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“Splashy was a jol!”
jol: word that the South Africans use for party, or to express; “I’m having a good time.” Jol can also means, the bomb, funny, cool, sexy, hot, wicked, or make out.
Last night was a jol. Mark and Mary were cought jolling.
-urbandictionary
After leaving Splashy Fen late Sunday morning, all our mud dried by the noonday sun but not washed off-some deciding to permanently mark us as visitors-we made our way to Sani Lodge Backpackers near the South African/Lesotho border & Sani Pass. Once we arrived it was time yet again for my temporary roommate and I to set up camp. I do not know how this is possible, but yet somehow it was easier to set up our tent at night while it was raining. I don’t know why but it’s true and it makes no fucking sense. In the end it took us a little over and hour and a team of 4 people to get it safely in the ground, as thunder mocked us from the mountains in the distance.
The Drakensbergs are breathtakingly beautiful, like something you’re not quite sure is real. I would take myself to be one not easily awed by natural beauty, but here I was wide-eyed trying to get a picture from every angle. I could easily get used to the Drakensbergs, offering no protest as I made the transition to mountain man.
Bright and early Monday morning we headed for Sani Pass and Lesotho, which translated means, “the kingdom in the sky,” for a day trip. To say that there is a road up to Sani Pass is true and at the same time an exaggeration. It is more merely an area of smaller rocks and no grass. It was amazing to see the same minibus taxis I know from Durban making the trip up and down. But as it was explained to me, these are no ordinary taxis, built on a truck chassis and equipped with four wheel drive, they are mountain transport.
I was grateful to the driver for continually converting every remark concerning how many meters we had reached into feet, for the benefit of the Americans in our full Land Rover. San
i Pass has an altitude of roughly 9400 feet (sorry Dad). After making it through both South African and Lesotho passport control (complete with stamps!) we made a brief stop at the highest pub in all of Africa. We stopped among a “rock field?” to have lunch and chatted with Lesotho shepards which are usually teenage boys. One of whom showed off the American English he knew, which was “Motherfucker.” On our descent we stopped at a traditional village and talked with the villagers about daily life, which appears to be still relatively nomadic with the main occupation being shepard and families moving across the country along with the seasons.
i Pass has an altitude of roughly 9400 feet (sorry Dad). After making it through both South African and Lesotho passport control (complete with stamps!) we made a brief stop at the highest pub in all of Africa. We stopped among a “rock field?” to have lunch and chatted with Lesotho shepards which are usually teenage boys. One of whom showed off the American English he knew, which was “Motherfucker.” On our descent we stopped at a traditional village and talked with the villagers about daily life, which appears to be still relatively nomadic with the main occupation being shepard and families moving across the country along with the seasons.
The Drakensbergs also confront many western African stereotypes. The vision of Africa in America is one of a chaotic third world with the continent as a country, but in the cold Drakensbergs there are first class mountain resorts, skiing, and small towns that have more akin to those in Colorado than news stories off CNN. As we drove home Wednesday through corn fields on tree lined highways with the leaves changing colors to usher in fall, I slipped for a second and thought I was in of all places, Iowa.If I suddenly go missing, this is where I’ll be up the R617.
Lessons learned @ Splashy Fen:
1) Do not set up a tent at night in the rain.
2) Bring your “gumboots” (Wellingtons)
The longest running annual outdoor music festival in South Africa’s history was back for its’ 19th year. Prior to departure my excitement was building as all the bands were South African and I had not heard of a single one. For the event a group of us had rented a car (after having some trouble finding an automatic), one international student had taken on the responsibility of driving on the “different” side of the road. For those of you who know me I took myself out of the possible driver pool, imagining myself swerving all over the road and routinely yelling, “We’re all going to die,” or something to that effect. We filled up with gas, hit up Pick N’ Pay and were out on the open road (N3). The classic South African road trip.
It takes roughly 3 hours or so to get to Splashy Fen farm from Durban, and there is a reason you should not arrive at night or for that matter in a compact Nissan family sedan. If you have ever wondered what a music festival up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere is like, Splashy Fen is it. When you see 4×4s and pickups stuck in the mud, you do not imagine your savior in the form of a Nissan Tiida. Also at night it is rather difficult to see small rural road signs covered in dust. The next morning after waking up twice from hip pain (I swear I’m 21!) the entire festival began to come into focus…
Roughly 8,000 people camping, with limited access to showers, and a beer tent where all the proceeds went to charity. It was Friday when I realized the true meaning of the endearing shortened name for the festival, “Splashy.” As I walked around in my flip-flops, my foot becoming more and more encased in dried and new mud; eventually a certain amount of force and balance became required to move across the festival’s avenues and from one stage to the other. You have been warned: take your gumboots.
