So, with considerable help and networking assistance from local folk legend, Heather Waters, we lined up some gigs in George/Plett/Knysna, packed our bags, and hit the road. Within the first few minutes of arriving at our first destination - Misty Meadows outside George - we had learnt the entire beer-making process and were sampling a sprinkling of the native brew.
We played the first night of the Misty Meadows Beer Festival, as well as the second day, then headed out towards Plettenberg Bay. We had a show booked with Heather Waters at Surf Cafe - so we set up camp at the always awesome Starling Village and made our way to the venue. (This entire paragraph almost rhymed kinda).
Surf Cafe was... well I don't know. We definitely had tequila. All of the tequila. And when I woke up the next morning I was sandwiched between Heather and roadie Michelle in the back of a VW Combi. On top of that, no one seemed to recall where exactly Julian had disappeared to. We found him roaming around town - delirious and frantic after an intense sleepover at a Brazilian bartender's place. It was a good night... I've been told.
So to add a healthy twist to our extremely confused and hungover morning, Julian and I took an unintended 2-hour hike to a secluded beach that forms part of the magnificently beautiful Robberg Nature Reserve in Plett. After swimming on both sides of what appeared to be a strip of beach that extended far out into the sea, we made our way back to the car and headed to Knysna for a gig at Quay 4.
After finishing up at Quay 4, we were seriously considering driving back to Somerset West... But it was around 1am and it had just begun to storm - so instead - we packed up our things, found a local backpackers (evidently the last backpackers with an available room in Knysna) and made our way over there expecting the worst.
What became of the night is something for the grandchildren one day. We ended up getting drunk with a Capetonian girl with a heavy lisp, a travelling German student who'd just finished his masters in physics, and a seemingly immortal British gentleman who hadn't used a telephone in 16 years.
In the morning, we awoke early, packed our things and hit the road before anyone could remind us of our behaviour the night before. The road home was long, hot and tiring - and we arrived back in Scummerset West already missing the greenery of the lush Garden Route and the relaxed good nature of the coastal folk. There's something magical about being a musician and getting to go on holidays like these - where you end up arriving home with more money than you left with - having had the time of your life. I urge you to try it sometime.
No comments:
Post a Comment