Newlands is a ground I've always wanted to go to and is, without a doubt, one of the most picturesque cricket grounds, nay sports grounds, in the world. A few years back I even joined as an overseas member, one of two Lancashire members (that I know of) to do so. So once dates were confirmed for the latest series it was a no-brainer that I was straight online and booking my accommodation and flights via Munich. Tickets in the members' pavilion were sorted without much of an issue and so it was just a case of letting the excitement build before the trip.
Of course, excitement was slightly tempered by England's performance in the first test, but still, in the cold, early hours of January 30th I got to Manchester Airport, absolutely flew through check-in and grabbed some breakfast airside. There was nothing much else to write home about until I touched down in Munich for a full five hour layover.
Me being me, I slipped up a tad, here. I passed through our arrival terminal, which was bustling with an array of shops, bars and eateries. I jumped on the link train to my departure terminal, walked a fair distance, passed through a security check and found myself in a smaller area with only three places to eat/drink and a handful of shops. After exploring as much of the terminal as I could I settled down for a bit of beer ticking and currywurst.
Eventually I got on a flight I'd rather forget, thanks to the kids next to me and their parents who couldn't keep them in line. Despite being leaned on, interrupted, kicked and so on, I somehow managed to get some sleep which helped pass the time. The rest wasn't too bad, a mixture of in-flight entertainment, eating and my own games/music actually made light work of keeping myself entertained. I could've done with some duct tape for them kids, mind.
Still, I guess it was only a minor inconvenience in the end and I found myself in country no. 21 and continent no. 5 on NYE 2019. Customs was easy as you like and, after a swift change of t-shirt and an attempt to stop myself from stinking the place out after such a long flight I found a cab just as easily and was off towards my accommodation to drop the bags off, as I couldn't get into my room for a few hours yet. The view of Table Mountain on the way in was superb and there was a bit of groundspotting as well as I tried to work out what one stadium was from a distance (the Athlone Stadium, it turns out). Once at my digs, a self-catering apartment which was an absolute bargain, I sorted out all the paperwork, made friends with the staff and then headed off up to the railway station with the intention of catching a train to Newlands.
I decided to take a punt on the fact that I'd be passing through a rather nice area and started walking down. It was a pleasant walk, downhill which was a relief, through houses that were either occupied by the well-to-do or rented out by them to holiday makers with more money than sense. There were some wonderful views of Table Mountain itself and the Lion's Head peak on the other side. I wound down to the beach, took in the view across the Atlantic, took in the sights around the beach itself and trudged back onto the main road. By this point I reckoned I was pretty safe and started the long walk back towards Sea Point. The sight of minibus taxis rammed to the brim with locals along with kids riding in the back of pick-up trucks was a little bizarre and unnerving, but they didn't seem to mind, so hey.
I'd been warned to be careful round Long Street, not of anything violent, just petty crime. I got approached a few times wandering up and down, but most of the time ignoring them, being firm and carrying on walking did the trick. I was half tempted by a curry, but the restaurant I'd found looked tiny and packed, so I stuck to the beer. Parking myself at the bar in Beerhouse, I was surrounded by England supporters. It was boiling and I started to feel tired and rough again, so I made my way through a handful of the huge range of beers on offer before heading back, dodging the requests for food.
I must give a special mention to the old Yorkshire couple in Beerhouse, who made no attempt to dial down the accents, particularly when the woman kept saying "ta love" to the fella behind the bar, oblivious to the fact that he more than likely didn't have a clue what she was blathering on about.
Before heading out for the evening I'd taken the last minute decision to book myself on a tour down to Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope the next day. By the time the bus was leaving Cape Town it was rammed and we set off on the long journey. It took almost as long to make the last few hundred yards once we'd joined the queue to get into the National Park. Once we were in and at Cape Point I had a walk up to the lighthouse, grabbed a bite to eat (along with a chat with some Durham based Yorkshire fans) and then shit out of hiking down to the Cape of Good Hope itself and got the bus down instead. It's the most South-Western point on the African continent, so it was a good tick. I took in the views across the rocks before the bus headed out, past even more traffic and a few baboons watching what was going on.
