Loneliness courses through my veins
Like a cancer,
Eating at my heart, my being,
My soul.
Leaving a hole...
A void so swarthy and cold,
Darker than the blackest night.

Goddamn, perhaps I should send that to The Sisters of Mercy, Ozzy Osbourne, or Bles Bridges! Needless to say the pain of separation was real, and the rest of the week was kak. Being in a place like this where one has zero comprehension of the language (I flunked out of my class in embarrassment after confidently announcing to my classmates [in Czech] that "Sarah likes a big, black salami"! I couldn't stop laughing after that, lost some friends, and never went back!), and where the history of the country has made people very insular and suspicious of outsiders, makes one aware of just how valuable family and friends are to one. The only intelligent conversation I had today, for example, was with Butros...but that's another story!

When Debbie and I were not packing suitcases, drinking good pivo (beer), munching through good Czech food, or sightseeing, we were shopping. No CD's or fun stuff this time, but serious household stuff. For example, we got two neat chairs, as well as a shower rail, shower curtain, toilet brush, and toilet mat. Back in South Africa we had promised ourselves that we'd have a pet dog one day, possibly when we got to Praha. Long before Dr Greyling even considered mating for further offspring as opposed to doing so for recreational purposes, we decided that the dog would be called Butros!

Unfortunately a fourth floor apartment does not appreciate doggie poo, or facilitate the exercise (as my ever expanding waist will attest) required by a young and energetic Chinese (canine) dinner. Being in a city of creative, arty types we decided to apply lateral thought to the problem, and came up with the ideal solution! Butros does not bark (in fact he purrrrrrrs), he's about the size of a miniature doberman, eats all the shit I leave lying around, does not crap all over the place, and needs no exercise. He's a bright shade of purple (which goes well with the lime green carpet), has a long snout, and has a retractable tail! No trouble at all - the ideal pet! I must write to AEG and thank them for making the Vampyr 6400 vacuum cleaner - a true bachelor's friend. Butros is great. I drag him around the flat by his long flexible snout, and he just purrrs while sniffing away at the carpet and eating up all the available debris! He's a good listener as well, and has become my closest friend in Praha. Don't worry, I'm OK.....I think.

Talking about friends, I've got good/bad (?) news for everyone in Pretoria. Back in 1967 I met blond-haired German kid at Loretto Convent on our first day of school. We sat at the same table, and laid the foundations for what has become a 29 year friendship. In between games of "Spin The Bottle" with local stukkies, and learning how to drink cane (never, never, and never again!) we managed to do some school work and made it to Standard 5 at CBC. At that time my friend decided to follow his brother to (that 2nd rate "school") Boy's High, while I stayed on the Christian path. So deep was our friendship that at our Confirmation into the Pretorian Catholic church, I used his christian name as my adoptive saintly name! In Standard Six I started studying German for no other reason other "being able to speak with my buddy"! Our respective "50cc gangs" revved across each others paths many times between 1976 and 1978, mostly at shabeens, The Grand Wazoo (BJ's under the table!!!), parties, and dodging buckshot aimed at us by the fathers of irate under-age (ex-)virgins!

Amazingly we ended up on the same troop train to 7 SAI at Bourkes Luck in July 1979, and managed to get into bungalow 666 (really!) along with some other drop-outs! We kaked together! Three months later my colleague transferred to the SP Guards and I became Skutter 2, Seksie 2, Peleton 2, Alfa(good word!) Kompanie, 7 SAI, and 6 months later headed for "the border", and the snot that lay ahead in Sector 10 and southern Angola. Although we were in different units, our weekend passes sometimes overlapped, and when this happened we usually went on that rampage. On one infamous weekend I was in two serious accidents - I rolled a car on Thursday night, and on the Saturday (coming back from the Pretoria Show) I was a passenger in a Golf GTS piloted and rolled by my faithful friend!

At the beginning of 1981, I staggered into a dingy troops pub at a place called Mpacha in the Caprivi Strip, hunting down a Windhoek (no Castle for me, even in those days!). I turned a corner and bumped right into my old friend and colleague! Somehow I managed to organise myself the job of Officer's barman, and the trouble started. Without going into detail, we managed to organise ourselves a Bedford of our very own, and set up a little Mafia type operation. Needless to say, we drank for free, and while the other kids were eating rat-packs and clutch plates, we were having prawns, roll-mops and fillets flown in from Pretoria on a daily basis! Some politically incorrect loose-talk put paid to all that, and we ended up in the Detention Barracks where we thankfully dried out, got fit, developed our hatred for the system, and got ready to face the real world once again.

Back in Snor-City my mate joined the Pretoria News and the Argus Group, where he has been ever since. I went off to TUKS and got drunk (I was at TUKS wasn't I Hartmut?). We kept in contact, and made a yearly pilgrimage to the Deutsche Schule's Oktoberfest. At work he met a great woman, got married, and moved to Kimberley (to get away from my "bad influence"? Ha, Ha!). Not far enough away I'm afraid, and Debs and I have braved the sun, heat and Castles to visit our mates on numerous occasions (with many stories to recount of our adventures in the city of diamonds!). After about 10 years (I think) in Kimberley, watch out e'Petoli, the prodigal son returns! At the beginning of April, Audrey, Michelle, Robert and Michael Zeller return to set up home in Faerie Glen!

