Day 17: All that Really Matters in Life
Another sunny day, my last in Cape Town before heading to London for a week, then returning here for the quarter finals and semi finals. The Round of 16 ticket which I'd bought in anticipation of England playing Australia in Rustenburg on Saturday has been sold back to FIFA. I'm not making that road trip again unless a stretch limo turns up at the front door, with tickets to a heated box which serves hot chocolate laced with tia maria all night.
I watch Brazil play Portugal on a big screen in a Kurdish restaurant, wearing my Aussie scarf. That's South America, Europe, the Middle East, Australasia and Africa in one setting - sums up the World Cup.
As interesting as the game is the conversation on the table behind me. I did not see the couple come in, but after an hour or two of listening to their loud chat, I feel as though I know them. He sounds like an old English guy, slightly posh, while her voice is much younger and softer, of Asian or African origin. A sugar daddy? A sugar grand daddy? He tells her how lonely he was before she came along, and we hear how he used to fill in his time alone. It was so fortunate that they met when she was 48 rather than 28 - okay, she's not as young as I thought. She's had a busy year, a tough time in some sort of business. There are joking references to his age. He laughs loud and heartily, and it's a genuine and joyful sound, and he's very polite to the waiter. He orders water - but he is very specific that he wants tap water with ice, so he's not flashing the rand.
He comments on the game, trying too hard to impress with his limited knowledge. For some time, he thinks it's Paraguay playing (not many people here can't recognise Ronaldo, or think he's from Paraguay). He says that Portugal need to win to qualify, when they only need to draw. And he gives an incorrect and tortured explanation of the obstruction law.
By the end of the game, I'm bursting to see what they look like. So I call for the bill, and try not to look too obvious as I turn around. He's a short chap, quite wide, a rough but friendly face, a good smile. She's handsome rather than beautiful, African of medium build, and she's sitting almost sideways, facing him. He's done well.
And I could reach only one conclusion: he's come to both love and football late in life.
So a few final thoughts before I hit the road again, out of Africa.
The food has been good but not great, and it's an inexpensive place to eat and drink. Alcohol in particular is cheap, with beer only R10 (about $1.75) in bars. Debbie, here's a good kurdish dessert of rice pudding topped with ice cream and a liqueur which I think is Amaretto.
I watch Brazil play Portugal on a big screen in a Kurdish restaurant, wearing my Aussie scarf. That's South America, Europe, the Middle East, Australasia and Africa in one setting - sums up the World Cup.
As interesting as the game is the conversation on the table behind me. I did not see the couple come in, but after an hour or two of listening to their loud chat, I feel as though I know them. He sounds like an old English guy, slightly posh, while her voice is much younger and softer, of Asian or African origin. A sugar daddy? A sugar grand daddy? He tells her how lonely he was before she came along, and we hear how he used to fill in his time alone. It was so fortunate that they met when she was 48 rather than 28 - okay, she's not as young as I thought. She's had a busy year, a tough time in some sort of business. There are joking references to his age. He laughs loud and heartily, and it's a genuine and joyful sound, and he's very polite to the waiter. He orders water - but he is very specific that he wants tap water with ice, so he's not flashing the rand.
He comments on the game, trying too hard to impress with his limited knowledge. For some time, he thinks it's Paraguay playing (not many people here can't recognise Ronaldo, or think he's from Paraguay). He says that Portugal need to win to qualify, when they only need to draw. And he gives an incorrect and tortured explanation of the obstruction law.
By the end of the game, I'm bursting to see what they look like. So I call for the bill, and try not to look too obvious as I turn around. He's a short chap, quite wide, a rough but friendly face, a good smile. She's handsome rather than beautiful, African of medium build, and she's sitting almost sideways, facing him. He's done well.
And I could reach only one conclusion: he's come to both love and football late in life.
So a few final thoughts before I hit the road again, out of Africa.
The food has been good but not great, and it's an inexpensive place to eat and drink. Alcohol in particular is cheap, with beer only R10 (about $1.75) in bars. Debbie, here's a good kurdish dessert of rice pudding topped with ice cream and a liqueur which I think is Amaretto.
Although their team is eliminated, the South Africans have loved the event. But watch out - the vuvuzelas are returning home with the tourists in their thousands.
And we had a pretty good time too, although I think Debbie just about reached capacity on football.
posted by Graham Hand | 9:58 AM
3 Comments:
How could you say that?! I have just watched the highlights of the Uru v Kor game, devoting a whole 2 min 35 sec to it.
Probably not Amaretto but 'Amarula- the Spirit of Africa', a cream liqueur flavoured with the Marula fruit. Have one for me while you are there.
Ah yes, Amarula sounds right, tasted good too.
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