I do have to also mention what I heard from one tourist outside, "I went to Robben Island yesterday and I'm pretty sure there's worse places I could've spent..." I didn't hear exactly how that ended, but I'm sure we can all guess. Unbelievable.
The next morning I met the others back at the hotel and we got a cab to the ground. Stewart and Shep were with others in the Century Club whereas myself and Dave swanned into the pavilion. A good day's cricket followed, which ended pretty even. Conversations were made with locals, with one amusing moment when somebody told David to speak English when they couldn't understand him; "ha, actually, he's Welsh." Thurston was back behind the bar and the importance of knowing and being good to your barman showed itself quite well throughout the five days. I also enjoyed watching the trains going back and forth behind the ground, but I think I was on my own with that one. After the day had finished we attempted to meet our cab - but the driver had done a runner. After a bit of a nightmare we eventually ended up back at Greenmarket Square. Beer, food and a chat with another Lancs supporter, Tim. I headed back again, having to shake off another chancer - "you don't give me money, you come to the market and buy me food." "It's 10 o'clock at night you idiot, fuck off" - and braced myself for day 2.
After I had an unintentionally late start, Day 3 became the day myself and Dave tried to get our hands on some WPCC goodies and, with the help of John and Nabu, we got ourselves a decent mixture of bits and pieces. With that job successfully completed we headed back into the Oaks Room feeling quite smug with ourselves. Whilst watching the cricket, I noticed a fella eyeing my Lancs tie up. A broad Scottish accent came across, "ah, Lancashire. My mother was a Lancastrian." It turns out our new friend, Hamish, had played over 350 games for the MCC and represented Scotland as well. He'd played against Lancs for them in the first year of the Benson & Hedges Cup, scoring 1 not out after doing his hamstring. The best bit was when he told us he had to retire hurt at Trent Bridge after Richard Hadlee knocked his teeth out. The delivery of the last story, whilst pushing his false teeth out of his gob at the punchline, had me and Dave in stitches. We had a good hour or so nattering to him before watching the rest of the day. The test itself was still ebbing and flowing in true, fascinating test match fashion. We had another evening in Kelvin Grove, meeting up with Warwickshire member Darren and his good lady Denise, even going for a proper meal this time. One jalapeño steak later and it was time to regroup for day 4.
We then watched on as England attempted to get into a commanding position with some much more assured batting the second time around. A superb knock from Sibley and a quick-fire cameo from Stokes had put England in a good position before South Africa went back into bat. An Iris was making a regular appearance on the outfield and we watched as the game seemed to be drifting. Afterwards we found our cabbie, after watching security confiscate fake taxi signs and talking to another Kent fan who bemoaned "football fans" invading test matches abroad, and headed back for beer and food.
Actually, that seems a good time to note, the only First-Class County I didn't see represented on the trip was Leicestershire. But 17/18 is better than the 16/18 I saw in Perth.
On the pitch England made inroads in spurts, but towards the end it started to look a bit twitchy. We got chatting to another local in the afternoon about all things cricket, but eventually he conceded defeat, even when we were still wondering if the breakthrough was coming. Some superb fielding was on show and eventually Philander, in his last Newlands test, was the last man out and we could celebrate. England levelled the series and I'd seen us win a test match abroad. After watching the presentation and saying goodbye to the staff, we headed back to the Kelvin Grove pool bar, chatted with an old Bolton lad and his wife, then headed back to the champagne and sushi bar. Shep, Darren and Denise were there and we were also joined by Dave and Ray. This time, champagne did flow along with quite a lot more Chinese food going round. We stayed quite late and had a good natter. There was another Englishman in who was commiserating as he was now assimilated with South Africa. We just thought he was a bit strange. Still, England had just won in Cape Town for the first time in 63 years, so we shrugged it off and made the best of the evening. When I got back to base I stayed up watching the Manchester derby for a bit, until the Berties scored, then I decided it was time to rest my weary head.