Mike, I certainly wish that I was home to ease your "re-integration into society"!! In my absence, I wish to volunteer my good friend and fellow beer connoisseur, Viracocha Guzmán to integrate you into the Keg & Hound "Hall of Fame". You've a lot of catching up to do Mike, and Miguel is the only guy who'll be able to provide you with the necessary training and exposure. He is currently staying in flat No. 1 in the same block as my mother - please get together! Welcome back Mike & Audrey! All the best.

Back to the present! Sorry about that - am I getting like you Harties?

Satre is quoted as saying: "Hell is other people"

I believe that I have to take issue with the learned gentleman. I agree with the above if the "other people" in question are strange Czechs, Whinging-Poms, Loud-Mouthed-Yanks or Bombastic-Germans (have I offended enough people here? he-hee! ;-). But to hark back to my earlier sentiments "Hell is the absence of other people, especially one's family and friends". It's difficult my chinas!

Talking about friends and how long, I've known people, In mid-December it was 10 years since I met (and shared many-a "bivvy" in the rain with) André Carel Smith "somewhere in the operational area"! Many a pint has flowed since then, not so AC? Not to mention the occasional Alfa and scuba-orgy! Thanks for all the good times. You should have been at Pension Licht with Debs and I again this year man! Let me tell you about the trip to Kitzbühel. Please stop me if I'm getting boring....

The two litre motor of the Renault roared to life disturbing the tranquillity of the early morning. It was 5.30am. Apart from Mark and Debs, the key players in this scene, the only other sign of life emanated from the Mafia-run Kapitan Hook disco some 5 meters ahead of them in front of the warming car. A dopey-eyed bouncer cased them out through a small un-frosted section of the sand-blasted glass panel in the entrance to the disco. Disinterested he turned away. "No-one special" he thought to himself, a thought he was to regret seven days later, in the early hours of January 1, 1996.

"Where is the bitch" Mark mumbled into his goatee. "She's over half a fucking hour late already". The hussy in question was one Spoefina Gwatelová, a petite administrative assistant with the Czech telecommunications company, Cekom. Her paramour was the gangly pessimist, Vitnes Geten, the angst-ridden Frenchman who occupied the office opposite Mark's on Týnská, in the heart of Starometska, the old town of Prague.

Sunday, January 14, 1996 @ 21h20

!!- NEWSFLASH -!!

Folks, I have to interrupt the start of my novel with an urgent newsflash. Today I actually CAST A SHADOW!! You're not going to believe it but, yes, today I SAW THE SUN!! Amazing as it may seem this was the fourth or fifth time that I've seen the golden orb since leaving Africa's blood-stained shores! I whipped out both the Ray-Bans and the Carreras and wore them intermittently. A strange feeling indeed. I could actually feel my now sickly-pale skin glowing pink. Nature is a wonderful thing - one certainly learns to appreciate the small blessings during the bleak Central European winter.

I think I'll carry on my novel in my own time - it takes too much time...I prefer writing on the trot! To get back to the scenario, Iman was hitching a ride to Kitzbühel with us and was going to meet up with Vitnes and a couple of other colleagues who had driven down some days earlier. She eventually arrived some 70 minutes late..."over-slept"...I was pissed off! Hit the road.

As Debs did not have a German visa we had to drive the south-eastern route to Brno (home of the Bren Gun [Brno + Enfield]), and then break off southwards through Ceské Budejovice (home of Budvar / Budweiser beer), and on to Linz in Austria. Sounds pretty straight-forward doesn't it. Ha! In the Czech Republic nothing is that simple. Ice, slush, fog, rain, narrow single-lane roads with no navigable aprons, and many old Russian, East German and Czech cars! Nightmare time! In South Africa I'm definitely chairman of the BMW Haters Club. But now I understand the context in which the cars were designed and built. In Africa the external temperature gauge is only used by upwardly mobile fuck-heads to brag about how effective their mega-buck air-conditioning is. In Europe you need to know whether the temperature is below zero degrees Celcius or not - the fucking road turns to black ice at that point...and it determines how you drive! The 20 buck temperature gauge could save your life!

Likewise with the fog lights. Gauteng yuppies use them to tell you to fuck off out of THEIR lane (yes, they DO own the road) and to melt the eyeballs of Ford Escort owners. I don't think the arse-holes have even read their owner's manuals because they don't seem to know where the on/off switch is. Tell me, where the hell is the fog on the Pta-Jhb highway?? In Europe fog-lights are also life-savers as you can't drive without them. On BMW's in South Africa I thought the letters ABS stood for Another Boozy Sales-rep. We don't really have weather that demands these advanced systems perfected on fighter planes. Oh sorry, I forgot - ABS allows your average Joeys cowboy to sit 5cm off the ass of the Escort in front of him (thus allowing him to liquidise the driver's eyeballs), and (sometimes) not hit said vehicle when the fucking angry driver decides to hit his brakes to give the little shit a fright. Occasional thunderstorm? - oh please, you just need to drive a little slower and check your distance. ABS is not crucial in SA; here it is your third life saver! Czech roads accept no survivors!

