Musical suggestion:
Last time, I signed off saying I was
going to collect the motorcycle I was going to rent for the time I would spend
in South Africa. Sriya, one of my roommates also working at Bara, had
graciously offered to give me a lift after she would be done trying to iron out
some issues with her car rental contract. We left at mid-afternoon thinking we
would be back home back early evening at the latest.
In retrospect, we underestimated
three things: how long rental car contract negotiations can take, how vastly
spread Johannesburg is, and how insane traffic gets here. We managed to get out
of the Budget rental car office in Sandton on the northern edge of Jo’Burg
after an hour-long stand-off with the attendant. When came time to pick up my bike in
Boksburg, just south of O.R. Tambo airport, some thirty kilometers away,
traffic had started to invade the surrounding streets. Sriya still not used to driving standard,
especially on cars made for left-side driving, abdicated in my favor after a
series of stalls.
I learned to drive on stick-shift
cars when I was a ten year-old kid on the backroads of France. When I finally
obtained my license, all the cars I drove were standard; I think I have driven
an automatic car not more than five times in my life. Driving on the left
however was a challenge. Everyone knows that with left sided driving, the
passenger sits on the left and the driver on the right: the car is a mirror
image of “normal” cars. Therefore, I sat down on the right seat, driving on the
left, shifting on the left, activating my windshield wipers when I wanted to
signal, and signaling when I wanted to wipe my windshield. At least the pedals
are arranged the same way. In the end, I did alright, but it left me downright wondering
why British leftovers feel outright that left is the right way when clearly it
should be the right, right?
Anyways,
after turtle-ing our way through six kilometers in one hour despite the five
lane highway, we abandoned our goal and stopped at a mall to grab a bite to eat
and wait for the traffic to die down. We finally returned home around 8:30 PM.
At this point, the combination of jet lag, travel fatigue, and traffic fatigue
had the best of me and I crashed after meeting Pascal and Tam, two other Bara
students, that were going to grab a beer with Sriya.
The next morning, I waited for the
early passing of rush-hour and hired a taxi to drive me to the BMW dealership.
In Canada, BMW motorcycle dealerships are just like any other bike dealerships:
very approachable vendors and laid back atmosphere. In Jo’Burg, perhaps because
the motorcycle dealership was coupled with its automobile counterpart, I was
greeted like a foreign dignitary. I was appointed my own personal aid who
followed me around, served me an excellent cappuccino, and answered all my
questions while my bike was being prepared. Cute. But as far as I’m concerned,
I would rather talk motorcycle with someone who knows me on a more personal
level than a really nice company logo.
New musical selection:
or
or
As a
testament to how insane the singing tradition is in South Africa: You have a
spontaneous three to four voice chant in a stadium… You can barely get people
to clap on time in concerts in Canada.
or
Someone gave me a set of keys. I stepped out
and there she was. My very own BMW 650GS Sertao. High ground clearance, long
travel suspension, 21” front wheel to roll over obstacles, torque-y single
cylinder engine… she was made for off-roading. I baptized her Shosholoza, or
Shoshy for short, after an African song of the same name which translates
roughly to “Keep on going” or “Go forward” a perfectly suited moniker for an
enduro motorcycle. It was originally sung by miners to encourage each other and
try to lift their spirits while slaving away at the back-breaking chores they
were asked to accomplish. The workers were often brought to the
mines by train, explaining the lyrics below. Now, you will hear the song most often in rugby
or soccer stadiums as the crowd cheers for their favorites in one of the most
beautiful and elaborate sports chant.
The easily learned lyrics and its
very rough translation go thusly:
Shosholoza Go forward
Kulezo ntaba on those distant mountains,
Stimela siphume South Africa Train from South Africa
Wen' uyabaleka Because you are running away
Kulezo ntaba on those distant mountains,
Stimela siphume South Africa Train from South Africa
Shosholoza Go forward
Kulezo ntaba on those distant mountains,
Stimela siphume South Africa Train from South Africa
Wen' uyabaleka Because you are running away
Kulezo ntaba on those distant mountains,
Stimela siphume South Africa Train from South Africa
And just like that, three days after
tucking the girls to sleep in my parents’ garage, I was back on the saddle. Luckily
for me, bikes are bikes whether you drive on the right or on the left thus
allowing me to fully enjoy my South African riding debut without an adjustment
period. The nimble little thumper eagerly danced with agility and reconciliated
me with South African roads that I was loathing only the day prior. I spent the
rest of the afternoon relaxing, reading under the shade of our lemon tree, and
watching the Scotland Vs South Africa rugby game on TV (Boks won if you're curious).
When the sun started dipping down, I
put on a pair of running shoes and headed south to the Klipriviersberg Nature Reserve
for a jog. After a couple hundred meters, I spotted large birds pecking at the
ground and running away from me rather than flying away. I thought nothing of
them except that they were similar to chickens though easier on the eyes. About
a kilometer later, I spotted the same kind of birds doing the very same:
pecking, running away, and looking prettier than chickens. I do not know
exactly why but I stopped my run and started looking at them. I noticed they
were on what seemed like an elevated muddy ridge, so I approached them guided
mostly by curiosity rather than purpose. That is when I realized that this
muddy ridge was the border of a watering hole. The embankment was riddled with
animal tracks that had recently quenched their thirst and the most prevalent
one was that of a two-toed animal. Right as I made this observation, the corner
of my eye caught a slight movement roughly thirty meters away: poking its head
out of a few tree branches and starring at me intensely was a zebra!! Frozen by
surprise and excitement, I dared not move but the ten to fifteen other zebras I
had not identified continued grazing the high herbs with the least of worries in
the world. This was such a surreal moment. My jogging animal encounters had
mainly consisted in squirrels and pigeons in Montreal while in South Africa,
zebras and pretty chickens replaced them in style.
Being a tourist and frankly not
knowing any better, I slowly attempted to approach the four-legged referees but
their excellent eyesight had none of it. They stepped back to all my advances
which indicated to me that they were probably all females. Apparently, my
winter camouflaged skin would best be avoided on future animal watching endeavours.
I snapped a few photos and carried on with my jog. When the sunlight became
scarce and the earth’s celestial neighbour provided just has much luminosity I
decided to turn around. As I did so, a flash of white jumped across the trail
and into the tall grass. Then two more. On further inspection, these flashes
were springboks. They were even more reticent than the zebras for us to share
the same general area indicating to me they were probably females I was
interested in.
When I came back home, Stewart, my
other medical student roommate was about to go out. So I grabbed a quick shower
and joined him, Lorna (an ex-roommate), and her friend Tracy. Very fun evening
talking about all things South Africa. Lorna being from Mpumalanga province
just east of Jo’Burg provided me with all the right reasons why I should have a
nice road trip the next day…
Which I did, but which I will
describe next time… these things keep getting longer and longer.
Cheers guys!
TF
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