Sharks and Braai
South Africa
Mel picked us up in Camp’s Bay and drove 3 us to Hermanus for a family reunion. She hadn’t been home in 6 years and at least 30 relatives were going to be there for a huge braai (bry) and we were invited! Yay!
A braai is another word for BBQ. Like most people who indulge in the practice of cooking outdoors, South Africans take their braai seriously. There is always a certain method, a certain recipe and timing that is all-important for having a good braai. Basically, a fire is made in a pit and wood is piled on until there is a nice hot bed of coals. That’s when the cooking starts. A braai isn’t complete without the three-legged black iron pot used for cooking potjie (poikey or as it is spelled), a kind of stew that has a distinct flavour derived from the iron in the pot. If you ever want to make a South African feel at home, this would be the thing to do. Have a braai.
When I said huge braai, I had no idea what huge was until we ate at Mel’s cousins place. For about eight hours it was one meal after another. Just when we thought the last course was finished, more food was put on the braai and everybody found room somewhere to stuff some more sumptuous food. We had fish, pork chops, prawns, sausages, abalone, chips, fish heads, salads, homemade bread on the braai, roasted vegetables, and plenty of plonk. Meeting more South Africans away from the tourist circuit was a pleasure. We got to know a few people and listened to their stories. I really enjoyed meeting them. Mel’s brother, Peter, kept offering me a drink and I was uncomfortable with accepting anything more than we already had, considering we just had been served a feast and invited into a local’s home. I was already happy with just being there and didn’t want to take anything more from them but, I eventually gave in and tried this kind of alcohol that caught my eye a few days earlier in Cape Town. My favourite drink for the last few years is Kahlua and milk. I love those creamy liqueurs that go down smoothly as opposed to whiskey that burns from then moment you put it in your mouth ’til it gets absorbed into your bloodstream. So, when I saw this creamy liqueur being offered, I gave in. It’s called Amarula and it’s made from the yellow, indigenous, southern African, Marula tree fruit. You probably haven’t heard of it unless you have been there, but there is a better chance that you have seen the videos on T.V. where monkeys, giraffes and elephants stumble around because they are drunk from eating the fermented fruit. It tastes slightly sweet, and has a creamy texture. Kind of like a Baileys. In fact, I’m drinking it right now as I am writing this.
We said our good-byes to Mel and that night; we stayed in Hermanus Backpackers, recovering from oversized bellies. The next day we ventured out to walk along the headlands overlooking the water. It was so hot that on the way back we decided to stop by Mel’s cousin’s place to say our goodbyes because we were leaving early next morning and to get a drink of water. Once more we were invited to sit down to a five-hour feast of garlic buttered cray fish, roast vegetables, salads and desserts. Thankful for their hospitality, we promised ourselves to repay the kindness and bade farewell to our lovely hosts.
The next day we got up early and caught a lift with a guy from the Basque country (Northern Spain) to Gansbaai for shark diving. I was a bit sceptical at first because I didn’t think that there was much point since I had already seen a bunch in aquariums and that was close enough for me. But, I changed my mind at the last minute to join Lizzy, who had always wanted to do one.
We ate their breakfast, signed the waiver forms and forked over the dough. We got on the boat and struck out to sea looking for sharks. For all of the eight or so crew on board, two actually worked. One guy chummed the water by dumping in pails of stinking blood, fish guts and rumen. The idea being that sharks will smell the blood and come over to investigate if another animal has made a kill. Once they do, we being quipped with our wetsuits and snorkelling gear, climb over the boat into the cage, being careful not to let any limbs hang outside, and float there until they pass by. That’s when the other guy, who drove the boat, says, Now, now, now!! and we are supposed to hold our breath and go underwater and look at the shark. It took about three boring hours of wandering around in the ocean to come to these set of events. When it finally came, we were split into groups of six, packed ourselves into the cage like sardines and waited for the guide to drag a reconstituted fish as bait, toward our cage. The shark, about 3 metres long, gracefully swum by our cage and turned around. We had about five minutes in the water and then it was the next group’s turn. That was all the time we had in the water to look at a shark. The rest of the time we were looking at it (one!) from the boat or shivering in the water waiting for it to come back. Knowing that I wilfully took the risk of not seeing any sharks whatsoever, I was nevertheless disappointed that we didn’t have much more time in the water looking at sharks. But what really took the cake was after taking our 830 Rand each, the so-called guide had the nerve to say that this was the worst time of year to go and that we shouldn’t have come at this time. If you ever want to go shark diving, go in season (SA winter time) and don’t do it in Gansbaai.