So, the drive was...testing! We get to the border at a place called Wullowitz, and hand our passports over to the nice customs persons on the Czech side. They ask to see the cars papers, I get them out of the cubby-hole and hand them over. They guy takes a look, calls his mates, and tells me to pull over. Hier kom groot kak. It transpires that the car's road worthy certificate expired in April 1995, the exhaust catalisor in January 1995, and the insurance was about to expire on December 31, 1995!! The message was unequivocal - get out of the car, leave the keys and our passports with the nice customs poeste, take all our gear (including Spoefina's skis), wait for the weekly bus, and get the fuck back to Prague! Ha! No problem! To make me even more angry, the Renault was a company car belonging to one of my colleagues (who was at this stage quaffing Guinness somewhere in the Emerald Isles) - we have a man who's responsible for the fleet!

The hussy came in useful - she was Czech! Adopting the appropriate subservient, respectful tone of voice, and with the occasional flutter of her eyelids together with admiring glances, she convinced the prick in the uniform that we would be happy to pay a Kc 500 "fine" if he allowed us through. We would be good comrades and get things sorted out in the new year. After 45 minutes of this bullshit, he took my money and wished us a merry Christmas. Scum.

We passed through Salzburg. Between this beautiful city and the Kitzbühel valley lies the scrotum of Germany, bulging out of the underpants of Bavaria and into Austria. Because Debs did not have an Allemagne visa we could obviously not take the direct route across this short stretch of the Vaderland, and had to skirt around it. Unfortunately Debs was navigating (love you Debs!). Next thing I'm saying to Debs "Oh shit, a toll plaza up ahead - did you see a sign saying how much we have to pay? No? Fuck these Austrian road signs are bad". We decided that we had better pull over at the Bureau de Change just before the plaza and cash some traveller's cheques as we had no Austrian Schillings. Debs wondered why the cashier gave her a confused look and shook her head when she changed her Dollars into Schillings. I shifted the car into gear, and moved back onto the autobahn. As we got closer I saw a little signboard with an official looking shield and the word "Zoll" written below it. Like any good Safrican this brought a little (red) twinkle to my eye, and I smiled...then I tested the ABS!! "Zoll"!!......Customs!!....."Skat we're driving into Germany"!

Yes my dear readers, it's a fact like a cow - I would have wondered why the man in the uniform did not want to take my money, and why he wanted to impound my unroadworthy car! After a good laugh, a sheepish (and highly illegal) U-turn got us back onto the road around the rim of the balsak. We felt like real Vaalies....lost in Margate!

Kitzbühel was great (as usual). We arrived on the afternoon of December 23, and on arrival organised ourselves skis and lift passes, and then retired to The Londoner for a couple of Gösser's (Apparently The Londoner sells more alcohol per square metre of floor area than any other establishment in Austria!). The week before Xmas is great - the village is quiet and homely, and the slopes are relatively quiet. The snow was pretty good, and improved with evening snow-falls. Getting back into skiing made me aware of just how unfit I am! Unfortunately my life membership of the Wealth & Gusset Club does not go very far here! Nevertheless Debs and I had an absolute jôl, interspersed with the occasional spectacular fall. My most memorable was exhaustedly coming down the Hanenkamm at the end of the afternoon (André, where you, Monty, Debs and I did our "ski-jumping" over a mound a couple of years back). Debs was skiing in front of me just after coming out of a hair-pin bend. All was well until fatigue decided to turn my skis left, thus propelling me off a cliff! No joke - I flew over the edge, yelled "Bok!" in terror, lost both skis and poles, rolled down the near-vertical slope for about 20 metres before (luckily) coming to unceremonious halt against a friendly pine tree! Debs didn't notice and skied on determinedly. An English slag saw and heard me, and was certain that I needed medical attention. I politely told her to get the fuck back to her water-logged island, as I dug the snow out of my ears, jacket, underpants and video camera. There must be a God!

Christmas was a laid back affair, and we arranged a special meal of traditionally prepared "schweinshaxen" with all the trimmings and Tirolean wine. It was certainly an evening to remember. The manageress of our pension (Pension Licht), a woman named Renate, went to a lot of trouble to set up the dinner at a local restaurant. It was because of this great service that we returned to Licht in the first place. Debs, André Smiff and I were there 4 years ago. Yssie, we had the room just below the one you stayed I last time!

The drive back to the Czech Republic was great. We took a back route from St Johann to Saalfelden and then on through the Dientener Berge, and little (but very impressive) ski resorts like Maria Alm, Dienten and Mühlbach - all places to which I will return. The skiing and environment there is beautiful and pristine. On the autobahn I drove behind, along-side and in front of the new Fiat Barchetta Spider - the first I have seen on the road. Debs caught the beautiful sight on video (through the snow and windscreen gunk) for you all to see! Can't wait to see the new Alfa Romeo in poetic motion!!

We got to the infamous border crossing in the early evening. The Austrians didn't even want to see our passports. This worried me, so I reversed back to their cubicle, and told them that we were South African, and asked whether they would please check (or is that czech?) our visas. They were very uninterested, and pointed out that their colleagues on the CZ side may be more interested. We pulled up to next cubicle. The nice chap in uniform took the two passports, cheerfully stamped mine...and then called his colleagues to take a look at Debs'. Hier kom groot kak!