Excluding the insane amount of rain and mud, the festival itself I would highly recommend. Bands from Cape Town, Jo’burg, Durban, and every corner of South Africa come together to partake in one crazy weekend-all over Easter long weekend. Besides the freshness of each and every band to me, the festival food was some of the best food I have ever experienced at a music festival (and some of the least marked up). I am not alone in this assertion. The praises of the food were sung by our entire carload; a Swede, a German, a Canadian, and a Kenyan. Mini Donuts, Bunny Chow, Curries, hot homemade whisper thin pancakes, stew, Boerwors, an impressive selection of vegetarian options, ice cream, and a mobile coffee shop all there for only once a year, to be packed up and driven away Monday morning.
The overwhelming point of Splashy is to be social, as the mud and lack o
f showers greatly levels the field for everyone. I bumped into people from UKZN, met band members, made friends with a couple from the Eastern Cape, and evenings were spent around a camp fire with the cold mountain wind a couple of steps away. Splashy also serves to shrink the world down for everyone. The girl I met from the Eastern Cape mentioned her Mum was from the States- it is a large country, so in order to get my bearings I asked, where from? She made some comments about me probably not having been there and how small the place was and then she says her Mum is from Iowa. To which I replied, “I know exactly where that is.”
f showers greatly levels the field for everyone. I bumped into people from UKZN, met band members, made friends with a couple from the Eastern Cape, and evenings were spent around a camp fire with the cold mountain wind a couple of steps away. Splashy also serves to shrink the world down for everyone. The girl I met from the Eastern Cape mentioned her Mum was from the States- it is a large country, so in order to get my bearings I asked, where from? She made some comments about me probably not having been there and how small the place was and then she says her Mum is from Iowa. To which I replied, “I know exactly where that is.”
Small World Incident #2: Saturday morning walking down from my tent to the main area of the festival, I hear someone calling my name. It turns out to be the guy I sat next to on my flight from Johannesburg to Durban and he still remembers my name. After I get introduced to his girlfriend, I carry on my merry way.
Now here comes what everyone has been waiting for, after reading through this long post:
The Best of Splashy Fen 2008!
(in no order)
Voodoo Child
The City Bowl Mizers
so go online & check out these bands!! Become the cool kid who listens to South African music no one at home has heard of.
If you’re interested in Splashy Fen 2009 (20th Anniversary):
Even though I don’t know when, I will be going back. Now that I know how one does Splashy Fen right, I have to-don’t I?
Note to all future teachers&professors (including myself):
If you assign a paper requiring 1.5 spacing your students will hate you.
I am here in South Africa for 5 months. Currently all around me Easter Break plans fly around my ears: Cape Town, Jo’Burg, Botswana, Mozambique, Zambia basically anywhere your heart desires in southern Africa. But it brings up an interesting question. Are we locals or are we tourists? In my 5 months here I would like to be able to be considered a local by the end of my time, but there is a nagging voice in the back of my head that whispers..”you don’t know when you’ll ever be back here.” Which I suppose is true however I don’t want to cram 3 complete, individual countries into 10 days.
That is insane.
I have established a daily routine as well as knowing where things are across Durban, yet I still carry my camera in my backpack with my class notebooks trying to catch a photos of monkeys. I spend weekends at the beach-not surfing-as the locals would. You work to lose the American twang in your voice, but yet every street vendor offers you a “special price.” There are areas of town you are told not to go to, but the same street is crammed with people…
At this point I can’t answer if I’m a local or “just visiting,” but at the very least I will be getting out of town for Easter Break.
www.splashyfen.co.za
It’s a question that international students get asked a lot. Where are you from? But in my case I seem to float under the radar. A native son of Iowa I still have yet to meet a person who can pinpoint my home. So far I have been:
German (twice)
South African
Russian
Eastern European
and “not from here.”
Someone recognised I was not local but could not place me otherwise. Well, in case you were wondering-I am American. It seems however, that I can be rather “international.” The number of people I have met who can recognize I’m from the states is in the minority.
I quite frankly, am flattered. But does this mean that I do not have a country?
