Dave and Dad are…
In Soweto.
So I never actually made it to bed last night. By the time I got back from Muizenberg I had time to grab my stuff and pick up the Old Man en route to returning the car and catching the red eye to Johannesburg.
Once in Johannesburg it was straight to yet another rental agency to pick up our new ride and then out into the maze that is Johannesburg’s highway system. I of course was still the only driver cause he refuses to revisit his past experiences driving on the wrong side of the road. So sleepless, and more importantly starving I drove all the way through town to Soweto.
Gabe and Justin gave me a hostel recommendation after a fairly boisterous few days they spent there last week so since I was in charge of securing lodging for the night I booked it, though the Old Man seemed quite nervous at the idea of spending the night in Soweto.
Despite directions that consisted of things like “Left at the seventh working stop light”, we made it with no problem. The hostel was every bit as cool as billed.
The whole compound was pretty crazy, all done up Jamaican style and had a beautiful courtyard full of trees, bamboo divided sitting circles, and most importantly, hammocks.
I fucking love hammocks. You could count them amongst my pillars of existence. Once I saw that it was game, set and match for a weary Dave.
Specially when it was determined that the hammock was feet from their outdoor “honor system” bar.
The Apartheid Museum is bizarrely located in the same complex as a Six Flags style theme park.
I let the Old Man go off and explore the Apartheid Museum on his own and settled deeper and deeper into the hammock.
Really the only bummer about this oasis was the fact that my Dad, nervous about wandering out into the Soweto streets after dark, decided to put us down for dinner in the hostel. I’m never a huge fan of this as you never know what you’re gonna get and this time it was fish. I don’t eat fish, and when you haven’t eaten all day and are starving to finally find yourself face to face with dinner only to discover its inedible was quite a blow.
With that and my exhaustion I wasn’t my usual laid back backpacking self. But that improved with some more time at the honor system bar and a few hours of watching the Bears game on my laptop in front of a roaring fire.
I didn’t even have to listen to whatever third tier broadcasting crew was working the game thanks to some crazy Rastafarian guy, all tie-dye, dreads and overalls, playing his original compositions on guitar in between rolling himself monstrous joints. (No, that’s not the Rasta, though in his own way the Old Man is just as ridiculous.)
Shame we don’t get to spend more time here. I could definitely stay in this hammock for a few days.