do best – yakking with people.

Hurrah!

M, of course, is not only prolific in yakking but she is also a budding artist, and so it was that, towards the end of one of her beer jugs, she was struck by a sudden wave of inspiration and decided to take a photo through the remaining beer and bottom of the jug. The picture was taken and in celebration, she dropped the 2-month-old camera into the jug where it bobbled about for a bit. Dixon, ever the knight in shining armour, urged her diplomatically to remove the camera from the jug and remove the memory card and battery as soon as possible. Hence, no more pictures were taken from that evening. But anyway - congratulations, guys!!!

Dixon shows off the contents of his parcel (see Stellenbosch episode 1) while M enjoys a jug

T, unaware that the makarapa hat is on back to front, also enjoys a jug

But cameras, as is well known, are less likely to enjoy a jug. The infamous final picture

It didn't quite finish as we'd planned – the nightclub that the boys had lined up for everyone rejected the four bums (Dixon, Mav and us two) for various crimes: M and I had trainers on, and Dixon and Mav didn't have collared shirts on. After some head scratching, Dixon and us left Mav having what we assume was a polite and friendly discussion with the bouncer who could have probably eaten him in about 5 minutes, and wandered off down the road to a tacky club where we had lots of fun before Dixon scooted off back to Stellenbosch. The three of us remaining spent the entirety of the next day sat in front of the TV at the Green Elephant watching brainless movies (Godzilla, Transporter 3, and so forth), eating delivery pizza and playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who should go downstairs to buy the next round of Fantas. Exactly the kind of day that we live for. The only useful activity carried out was a quite check to see if the camera was back in working order. It wasn't.

But the fun was not over yet! It had come to our attention that Mav's birthday was coming up very soon! “What are you doing for your birthday?”, we asked to which the ever enthusiastic Mav replied “meh, not much”. It seemed that he was eventually press-ganged into doing something and we were summoned to come for a large braai for that evening. The always helpful Bast had sorted us a bed with some of his sister's friends and gave us a lift back up to 'Bosch and so we had a few nights there, teaching the wonders of Jungle Speed (which were greatly appreciated by all), attempting to smoke their extremely temperamental shisha pipe, and bumming around in the sun. Yet again, a few days well spent. We also checked to see if the camera was back in working order. It took pictures, but they were so blurred that you couldn't really see what was going on which, in my definition, is against the point of taking a picture. Unless you're some kind of post-modern photo-artist, which we are most definitely not.

And it finally gets back up on its feet! Michelle, Bast and M enjoy a game of souped-up Jungle Speed, South African style

The ever-helpful Bast had told us that he was going up to Grahamstown (where his family lives) in a few days and that if we wanted to split the petrol, he had a few seats in his car. Savouring the prospect of a road trip, we happily agreed. Not wanting to be in the girls' feet for those few days, we made a few phone calls to familiar people, and hit the road...