Warthog Kidney: Old Jozi

I had the pleasure of being up in Johannesburg for a few days on business. Now to a Capetonian, that statement would make little or no sense, because no bona fide Capetonian could even conceive of the idea that a visit to Johannesburg might be a pleasure. But even after having lived in the Mother City for six plus fifteen years, nearly half my life, I would not regard myself as a true-blooded Capetonian. I am despicably undecided in my allegiance to our provincial sports teams, going so far as to voice outright my opinion that if the game is good, I don't really care whether the Stormers or the Sharks win. I do not take my holidays in the Western Cape - in fact I have never even seen the Big Five in our local game reserve, preferring as I do to visit th real bushveld and see the big five hundred. Worst of all, I don't wish to declare political independence from Pretoria, which I still regard as the country's capital. I could give more examples, but those would be enough to get me turfed out of most Cape Town clubs or pubs, with a stiff clip on the ear to send me on my way.

So it is that, much as I love Cape Town (and I really do), a visit to the real Africa where I grew up and spent the other half of my working life, is often a breath of fresh air. For all Jozy's problems, it is still a fascinating and wonderful city. I flew in on Wednesday evening. It was a public holiday - Human Rights Day to be precise, and the radio had been full of program's remembering Sharpeville. In Cape Town when I left it was hot, steamy and frankly unpleasant. I boarded the Mango flight clad only in teeshirt and shorts. Our pilot told us that the second half of the journey and the descent were likely to be bumpy, as there were a number of large thunderstorms around Johannesburg. Not the kind of news a traveller relishes, but I felt strangely excited. I miss the highveld storms of my boyhood. We lived in a house near the top of the Observatory ridge and would quite often experience lightning strikes or near strikes and deafening rolls and claps of thunder as the almost daily summer storms rolled by us, often more than once. Herself tells me she hated them. To this day she will not willingly stay in houses with corrugated iron roofs, because the noise of the hail on her roof as a little girl terrified her half to death. I somehow missed that apprehension and always found them very exciting. So it was that as we began our descent and then final approach, and wheeled over the veld as sheet lightning flashed in several quadrants at once, I felt inexplicably both excited and at peace.

We landed in rain and had to make a bolt for the bus. It was surprisingly cold and I donned my hoody as soon as I was able. I had a headache, presumably to do with the 16km I had run in the heat that morning, or possibly something to do with the beer I had in Cape Towb airport, but whatever the cause, I had an acute sense of humour failure in the car rental office, somewhere around the 12th signature and got rather grumpy with the young lady thereafter. They gave me a Hyundai i10, which turned out to be a really nice little car - may just buy one! I somehow navigated my way to herself's childhood home in Highlands North where her mother, brother, brother's fiancé and brother's fiance's daughter were awaiting my arrival. It being Granny's birthday, we celebrated with pork schnitzel, beer, sweet white wine, red cabbage, roast potato and spinach, followed up by generous helpings of chocolate ice cream. Delightful.

The next morning I rose at 630 - an unusual luxury, and had a quick dip in the pool. The water was "fresh". I then drove myself across town to the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Rosebank, following the way I remembered from many years ago - 11th Avenue, Glenhove across the M1 and on to Oxford Street. I am not sure when last I visited Rosebank but it would be an understatement to say it has changed a lot. It is barely recognisable, what with the Gautrain station and all. Having said that, I think they have done a nice job. It is what it sets out to be - an upmarket shopping Mecca.

I won't go into the rather mundane details of the meeting, which went on for 2 days and was a good meeting, as meetings go. Th food was excellent and I ate and drank altogether too much. On the Thursday evening there was a "gala dinner" scheduled for 7 pm. I had about 2 hours to kill, so took a walk through the Mall. It was one of those glorious late summer highveld afternoons, with the sun just sinking over Northcliff and the sky literally golden. I know that cynics would say it is the Jozy pollution which does it, but it doesn't detract from the beauty, even if that is so. I climbed up to a suitable view site on the top floor of a parking garage and spent a few minutes just taking it in. I had a 360 degree view, but particularly pleasing was the view to the West, and to the south, when the late sun was picking out the Hospital and the Parktown and Houghton Ridges, with the Hillbrow Tower and the city buildings in the background. Say what you like, they are splendid in their own way.

Last night we had a Braai at my brother in law's house, out in Midrand, in the north. He lives in a freestanding house, but within a security complex - a very common arrangement in Johannesburg, for obvious reasons. It was a warm windless night and we sat around the pool chatting as the wors and chops sizzled on the Weber and the twilight turned to dark. Jupiter and Venus hung bright in the Western sky, just above the horizon, then disappeared. It was idyllic. I tried to picture the Braai happening at that same moment at home in Cape Town - the princesses and their boyfriends were having one. The wind would be howling, folks would be reaching for their sweaters, doors would be slamming ... Come on: let's give Johannesburg its due. Our weather stinks!

The last bit of pleasure was this morning. I got up early and, feeling rather guilty about my over eating and lack of exercise, took myself for a walk through the suburbs. In the end I walked 7.5km in about an hour and a quarter. My route took my up Kallenbach Drive and back down Sylvia's Pass, which for those who don't know are roads on Linksfield Ridge. The view from the former, looking out over the northern and eastern suburbs is quite stupendous, especially at 7 am. There are still patches on that ridge which look like they did before the miners came in 1880. I loved it.

So here's to the Grand Old Lady. You may not be the Mother City, but don't let anyone put you down - you still have class and a lot besides.