The problem was, apparently, that Debbie did not have a multiple entry visa. But she did - our visas were identical! Unfortunately we did not have the Czech bimbo with us, so I got out of the car to negotiate. In my best German I pointed out that the visa was a multiple, but the cunt with the badge politely explained to me that I was mistaken, and it would cost me Kc 1,500 to get Debs back into the country! We're just about to get our full Czech residence permits for Christ's sake! We live there! I whipped out my wallet and followed the fuck- knuckle to his office. On the way to the bastards hovel we were joined by an auntie with a badge. I decided to get a second opinion, and explained the situation to her. She took Debs' passport, studied the visa, proclaimed that she would need to issue another visa, but as South Africans it would cost us zip! If looks could kill, her colleague would have hung, drawn and quartered her! There went the poes with the cap's Christmas bonus! Luckily he didn't ask for the car's papers!

The rest of the ride back was uneventful, but taxing. Not only does one have to contend with all the problem highlighted earlier on, but the Czech authorities do not seem to think it worthwhile to treat or prepare the roads in winter. That is they do not lay down grit to improve traction, or salt to melt the ice and snow. Remember the "speed sessions" at Pretoria Ice Rink in the early seventies (shit, that's a long time ago)? Well, that was the drive home! We made it unscathed!

Sunday, January 21, 1996 @ 22h30

Today I hit (collided with ?) a milestone - half way to the age of 70. My 35th birthday, and the first I have celebrated entirely on my own. Even during my 2 year sentence with the racist military puppets of the regime, I had some "connections" around. Nevertheless it turned out to be a very rewarding day for me.

It started at an ungodly hour! Last night (in a particularly depressed state) I forced myself out into the -17° C cold and to a party hosted by a colleague in our Management Consulting division. After a rucksack of beer, a number of Becherovka's (a local cinnamon flavoured schnapps - very good and very potent), and a few Irish whisky shots, I was feeling a little better. A little after midnight, a Dutch couple (Gekko & Runnie Kisses) and an American pair (Redek & Danys Ballihurting) invited me to join them for a few for the road at Gekko's place just outside Prague. We endeavoured to play Risk, cards and dice, but didn't get very far. Redek fell over, the girls danced on the table, and I was given a great birthday present- a bag of Dutch Zoute Drop!! My favourites! At 04h00 I loaded Redek & Danys into a cab, and managed to get back home in one piece.

At 08h30 my dearest mother calls to wish me happy birthday. I could not be pissed off - it was good to hear from her and she really cheered me up. Half an hour later, Debs called and lifted my hangover by about 100 metres! Orange juice!! Before lunch I went to Ikea (a Swedish furniture store) and bought a stand for my hi-fi, and a stool for the kitchen. The rest of the day was spent unpacking and assembling the new Nicam, Dolby Pro-Logic, Surround-Sound home theatre system that our SA insurance company bought us after our burglary in Pretoria towards the end of last year. The fun started in early evening. First a long call from "Sak" Schröder...he's just bought modem and Internet software! Look forward to seeing you on the Net my friend. Next a call from 1 Stellanine where Migs Guzmán was hosting a braai in honour of my birthday! Spoke to Harties, Helga, Debs, Holger, Leentjie and Guzzi, but unfortunately not to Ace Smiff who had just left. They apparently enjoyed the 5 litre keg of Staropramen that I sent over, but were uncertain about the Becherovka. Ten minutes later the phone rings again...Debs' sister Janette Veitch calling to wish me the best.

On Friday I also received a great card from Vossie & Marlene. All this goodwill really made my week - thank you all for remembering and caring. Mom, you did a good thing at 20h00 on January 21, 1961! Mothers...Harking back to the two people I discussed earlier - Mike Zeller and André Smith. Excellent friends both. Unfortunately Mike's mom thinks I'm a raving Communist (and only just tolerates me [I think!]), while André's mother elieves I'm Satan reincarnate! Only Joan and Hartmut's mother seem to have me sussed - they KNOW for sure that I'm both of the above, and just let me be!....It was a very special birthday for me.

Tuesday, January 30, 1996 @ 22h40

On the evening of Thursday, January 25 I left Prague for France, via Germany. My intentions were entirely noble, namely to get out of the fucking city and to quaff as much good wine as I could lay my hands on! The long weekend trip was arranged by the Prague Wine Society (about 300 members I think) and its slightly eccentric co-ordinator, Bellena Haker. I paid my Kc 3,900 (i.e. approximately ZAR 550) and keenly adopted a seat in the bus chartered for the occasion. A happy start to the bus ride from hell!

We left from the bus terminal at Prague's Andel Metro station at 20h00, about an hour later than scheduled. On board we had a collection of suip-lappe - about 30 non-English speaking Czechs, and a small contingent of 9 expats (mostly Yanks). I'm on the right hand side of the bus in the second row from the back. The bus seems to be a mid-70's (remember them!!) model... based on an early Putco prototype! Semi-bench seats, no individual lighting or ventilation, thin padding beneath the cheap plastic covering on the uncomfortable "semi- reclining" seats. Generally noisy, smoky, slow and very uncomfortable.

Half an hour out of Prague heavy diesel smoke starts pouring through the floor-boards under our feet at the back of the bus. We almost choke and start thinking we've been conned - this is actually the cattle truck to Auschwitz! "Ve haff vays und means of getting you to sleep on bord zis autobus"! We alert the driver who stops and spends 20 minutes trying to sort out the problem. All the expats (used to their creature comforts) gravitated to the back of the bus...and started klapping the wine we'd all brought along. Dulling our senses for the long and comfortless night we knew lay ahead. The bus gets going...my vino is finished...I move on to the reserve beers that I packed in as an afterthought. The smell of diesel is over-powering!