The next day was a slightly slower start than intended, which you might well have imagined, before I wandered over to the Castle of Good Hope, originally a Dutch fort. I also passed a bus to Harare, which I would not have wanted to be on... I had a good mooch around the castle, watched a cannon get fired (and jumped a mile despite knowing it was about to go off) and found a great trainspotting vantage point. It was just a pity I had less than five minutes to admire the view. After a chat with a woman who spotted my Lancs polo, "that looks like a good English shirt," I headed across the famous Grand Parade and met the Three Amigos to get a taxi up to the WPCC clubhouse for a drink.
Built for the 2010 Football World Cup, the 55,000 capacity stadium sits not a million miles away from the waterfront. It's a bit of a political hot potato in the city, as it has been criminally under-utilised since the World Cup and there have been some calls for it to be demolished. However, alongside the gigs that have taken place here, it is also called home by Cape Town City FC, who play in the South African Premier League. They were at home to AmaZulu that night, so it seemed rude to not go and check it out. I certainly wasn't the only English person there, either. The official crowd I've seen recorded is 5,000, although that seemed generous to me, but either way, rattling round in such a large stadium seemed bizarre. Not quite the few hundred I saw inside Hampden Park for a Queen's Park game, but still strange. I found the ground to be far more impressive on the inside. Only one side was open and there were still touts outside, which was a bit ridiculous, really. It only cost just over £2 to get in as it was! It finished 2-2, after City were 2-0 up, and all the goals came in the first half. It wasn't the best game, but entertaining enough. The officiating was interesting as well, they certainly didn't stand for any shit from either side.
Atmosphere wise, there was a small group of "Ultras" standing front and centre, who only let up with the slow, African chanting to celebrate the goals. Not to mention the dreaded vuvuzelas that were being sold inside. Once the final whistle went I was on my toes and back to base via a cab driven by a very talkative Zimbabwean who kept talking about wanting someone to invite/sponsor him to visit England. I didn't take him up on that part of the conversation.
Dave had been dying to find somewhere doing an ostrich steak on the trip, as the place he went last time had shut down, and a burger wasn't deemed a suitable substitute. As it was, he found somewhere on the square, a place called Mesopotamia, and we settled in for the last meal of the trip. Well, the last meal in Cape Town for them as they were off to Port Elizabeth for the third test. Whilst they sampled the ostrich, I took a punt on a springbok steak, and I have to say it was bloody marvellous. Washed down with a rather nice bottle of white, too. Once we'd done, it was back to their hotel where Stewart, Darren and Denise were plotted up already and we settled in for a few pints. I stayed for a couple more than first intended. Yes, it was a 4am alarm call, but with it being my last night and with us still celebrating a win, it would have been rude of me to head back *too* early. Still, I eventually called it a night and wandered back. I did have a, by now to be expected, send off from one last chancer who was waving some sort of white stick around - almost like a shattered lighting tube, which he smacked against the floor, shattering it that little bit more. The only bit that I understood of what he was saying to me centered on someone getting "fucked up." I still don't know if it was me, him, or someone else who was meant to be getting "fucked up", but after being told to go away for the third time he eventually walked off just as I was about to tell him exactly where the stick was going to end up if he didn't leave me alone.
So my time in South Africa was almost at an end. I made my way to the airport only to discover I was an hour early for check-in. For one last bizarre experience, I ended up having breakfast in a Wimpy with sit-down table service. This was after being "mugged" by an attendant in the toilet for a bit of cash after handing me a paper towel and turning a tap on. The cheeky bugger looked disappointed with what I gave him, but sod it. I finally got checked in, bumped into Colin and passed through the most relaxed security and passport checks I've ever seen at an airport. I had a wander round the terminal before settling down for a chat with Colin. Boarding was delayed and we set-off about half an hour late. There was slightly less time to kill in Munich this time around, although a second security check proved to be a bit of a ballache, but there soon time to wander and relax before a fairly straightforward flight. Manchester Airport provided an easy security and bag collection experience before I met my dad and we set off back to Preston.
All in all, it was belting trip. Some people had been apprehensive when I told them I was going out to Cape Town and questioned if it would be safe, but I found a wonderful, welcoming city that I can't wait to visit again. Yes, there was hassle, but I've had more uncomfortable moments in European cities, to be honest. A great place, a great trip, and I saw England win a test match on a ground that has been a graveyard for them over the years. Roll on the next visit.
The full set of photos can be found here.
