Stellies

Late morning I arrived in Stellenbosch, another popular stop in a beautiful location for wine aficionados. I needed to think about a few logistical things for the next few days as I’m excited about travelling up to the Cederberg Wilderness Area on New Year’s Day. When that was done I searched for a hairdresser that wasn’t shut for the Christmas holidays.

I was successful with a trim. The hairdresser was very quirky, disclosing that he’s handing his notice in next week because he’s not ‘feeling the vibe’ of the salon. He pointed out my grey hairs, interrogated my marital status and told me I look older than 37. Men’s Health magazine appeared whilst I was having my hair washed, and he asked whether I’d considered blond highlights, both of which I think were suggestions to regain my diminishing youth. I’m actually not against the highlights idea but I don’t live in a 1990s surfing community so I don’t think I’ll pursue it. The hairdresser then explained he’s going around guesthouses on New Year’s Day offering blow dries to women who he will ask to donate to a cause to help one of his friends who suffers from sleep apnea.

The weather was glorious today in Stellenbosch, and the town is so well-preserved and whitewashed that it feels like it should be in the Mediterranean. It is strange to enjoy its aesthetics with the level of disparity among South Africans, which is arguably starker here than elsewhere. I strolled to the Stellenbosch University Botanical Garden, which was the first such garden established in South Africa. This building peeping through the foliage looked interesting and was named the Conservatorium so I investigated further, hoping to find botanical specimens from pioneering scientists, or some stuffed endangered creatures, perhaps. No, it houses the Bureau for Economic Research. Vital, but less thrilling.

I picked up a late Christmas present when I impulse bought a South Africa history book, which the bookshop owner confirmed was written ‘in an accessible style, not one that you need a history degree for’. I also bought a comic pamphlet from a homeless guy who said he’d created them to bring cheer to people. It was enterprising but I regretted it when I saw him again later in a fairly bad state.

2019 requires some analysis so I’ll save that for the next few days when I’ve got more time for contemplation. Suffice to say I remember New Year’s Eve twenty years ago as a 17-year old when I was working at a pub and there was much clamour about Gemma Williams’s house party. She lived on a farm and her parents had allowed her to have a few parties, whilst simultaneously raging at us all each time they arrived home to the carnage. I recall having a headache and being disinterested in attending this one, so skipped it. In early 2000 as we returned to college there was the usual gossip about X being caught snogging Y in the laundry room. Shuttling rumours between each other now seems like a pointless use of time, yet perhaps it served a purpose as a young adult. Perhaps everyone wanted to snog Y and were living vicariously through X, and wanted to keep the fantasy alive.