By car the drive to the German border takes 2 hours of less. However, for the first time since Debbie left (January 8), it's a blizzard outside. Snow all over the damn place. One of the expats also noticed a mud-covered sticker on the back of the bus. Because of its age, the vehicle is limited to some unbelievably slow speed on the highway! Two hours into the trip we start protesting about the overwhelming diesel fumes (remember those Hartmut!) at the back, and the driver pulls over at a small filling station and put somewhere in the middle of nowhere (to avoid the highway, the driver is taking us on some back route, via his grandmother's!). Expats pile into the pub; Czechs pull out their flasks and sandwiches!

For the first time I have Plzenske Gambrinus on tap. Mother's milk! I limit myself to two creamy pints. Time to leave, and I manage to buy two 1 litre bottles of the local Frankovka red wine from the owner of the pub. We hit the road to Germany. The "two hour" ride to this Czech neighbour takes us four and a half hours! By this time I'm stukkend, and singing my "favourite" Padda-Vrotti arias, Oktoberfest and Carousel songs at the top of my voice! The Czechs don't complain and pour another cup of coffee. Some of them start loosening up and start pulling a few corks as well.

Half and hour into Deutschland, one of the poes dronk Yanks (from Alaska nogal) realises that she does not have her passport - didn't get it back from the German border guards. Back we go - time for our umteenth "piss-parade"! She manages to trace her passport, and we're back on the road again. At some ungodly hour of the morning we stopped at an "Ultra City" style filling-station complex where I ate leberkäse for breakfast! My last meal had been 2 days earlier! Sleep is utterly impossible, but luckily I pass out in a neck- crippling position, wedged between my seat, the window, and the steel swing arm of the emergency door.

At about 09h00 we arrived at the exceptionally pretty town of Colmar in the Alsace region of France. Coffee!! I wondered around aimlessly, bought a few post cards, and quenched my thirst. Also hung out in a French bookstore - I really miss the CNA! Managed to find one English classic car magazine. At 10h30 we left for our first tasting - at the cellar of the wine-maker Eugene Beck in Pfaffenheim, Alsace. Twelve wines later I'm swinging from the rafters! We taste everything from Sylvaner, Tokay d'Alsace (Pinot Gris), Riesling, Muscat and Gewürztraminer to Pinot Noir and their methode champenoise! I bought only four bottles... and managed to convince our hosts into parting with two great tasting glasses! Can't take these Africans anywhere.

We hit the road at about 15h30/16h00 - about three and a half hours late! We were supposed to check into our hotel in Beaune at about 17h00, and then attend another tasting. Being late we elected to drive strait to the tasting at the Vaudoisey-Creusefond "cave" (cellar) in Pommard, Burgundy. We got there at about 19h30. The tasting was held in an ancient, musty cellar with candles and muted electric lighting. The hosts (Henri Vaudoisey and his family) spoke nothing but French, were exceptionally gracious, and let their magnificent wines do the talking. I missed the chardonnays as I was back at the bus picking up a new video tape, but the selection of reds that followed were almost beyond comparison. I bought two excellent 1st cru's, namely the Vaudoisey-Creusefond Pommard-Poutures (1992) and the Vaudoisey-Creusefond Pommard-Charmots (1991), both magnificent, big Pinot Noirs.

By this time it was about 23h00 and we had missed the gourmet meal we were scheduled to have at a restaurant called Le Relais de la Dilligence in the town of Meursault, famous for its white wines. Accordingly we headed straight for our motel, grabbing a snack at a nearby all-night diner. I was shattered, and looking forward to a good hard sleep. Unfortunately this was not to be! Why? Read on!

The room mate from hell! I was sharing a room with a guy by the name of Jacques Roux - no, not a South African, but a Canadian from Montreal. Quite a nice guy...just a fucking pity he forgets to switch off his chainsaw when he goes to sleep! The bastard blasts 101 decibels through his nose and mouth while sleeping. I understand why his wife decided to stay in Canada while he's in Europe - she can hear him across the Atlantic! No joke - I've stayed in Army bungalows with 99 other men, but have NEVER heard snoring like this. The guy's a freak - it's disgusting! Hypnosis goes out the window! Just as I passed out from fatigue, our wake-up call came through! Saturday was going to be a long day!

Next stop was the Fete de Saint Vincent Tournante at the village of Auxey-Duresses in Burgundy. This two day festival is like a wine Oktoberfest, and honours the men of vines and wines. Every year the Confraternity of the Chevaliers du Tastvin attend the festival, and walk in processions carrying statues of their patron saint. The Confraternity also receives and honours some of the eldest wine personalities of the region. Each year, one of the approximately 25 villages that still follow the Burgundian tradition of excellence (now forgotten elsewhere) becomes the capital of Burgundy for a day. This year it was the turn of Auxey-Duresses.

Wednesday, January 31, 1996 @ 21h50

As our (so-called) bus made it's way to Auxey-Duresses on the morning of Saturday 27th, I could not believe the traffic congestion. For about 10 km around the village cars were backed up and parking in open fields made available for them. The festival opened at 06h00, and I'm sure that some people must have spent the night waiting for the party to start. This is a serious drinking event! Thank God for my now dwindling supply of Essentiales! People, people, drunken people as far as the eye could see. No place to walk, yet alone sit. Wine-makers and workers from across Burgundy and the world congregated in the village for the weekend, and all cellars were opened to the public...for free! The entire village had been decorated with hand-made decorations, dioramas and paper flowers. Walls, telephone poles and every available space (including the bare vineyards) were lavishly decorated. One boozy Frenchman told me that the locals had worked at preparing the decorations for over three years!

