Everyone I had spoken to about this area waxed lyrical about it. Actually, let me pause for a moment. Where the fuck does the phrase 'waxing lyrical' actually come from? When you look at it on a computer screen, it just looks weird. Anyway, I digress.
On Thursday morning, I drove into Stellenbosch and had a mooch around. It's a charming little town, and it looked a lot better in the gleaming sunshine than it did with hordes of students stumbling around it the night before.
I picked up some guides for the area from a tourist information centre, and then set off in my car out of town to a winery area. I was slightly dubious about the idea of going somewhere to drink and then drive back from it, to be honest. I resolved to try no more than the equivalent of a glass of wine, and then go back to my hotel where I could explore on foot some of the wineries in that area. Of course, there was the option of driving around all day to various places and spitting out the wine, but I put it to you: What is the fucking point? The thought of gobbing a vintage variety into a bucket, and then turning to someone to complement its pallet, is beyond alien to me.
I rocked up at a delightful place just south of Stellenbosch called the Mountford Estate. If it were not for the imposing mountains in the background, I could have been forgiven for thinking it was the south of France. The place was absolutely beautiful, the wine was lovely, and pleasingly the tastings came in small enough sizes to allow me to safely get back behind the wheel once I'd finished.
After dumping my car back at the hotel, which was a good few miles out of town to the north east of Stellenbosch, I practically sprinted to an inviting looking winery nearby. Again, it was a stunning place, and I gladly shelled out for a bottle of one of the tipples I tried.
I had a pleasant if non eventful Thursday night in Stellenbosch, and in the morning headed up towards Franschhoek. It was less than half an hour's drive from hotel to hotel, so I decided to take a short detour and have a look at the nearby city of Paarl, which is the largest place in the winelands. I'm glad I did, if only to give myself a sense of satisfaction that I wouldn't be spending the night there. Lonely Planet describes Paarl thus: "Long overlooked by people heading for Stellenbosch and Franschhoek, its charm is now being rediscovered." I put that sentence through my inbuilt bullshit interpretation app, and this was the result: "Long considered to be a total dump compared to other places in the area, some people now don't think it's quite as bad as they once thought after bits of it got tarted up." Why can't these guide books call a turd, a turd? I mean, Paarl is just a nondescript, faceless town that just happens to be very well connected to other places. It is the Basildon of Africa.
I arrived in Franschhoek around lunch time. This small town is thought of by many as the highlight of the winelands. It has French roots, and contains a plethora of small restaurants, art galleries and museums. I was looking forward to spending a couple of days here.
One of the consequences of having an open itinerary on this trip is that when I do decide at the last minute where I am going to spend the night, my accommodation options are limited. Especially in a small place like Franschhoek. I ended up booking a room in a nice sounding guesthouse for my weekend here. Now, I don't normally go in for guesthouses. Some people like the idea of being made at home in the house of complete strangers, but I don't. I'm not a swinger, and I prefer the anonymity that a hotel gives you any day of the week. However, the guesthouse I stayed in in Cape Town had been great, so I was optimistic about this one in Franschhoek. When I arrived, I was greeted at the door by an old geezer who looked at me in such a way as to suggest that I really shouldn't be staying in his house. If we could have come to a mutual agreement there and then to go our separate ways, I would have taken it. He eyed me up and down and asked me my name.
"Hi, I'm Matt"
"Uh?"
"Matt"
"Uh?"
"Matt"
"Welcome, Natt"
I was shown up to my room. It looked really nice as the door opened, and then as soon as I walked inside, I was terrified. On a dressing table was a Mills and Boon novel. On the bedside table was the Bible. This was surely a statement. The first thought that entered my head was 'I don't think I'll be bringing any one night stands back here tonight'. Which, in reality, was a pointless eventuality to contemplate as I would have more chance of pulling the Pope than getting laid in Franschhoek.
I left the guesthouse after dumping my bags, took heart from the fact there were at least six other people staying there, and went in search of a bar.
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