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Monday 11 April 2011
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THE TWO FACES OF STELLENBOSCH

The blonde was sitting alone at a table on the deserted terrace of a place aptly named The Terrace.
She was sipping on a cold beer, a jug of iced water comfortably lingering on the side.

It was 10am on Saturday morning, a glorious morning, and I was with the crew to set up for the night’s party.

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So Co Lime was doing a huge party at three venues in the same complex and catering to the student market in the heart of Stellenbosch.

We were also scheduled to do sound for three bands performing that night at a place called De Bras Brew or something like that.
One of the bands was named ‘Die Seisoen Na Somer.

“Now this is going to be fun.’ I thought to myself.
Different.
I was quite looking forward to it.

But back to the blonde.

Probably in her late thirties, pudgy, with a ruddy reddish complexion, she was dressed in a loose fitting, nondescript fawn coloured lacks and a white blouse. She had on a pair of blue rubber beach thongs.
Sh e reminded me of a very minor character in a dog-eared James Hadley Chase paperback.
Weather beaten.

Judging from her accent, she was definitely foreign and probably Germanic.
I have no idea how long she had been sitting there, but when she ordered her next beer from the black waiter, I noticed that her tone was arrogant.
She spoke to him like a slave owner talking to her husband's slave.
‘Probably a German thing.’ I thought.

The blonde tried to strike up a conversation with one of the crew.
In fact, during the course of the morning she tried strike up a conversation with anything that moved.

But when she spoke to anyone else, the arrogance was not there.

Every time she spoke to the waiter though, it was back.

Several beers later, she had forced herself on an unfortunate guy who made the mistake of having a coffee while reading his newspaper on the blonde’s terrace.
She had joined him at his table and when the waiter passed by I heard her literally screaming at him ‘YOU TOOK AWAY MY GLASS! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DRINK MY WATER!!’

I wanted to lure her into a dark alley behind the pub and strangle her, like other characters in James Hadley Chase novels would have.

But I regress.

According to the crew, the party rocked.
It’s been a while since I saw so many whites in the same place, but they mixed freely with all and sundry and there wasn’t a whiff of racism in the air.
Like the owner of one of two venues said to me ‘I told you. It gets rof.’

And on Sunday my faith in foreigners was restored when we did a very laid back and very up-market lunch and cocktails gig with a jazz duo performing at Sansibar on the Asara Wine Estate, catering to an obviously very rich but not so famous crowd.

Two completely different faces of Stellenbosch, with the only sign of racism coming from an aged beyond her years, frustrated foreign alcoholic bitch who had passed her sell by date.

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