It was an impressive setting and a jovial event, but a real pain in the arse to try and get a drink! However, when one did, it was well worth the wait. They definitely were not dishing out plonk to the assembled wyn-koppe! A fine day was had by all - I broke my first glass, forgot to eat, found myself unable to take tasting notes, and forgot to buy some of the excellent wine and Saint Vincent Tournante memorabilia available on the day! By the time I got back to our "bus" at 17h30 (the last person to do so) I found it locked in a traffic jam from here to Cape Town, so...I raided my Alsace wines from the day before, and started another party among the horribly drunk group of expats at the back of the bus!

That evening I was dragged out of my bed and into Beaune where a group of us visited an excellent French Restaurant. Excellent food. I drank 2 glasses of milk! Later that night (after carrying an American china from the taxi to his room) I watched Bafana-Bafana whip Algeria and get into the semi-finals of the Africa Cup of Nations. Either old Roux didn't snore, or I passed out (most probably) - regardless I slept well and heard sweet-mother nothing!

The next day was the highlight of the trip for me. We toured some of the famous vineyards of the region (including Montrachet and Corton) in the morning and then moved on to the famous old city of Beaune, capital of the Côte de Beaune. It is a photographer's and videooters paradise. The famous Hôtel-Dieu (with it's distinctive roof) and the Hospices de Beaune (which gave rise to the splendid wines named after this charitable institution) are the highlights. There is also the Museum of Wine which is apparently very interesting, but which I decided to give a miss. Both above and under ground, this part of Beaune is riddled with wine shops, tasting venues, wine equipment suppliers, wine book shops and cellars! If you had a very strong credit card, you could really go crazy there! Most of the shops are exceptionally well presented, reminding me of Sandton City (Doll) stores, but without being as pretentious as their Jo'burg counterparts. In fact, wine is de-mystified in Burgundy - normal people and labourers drink good stuff, not only wine snobs like the one's that hang out at the Sandton lectures of the Cape Wine Academy! Syphyllis "hairy arse" Hands' airs and graces wouldn't quite cut it here! Furthermore, the Burgundian négociants do not serve oxidised shit like she does!

At one n&eacure;gociant, Domaines Bernard Delagrange et Fils ("et Fils" nê Wiets?), I bought 3 wonderful bottles: two Auxey- Duresses 1991's, and one Beaune 1991. Superb value for money (when you close your eyes and pay with your credit card!). At the cellars of the Convent of the Cordeliers, I made my two most expensive wine purchases ever. A 1989 Auxey-Durresses Côte de Beaune, and a 1993 Hospices de Beaune, Beaune (Premier Cru)! I had a private tasting of these two wines (with my own consultant!) and had an excellent time quaffing glass after glass of the latter! HOLD ME BACK 4-5-6!!

The drive back to Prague was much like the trip to Beaune - except I slept a lot less and felt even more uncomfortable! Oh yes, the bus also broke down in the middle of the night (somewhere in the outback of Germany) with a terminally burnt out wiring system! All the floorboards were pulled out, all the luggage unpacked, and the bur rewired in about an hour at minus 15 degrees Celsius! I tried to shiver myself to sleep! We eventually got back to a snow covered Praha at 10h30 on Monday morning. With great difficulty (carrying all my wine, clothes and camera equipment) I made it back home, had a shower and went to work! How I kept awake is still a mystery!

Yesterday I received a fax from Jean Cooper in Johannesburg. Thanks Jean, good to hear from you! We must make an effort to get together when you're in Europe, if not in Verbier, then certainly in Munich when you visit Ingrid. Let's keep in touch on this issue. I also got a letter (yes, "bikers" can write) and Alfa Romeo article from Holger today, care of the D&H Industrial Holdings fax machine! Thanks Hol-rekker, keep them comin', and send me Marc Steinfort's details ASAP- I feel the need for something big, hard and throbbing between my legs! Make it a BMW R100 GS PD!!

Thanks too go to Piers Hamilton Robert Relly, André Carel Smith, and Ingrid and Renate Hahn for their faxes. Ingrid's moving to Deutschland for a year - watch out for the parties that follow (flashback to the late 70's and early 80's...remember them?!). I have also had some great phone calls from Gerhard Elmar Schröder, Holger & Leentjie Grünwald, Yssie Loopenval Smiff and Miguel Viracocha Guzmán. Thanks for clocking up big telephone bills guys! Moto-Guzman and my mother also joined forces to send me a parcel which I received via J.Y. two weeks back, just before he left for 6 weeks home-leave in Lima. Much obliged Blossom, and thanks for the Xmas presents Migs! Have you and AC discussed T-shirt sizes yet? Viraco(n)cha, many thanks for the regular envelopes of press cuttings as well.

