The plan is to go run a loop around Emmarentia park at 8am - I wake up at 7am but it just doesn’t feel like enough time. I rush around and feel a bit behind the ball when Fred and Kirsty arrive to collect me.
The curry from last night makes itself known and luckily I manage to run off to a bathroom before Nic arrives and the run starts - a vital move. Kirsty’s sister Clair arrives and we head off. It’s a beautiful run actually - starting off on a road and then almost immediately hitting the small park trails and staying on them.
We skirt the river for a bit that Jordan and Kate are busy helping clean up that very morning. Fred sets quite a fast pace and we all manage to keep up without much difficulty. The little trail we’re on brings us to the Johannesburg Botanical gardens where there is a succulent festival (suck fest) and then we proceed to run a beautiful loop around the perimeter of the park.
There are quite a few cycling trails in the park and one or two cyclists try to remind us that they are reserved for them alone - I wish them a happy day and delicious lunch. As we’re about to leave the park again another curry poo is needed; luckily there is a toilet.
At the end of the run my left ITB starts to tickle and I take it slow and walk the last kilometre. My relationship with the injury is one of love and respect now and I am absolutely grateful for that. We head over to a coffee shop near our car and with a slight mistake in the coffees brought to us I end up with a rather average almond milk latte. Connor and Amy join us and we have a lovely catch up.
It’s time for Piles! The second hand market that is. We jump in the car and go collect Jordan and head off into the inner city. After two attempts to find an ATM we succeed. Fred has warned us that pickpocketing is rampant in the market and only a little cash should be brought. We arrive at a dilapidated Johannesburg art gallery and wade our way through litter into the chaos that is the piles market.
It’s called piles - unofficially I think - because it is simply piles of clothes as far as the eye can see. Apparently it’s mostly donated clothes from Europe that arrive in Kenya and then are bought in bulk and sent around Africa to markets like these. It’s an absolute soup of noises, smells, shouts, music, people and clothes.
We launch in and I’m immediately thrown back into a sense of deja vu to being back in the markets of South East Asia. People yell prices and little catch phrases to advertise their stock. There are food stalls amongst the piles with plastic tables and crockery and food that, like its Indonesian counterpart, must be eaten by hand.
There are piles of shoes. The pairs either tied together by the laces or attached with a rubber band. Some of the piles are up to two meters deep and we soon find out that if you hand around a single pile for long enough the owner will help you dig deep by cycling the things from the bottom to the top. Prices for each pile are written on a piece of cardboard hanging from a gazebo above.
Jordan is after some sandals and I stick with her to assist. Also because being along in this market is absolutely intimidating. The rest of our group go their own ways and we organically meet up in various locations over the next hour and a bit. There is no luck on the sandals, but both Jordan and I come away with some clothes.
There is some quality in amongst it all. Suits, fancy shoes, dresses, European brands and more lurk to be found. Apparently new bundles are opened on Tuesday and Thursday mornings and if you’re serious that is when you’re there.
It’s hot. Loud. Generators run next to some of the larger stores along the perimeter. The smells are thick and sprinkled with urine in places. And it’s time to go. Our group is all over the place and somehow Fred manages to wrangle us all together with ease.
We pop into the car and head over to Dosa Hut - another name I have heard a few times while in Joburg. As we arrive we know we’re in for a good time. An authentic Southern Indian restaurant with decor and furniture that make you know two things: it’s clean and the food is going to be ridiculous.
We order a couple dosa’s and then a myriad of things to share. I start off with a mango lassie that is truly delicious - not too sweet. The dosa’s arrive and they are enormous, thin and filled with curried potato. As we tuck in, more dishes continue arriving: fried cauliflower in the most amazing sauce, fried okra in another disturbing array of spices, a mint sauce that is criminally good, a pretty good vegetarian curry and then simply the best butter chicken that I’ve ever eaten.
Nic, Josh and Matty arrive and they get straight to business with Masala fried chicken, dosas and more. We all sit back afterwards, full and honestly quite baffled. R130 each and I cannot believe the amount of amazing food we have just eaten.
Next up is a Burfi. A few of the group have been speaking about them most of the day and even though we’re so full we have to go and try it. It’s like a long milky icecream lolly in various flavours. Most people go for the pistachio, Jordan gets a rose, Matty a pineapple and I ask the owner’s favourite and he suggests simply “Barfi” or the plan one from which all the others are just flavoured. They’re really nice, quite subtle with a depth of a dairy flavour that is enhanced by the nuts.
Ok - now I’m absolutely done. We head home and I try to have a little lie down. Rather I have a coffee and get back into the car with Jordan to head over to a book launch for The Ceaderville Shop and the wheelbarrow swap by Bridget Krone. It’s at a beautiful house nearby with a large garden. We arrive just in time to grab some of the last scones and have some coffee.
We sit in comfortable chairs all pointing towards Bridge and Pippa who sit on couches and talk all things related to the book in a lovely informal manner. The book absolutely captivates me and I decide to buy one. A first person narrative set in a young Xhosa boy living in Cederville going through a series of swaps to get rich despite the adversities of his life sounds amazing.
We trawl through the beautiful garden and have some nice conversations with people then it’s time to go. Jordan asks if I’m still feeling tired and surprisingly I am not - well not that surprising after two coffees and two scones. We head over to a Roxy’s-esque bar called Smoking Kills. Kate meets us there and we have a beer at a table on the street.
Now I’m tired. We head home, eat the remaining curry from last night, watch the rest of the Bovineiterology video and go to sleep exhausted.