Joburg

By Zachariah.

We arrive in Joburg after 24 hours; two flights, five meals (somehow) and one airport lounge that made the whole thing bearable. After navigating some relatively minor issues (thanks again, Telstra) we reach our AirBnB in Randburg a bit after six pm. We quickly chat with our host about where to get dinner, change into fresh clothes, decide not to go for dinner, get our first taste of African wifi (so slow) and resolve to stay awake as long as we can. We are asleep by eight thirty.

Next morning we are woken by a combination of jetlag and some very loud Egyptian herons walking on the surface of the pool. It's quite cold, and early, but we decide to walk into town in search of food and coffee that isn't freeze dried. Everything here is behind a fence. With a security company sign on the front and a guard dog on the other side. Beautiful houses, perfectly manicured lawns with no footpath, just a worn dirt track that comes and goes through different stretches of street. There is no one in sight, except for the occasional gardener or SUV speeding past, until we get to the gardens. There we find joggers and gangs of middle-aged men wearing lycra and riding expensive mountain bikes, on footpaths. There are signs saying no cars, no motorbikes, no fishing, no guns. Down by the dam there are a flock of geese hissing and jostling each other for the best perch. On the far side are men with cars, fishing and smoking around small braai fires. We don't see any guns.

We walk into Greenside getting a feel for the traffic lights and the lack of footpaths. There are more bikes, more lycra, more signs. These ones spruiking positive messages. "Smile more often." "Make someone a coffee." "Tell someone they've done a good job." We walk right past the café we're looking for and have to double back. When I order eggs the waiter asks me how I want them. "Poached…?" I reply. Yes, but would I like them soft, medium or hard? Good luck asking a Melbourne chef to do that! The coffee is pretty good too. They roast their own and I love their branding. After breakfast we pick up some groceries from the fanciest Woolworths I've ever been in. Every piece of fruit and veg portioned and wrapped in plastic. Quite the contrast to the fruit stalls on the side of the street.

We walk back through the gardens. Now there are picnicers and a cheeky kid on a bike making his mother chase him. A group of boys have run an impressive looking slackline, running fifty metres long and two metres high, that none of them can seem to master. There are older guys riding (or sometimes pushing) tricycles with eskis or old coke boxes held together with wire and tape on the back. They are selling ice cream or kites or electronics. At the gate there is a young guy with a kombi café van with a roof that tips right off the side and becomes a menu board. We eat our makeshift picnic, soak up the sun and nurse our jetlag.

Randburg feels like a sort of strange fusion of London and Bali. Old broken roads, litter and stray dogs next to beautiful houses, trendy café's and upmarket shops. Old and new, rich and poor separated by an electric fence. We found this painting at an art show in the gardens that captures the feel of it perfectly.

Back at base we look up how to get to Soweto the next day. We can catch a bus from the end of the street, change five minutes down the road and a second bus will take us right past Lebo's Backpackers. Easy.