Its 11:00 a.m. and Nessa and I are having brunch at this delicious little Kensington market meets Distillery District kind of café in a schnazzy part of Joburg where I’ve been staying. I have to admit, I’ve been quite spoiled in my first week here. I’m staying in a HUGE two storey loft, have my own bedroom, bathroom and maid. What can I say –life’s good.
I don’t know what it is here, but people have been treating us like princesses. Case in point: Nessa and I decided to check out a place called Zar, in Joburg’s downtown core. It’s a bar located on the rooftop of a hotel and boasts spectacular views of the city. When we walked through the hotel lobby doors we were greeted by two doormen that escorted us to the elevator to take us up to the bar. The venue was impressive, contemporary décor, and stunning rays of purple and blue light filled the space.
The moment we arrived into the nightclub it was like everything stopped. The place was pretty packed, but it was 90% men. So the presence of two women walking seemed to be instantly noticed by all. Within literally one minute a host appeared out of nowhere and advised me that a man in the VIP area has requested to take a photo with me. I was a bit stunned and asked for the person’s name, and the host responded with a French name that was unknown to me. Seeing the lack of response on my face, he advised me that he was a famous soccer player who had played with David Beckham –“surely Miss, you must have heard of David Beckham”. I said yes, but still did not know who this person was. Moments later he appeared and introduced himself, and another host came out with a box containing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and asked me if I would like champagne. Nessa and I both shot one another a look of astonishment, and said sure. We all began to engage in conversation about South Africa, the World Cup and nightlife in Joburg. Throughout the conversation I kept glaring over at the DJ booth and shook my head at his lack of skill. The mixes were terrible! In fact, there was no mixing! One song overlapped into another in ways that made less sense than the chocolate flavoured bubble gum I saw at the airport. Even people on the dance floor lost their rhythm. I made a few comments about the music, and seconds later Mr. Soccer player and the club owner had the DJ sent over to the table and was introduced to me. He asked if there was any particular music that would be to my liking and I hinted that anything was better than the terribly mixed “all things crunk” that he was playing. We all laughed about it and shortly thereafter he took it up a tiny notch and the music got a bit better.
As the night went on, more and more soccer players, newscasters and others who seemed to be big timers in South African circles approached us requesting photos, making conversation and offering more and more glasses of champagne that I politely refused. The host came by periodically to ask if the music was to my liking, which I found hilarious.
By the end of the evening we had been given tickets to the next two soccer matches and offers to fly in a private jet to the neighbouring city of Durban to catch yet another game.
But that was just the beginning.
When we got back to the loft, a colleague of Nessa's, who happens to be the Prince of a nearby country and relative of Nelson Mandela sent Nessa an email inviting us to be his guests and stay at the home of the African royal family.
I’ll be sure to keep you posted as the South African adventures continue.
Priscilla
No comments:
Post a Comment