Hey, did I tell you that I saw Satan in the flesh last month? I was in the second row from front at Ozzy Osbourne's concert at the Sportovní Hala, only a 5 minute walk away from my flat! Man, the audio-visual onslaught was absolutely total, and the cherry on top was the full house of Black Sabbath classics that he knocked out in addition to his post-BS stuff. For a man approaching 50, he's doing pretty well, and I had a magic (if sweaty) time. The bass guitarist at the show was Geezer Butler - the Sabbath's ex-bass man. It was a brilliant reunion! At the end of the show Butler tossed a handful of plectrums into the crowd, one of which bounced of my neck. I left it to the 19 year olds to scrum down on the gooey floor trying to find it! I did go home with one souvenir, however. Towards the end of the show Ozzy emptied a bucket of water onto those of us swooning under the pressure up front. It was a welcome shower, if a little cold afterwards! I know what I like, and this was a pleasure. Strange that I can mention JC Superstar and Ozzy in the same breath and enjoy them equally. Aah well, Ingrid and Joan understand that I'm torn between heaven and hell!!

Sunday, February 4, 1996 @ 23h04

Great weekend! Thursday night Mark Franklin (Zimbabwean) and I celebrated his two week avoidance of everything alcoholic by having a big-time Becherovka (traditional Czech cinnamon flavoured "schnapps") party. Friday was not a productive day! That afternoon, I was invited to the home of the 1st Secretary in the SA Embassy, R.G. He was in class with Debs, Hartmut, HPLK and I, and remembers us clearly. Can't say I remember him, but I was probably pissed at the time. We were at varsity weren't we Harties? Korsakoff rules! In any event, he picks me up in his new 1985, DM 15,000 Porsche 928 and takes me back to his place for an SA wine tasting he's holding for the MD of Mövenpick Hotels in the Czech Republic. I had to hold my tongue all night as R.G. sung the praises of KWV products - apparently "among the best wines made in SA"! I took deep breaths, pretended I wasn't hearing the crap I was hearing, and slukked everything poured for me! Nevertheless, all credit to him for promoting SA wine - he might have got SA onto the Mövenpick wine list. It was a late night again - after midnight and 8 bottles later.

Yesterday was great. Bafana-Bafana beat Tunisia 2-0 and win the Africa Cup of Nations! It was not shown live here, but I listened on the radio at Mark Franklin's place...while sucking on successive Staropramens. We had just been tobogganing with his two kids and needed the ales after a couple of hairy wipe-outs. I had to leave just before the end of the soccer, however, as I had a ticket for the David Bowie concert at the Sportovní Hala. Got there 2 hours before the start, and managed to get a good position in the 2nd row, centre stage. Unfortunately the warm-up act, Morrissey, had to pull out because he had a cold. Winging fucking pom! Depressive bastard. His successor was a Czech guy by the name of Ivan Král. In the mid to late 70's he played with Blondie, Iggy Pop, and the Patti Smith Group. Good pedigree; OK performance. No hint of political correctness with two skimpily-attired, leather-clad "go-go" dancers strutting their stuff around the stage!

It was vintage Bowie, covering everything from Hunky Dory ("Andy Warhol") through to just about the entire track listing from "Outside". True to his promise in 1990, he didn't do any of the songs he said he'd never do again - "Ziggy", "Space Oddity" et al. But he did do other great numbers from his 30 year repertoire - "Diamond Dogs", "Fame", "Scary Monsters", "White Light, White Heat", "Under Pressure", and a moving version of "The Man Who Sold The World". There were many more classics, and the man himself was as charismatic at the first two times that I saw him back in '89 and '90. His supporting musicians were top calibre as well - Carlos Alomar on rhythm guitar, and the balding but intimidating Reeves Gabrels (ex- Iggy Pop & the Stooges [??] and Tin Machine) whipping his lead guitar in an aggressive aural onslaught. Bowie honestly enjoyed himself, despite admitting to experiencing voice problems. Hey, I'm tempted to shoot down to Vienna to see him again next weekend! Wish you'd been there Debs!

Monday, February 5, 1996 @ 21h10

Yesterday a couple of colleagues and I took a 2 hour drive (in a Skoda) up to Harrachov, a ski resort to the north east of Prague. We left at about 07h30 with he intention of getting in a full days skiing. Noble intentions indeed, but (as is common in the Czech Republic) it turned out a fiasco. We get to the resort and find it crawling with Germany's "poor cousins", id est ex-DDR Germans. So many of them were there that, after waiting in a queue for half an hour, we couldn't get boots skis and poles from the first ski rental shop we went to. We found another place, waited a similar length of time, and had the choice of cross country (langlauf) skis or nothing. No thanks!

The third shop looked most promising. After a 45 minute wait, and arguing with some so-called "Deutscher", we got to the front of the queue. We managed to get old boots that, although they were smelly and weren't perfect fits, would suffice for an afternoon's skiing. We also managed to get skis (late 70's versions - remember them?) and got ready to pay. The guy behind the counter suggested that we take the skis for 6 days. I replied that we only needed the gear for one day. He said no, 6 days would be a better idea as the "German" behind us would pay that price! So, after fucking us around in a smelly shop for close to an hour, and providing us with crap equipment, the bastards decide to auction the gear to the highest bidder. When asked what his case was, our con-artist replies "That's business". These commies have learned capitalism far too quickly for my liking! I told him that they could stick their skis, poles and boots up their collective rectums, and got the fuck out of there. Shaking like the Ohe of old, I needed a beer!

