I have been across the universe and back in 3 days. It started out as an idea- a seed. Spencer and I were pondering how we would make it to Darling, South Africa for a weekend long music festival titled “Rocking the Daisies.” There was a package deal which offered transport, a tent and tickets- the three T’s you absolutely had to have to enjoy the weekend. Because we love a good adventure, and were interested in saving a few Rand, we opted out of the package and tried to locate the three T’s on our own. The tent and sleeping bag part was easy- we rented those from a kind UCT hippie who runs the UCT Mountain and Ski Club. Tickets were available for purchase online so we scooped up a couple no sweat—and even got free t-shirts as part of the deal. Now all we needed was to figure out how to get there—the final item to join the T party.
We rose Saturday morning feeling unsure of ourselves, but gave a front of confidence to one another. First stop: Cape Town, which was only a R7 ride away by mini-bus taxi. Once we arrived at the station, our path became less clear. There was the option to take kumvees all the way in via Atlantis, or we could ride a bus coming at 1:20 pm (a couple hours later) to Mamry or Mamesbury and connect to Darling from there. We opted to wait for the bus as the locals we talked to seemed to recommend that route more highly. We found an Indian food bazaar and split some lekker chicken curry and nut-flavoured ice cream while we waited for our chariot to depart. We were glad to finally board the train, and embark to a destination unknown. Some amount of time later, a young man approached us and told us he would walk us to the kumvee depot in Mamry and make sure we got to Darling alright. I was immediately defensive because we hadn’t spoken to this young man and he somehow knew where we were going. We stepped off the bus into a tiny remote town where everyone seemed to know everyone—and they certainly didn’t know us. The young man walked us through a dusty open yard surrounded by barbed wire and around to the depot. When I reached into my purse and tried to hand him a 5 rand for helping us, he looked at me like I was crazy. He really had just wanted to help us.
We sat in the Darling Kumvee for what felt like a lifetime. It was 30 minutes, but I get very antsy. When we’d finally loaded the van and driven off I was finally sure we’d made it to the festival. I was wrong. We were dropped off in the middle of Darling and hadn’t the slightest clue where to go next. We rolled into the Police Station and asked if we could walk to Kloof Wine Estates, where the concert was being held, and found out we were still 13 kilometres away. I also encountered a woman covered in own splattered blood casually hanging out in the waiting room of the station—guess that’s how they do it in Darling. Out of nowhere another guy approaches who indicates that he’s also trying to get to the concert. We flag down a minibus and after a few minutes of literal begging convince someone to take us the rest of the way.
Rolling hills dotted with cars and tents and people stretched out in front of us and we knew we’d made it against all odds 7 hours later. No worse for wear, we pitched our tent with the skill of a former Boy and Girl Scout and headed past thousands of college co-eds lounging in the sun outside their tents. Massive electric daisies spun in the sky as techno lights flashed in our eyes. Ravers, hippies, parents, students all danced to the music bumping out of speakers on multiple stages. We encountered an area we dubbed The Techno Nipple, which was a massive inflatable space where dub-step played 24 hours a day and people gowned in neon were moving and shaking for hours on end. I think this was the 2010 version of Woodstock.
Sunday brought a cold-snap and shocked many partying people back to reality. The tent handing out free energy drinks 24 hours a day had been taken down, and it was clear that the party was about to be over. As we were leaving I ran to the bathroom once more and accidentally peed all over my sweatpants while trying to avoid the most infested looking port-o-potty in the world—classic and typical. This time we opted to take the bus, which we managed to sneak on to as it was leaving at 3 PM on Sunday. I managed to remove the offending sweats before we loaded up. You’re welcome, bus.
Back in Rondebosch, I was happy to pop in a movie and relax with my best bud. Coming up on finals and the end of the semester, I know my weekends are numbered so I’m glad to live each one to the fullest. Consider the daisies rocked.
Love from your girl with nomadic tendencies,
A
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