As most of you all know, my favorite genre of music is European dance music. These songs might pluck the deepest, most genuine chords of a human being’s essence, but they are lyrically designed for a specific audience. That would be an audience of basic-to-intermediate English speakers. Therefore, my repertoire of adjectives has rapidly dwindled to a collection of words that describe taste, color, and make-believe characteristics Today proved that there is a future for people like myself.
Leaving the hotel at 9 this morning, we hopped in our boy Stevo’s large, boxed van to head to a vineyard on the outskirts of Cape Town. Tokara, the vineyard, had a stunning view overlooking its grapes, rolling hills, and the city below. However, it was 10 am, and I wasn’t really too keen on getting completely slippery that early. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of days that I waste by doing things like playing Xbox until my eyes bleed or seeing who’s the father on the Maury show, but slurping down a stranger’s grape juice wasn’t my ideal day-waster. Luckily, we got some sweet drone shots out there to share.
We rolled out and drove through the town of Stellenbosch. The country’s second oldest settlement exudes Dutch heritage with thatched roofs, and the population mainly speaks Afrikaans. I’m a huge fan of random languages, and I hoped that this would sound a bit like German, but sadly Afrikaans just sounds like someone gargling a piece of play-do after eating a cup of ice. No wonder the Dutch birthrate is so low.
The boys eventually made our way to a Franschhoek Motor Museum to see an incredibly large private collection of cars. While waiting for the tram to the museum, there was a vintage Rolls Royce and a vintage Bentley in the parking lot. I dated an older girl once; I can appreciate an old model. However, these rolling works of art were tainted by the douchey owners who hovered around them. They literally had berets and smoking jackets on like they were unemployed substitute teachers dressed like Sherlock Holmes for Halloween. Oh well. The museum was fantastic, the cars were beautiful, and we thought that Christian was going to have a heart attack.
Later on, we had an amazing lunch at Sir Richard Branson’s hotel/estate, Mont Rochelle, and headed towards our last stop, the Grande Provence. Just on the outside of Franschhoek, the boys had another wine tasting, and I couldn’t help but appreciate our spiritual guide’s collection of obscure adjectives. Is this cup of juice really velvety? I must have missed the oak, and where the hell did you taste burnt apple skins? They must have a bet going to see how outlandishly they can describe something and still have people say “hmm… that’s really nice.”
This evening we feasted at a sleek, velvety restaurant called the Pot Luck Club. Located in an old biscuit mill, this restaurant doesn’t serve anything that is more than 5 bites. None of that is a joke. Despite loving places like Waffle House and frequently ordering two entrees (when other people are paying), this place was actually amazing in my opinion. Would recommend.
Tomorrow the gang heads off to our romantic weekend retreat. Stay tuned, and feast your eyes on some prawn of the drone variety below!
With broadened vocabulary,
Christian “Hmm, yes the burnt apple has great mouth-feel,” Hans “AHHH sure, that velvety taste,” and Josef “Are there grapes in here?” Braunfisch