The rest of the day progressed from beer, to food, to Becherovka. After this "spiritual upliftment" we felt quite brave, and each went and bought a plastic kiddies "toboggan". The rest of the afternoon we spent sliding down slopes on our butts. The average age on these slopes must have been about 9, but that was about our level of technical competence! Feeling rather brave, we headed for the local ski ramp - i.e. the steep mother-fuckers that maniacs use for ski-jumping. We climb about half way up. One of my colleagues slips, and slides down the ramp face first. Another climbs over a railing, gets a foot caught, and is left suspended (and in pain) with a left-foot at about head height. I rescue said colleague! By the way, I captured all of this action live on video. The freed maniac then climbs aboard the plastic toboggan, hurtles down the slope, loses all control, and slams head first into a wooden railing. Dented egos, dented heads...this called for more beer, and a great hot (and very alcoholic) drink aptly called Grog! So the day progressed and ended. Suppose we'll try to ski again next weekend! Moral of the story is that in the Czech Republic, one needs to have one's own gear!

Tuesday, February 6, 1996 @ 21h28

This is our first January as a married couple! So how was your New Year's celebration? Debs and I had a fairly good one - very different as well. We linked up with a group assembled by J.Y., 2nd Secretary of the Peruvian Embassy here. Invited were couples from the Peruvian, Spanish, Argentinean, Chilean and Greek embassies, with a smattering or Russians and South Africans. We started at J.Y's place for drinks, and then moved on to a restaurant in the old section of town. The meal was OK, the sparkling wine palatable and the company good. It was essentially a Spanish evening and we followed the traditions of that country like eating 12 grapes at midnight!

The highlight of the evening, however, was Debs and I believing that the staff of the restaurant had taken her jacket which went missing at the end of the evening. Rather that getting into a fight we left gracefully...with Debs swearing into her scarf, and refusing to communicate with anyone! The jacket? We tracked it down to J.Y's wife - she took it with her when she noticed that we'd forgotten it!!

The city was a madhouse on Old Year's Eve - especially the central area around the Old Town Square. Like in Peru, fireworks are the celebration! Only difference is that in the Czech Republic, they don't shoot the rockets and roman candles into the air, but at each other! Debs and I wondered why we were the only two people on the square on the busiest night of the year...everyone was skirting around the edges. Then the barrage began - people fired things at us from all directions...we shat ourselves, dodged for all we were worth, and ran like hell! It was like being on the fokkin' Grens again bulle! I almost slanned dekking, going pielatus dos sand-tos! So we saw in the new year - Prague expat style.

Besides Debs, I have had only two other visitors here in Praha. They were Jimmy Wayland and Dave Mitchell, two of my colleagues from Deloittes in Johannesburg. They came over for 5 days or so, the week before Debbie arrived in December. The nicknames I coined for these two "gentlemen" summarised the tone of their business & pleasure visit - Václav the Waylaid (Jimmy) and Igor the Ungodly (Dave)! The daily agenda looked something like this - wake up, hangover, eat, hangover, work, hangover, eat, drink, work, drink, drink, drink, eat, drink, drink, drink, strip club, drink, perv, drink, perv, drink, perv, drink, look at watch..."oh my god it's 04h30"...perv, go home, sleep!! I categorically and emphatically deny that I was ever near or at a club called the "Cascade Go-Go Bar". I also deny that I was ever coerced onto the stage where a pretty "performing artist" apparently removed my clothes in public. The guy just looked a little like me, and was somewhat fatter! Yebo Go-Go!!

We also did some cultural things like touring the city, sampling Becherovka, and catching up on the jazz bands playing in local pubs! Yes, Mark Pautz was seen to be listening to jazz, but had anyone looked closer they would have seen the cotton-wool I my ears ;-) Like President Clinton, I didn't inhale! Václav, Igor and I also spent a Sunday with Mark Franklin and his family, driving out to Karlstein Castle on the Plzen (as in Pilsner) road to the west of Prague. Apparently it was quite pretty. Unfortunately we never made it into the castle because we found a pub at the foot of the hill leading up to the castle. By the time we had finished sampling the delights of their hydraulic menu, the doors to the schloss had firmly shut, despite Václav's protestations that he was an official representative off the Zimbabwean government! "Pay your taxes"!! It was good to see the backs of these good friends as they left to terrorise the populations of Budapest and Bratislava!

In conclusion (abut time isn't it), I would like to thank one of our national heroes, Generalisimo Magnus Malan, for giving me two years of free ironing lessons. I never thought I would use these important skills again, but Magnus the Great obviously knew better. May they string him up by his balls and stick hot pins through his nipples while reciting to him the speech he gave us at Ruacana on Christmas day, 1980: "Saam moet ons oorwin - daar is geen alternatief nie". Famous last words. The people shall govern arsehole! Sentence him to "life" in England!

If I havn't offended everyone with this letter, please forgive me - I will certainly try harder in the upcoming "Chapter 3". If you've been bored reading this rambling tome, just wait for the next one!!

Baie dankie, buy a donkey, vir u geduld. If you want more online crap like this, please do not hesitate to join Miguel, Hartmut, Dr Arnold and I on the Internet.

My new home phone number (when dialing from SA) is 09 42 2 666 00 666, and my snail-mail address is provided at the head of this volume.

Thanks for your time, love and friendship,

MARK "DIE POUS" PAUTZ

P.S. I had to come all the way to the Czech Republic to find out that Bafana-Bafana means "The Boys"!! VIVA!!

P.P.S Take a look at Janovského's famous Green Carpets!!