I don't want to get too far into the complexities of getting to Port Alfred from Mthatha where we were dropped off by the approximately 103-year-old driver from Bulungula. Let's just say that getting to East London was an easy minibus ride but that we had to seek hard and long to find onward transport from there and ended up in a shared taxi that cost us the same price for an hour's drive to Port Alfred that it had cost us for the 4-hour ride to East London from Mthatha. But we made it there in time before the next day's event and that's all that counts.
Port Alfred is a little seaside town at the mouth of a river on which all of SA's biggest universities (and some international ones too) come to compete in the noble sport of rowing. The annual boat race is a big happening for the student population who come here to drink and soak in on the sun while shouting for their university's team to row quicker and beat the arch rival – whichever university that might be. We were here to support Rhodes University as one of Bast's friends, whom we'd also met earlier, was the captain in the team. So we reunited with Bast and Grant and their various friends on the river bank armed with beer. Or we would have, had we not got separated from our crate as a result of a badly organised day. The lovely manager of the backpackers in town, Kim, took us out onto the riverbank in the morning and stored our beers in the fridge of her office not far from the river. We then lost Kim after finding Bast and Grant as she was out with her baby and the dogs and hence couldn't come down to our spot on the river but instead gesticulated that she'd come and find us before heading back. She never did, and so we went dry-mouthed for a while (despite Bast and Grant keeping us supplied with what they had) before we embarked on a mission to find her – at the pub not far from her office. We'd walked all the way back to the backpackers just to get her mobile number before we caught up with her again and she kept us at the pub for a few rounds before we managed to pull back to the riverside, which caused us to miss a good part of the day.
Spot the cox (har har)
"We've lost a soldier!"The party had continued all the while we'd been gone, of course, and we had to pick up the pace in order to catch up with the mood. Somehow we didn't manage it, however, and felt a lot more tired than our fellow celebrators (Rhodes had apparently done well). After ending up at the party in one of the boathouses later in the night – via Bast's friend's house party where we spent some time in between and where we got the free tickets for the boathouse – and not being able to get excited over the standard concept of a drunken student fiesta, we decided to head back to the backpackers not too late at all. The fact that the dorm room was embraced in the sweet smell of weed and that someone was watching movies with loud sound on didn't bother us one bit as we crashed and snored within minutes.
T tried hard to fit in with the students in the background but something was amiss...The next day we were invited to Bast's friend Megan's house just down the road for breakfast and to stay for the next night if needed. We sort of missed the breakfast but happily took on the offer for a free bed for the night. Bast and Grant headed back to Grahamstown with the rest of their friends early in the day, and Megan was feeling tired from the festivities and slept through most of the day, so we got the lounge and TV all to ourselves for the day and benefited whole-heartedly by watching soppy movies and eating noodles in front of the telly.
The outcome of the weekend would suggest that we really are getting too old to keep up with the pace of the party, but I am refusing to believe it. Lesson learnt: look after your own beers.
Familiar faces...?
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