What I miss most in South Africa is barrel herring. Here it is only pickled - spicy and sweet in taste. And the iwashi herring we are used to does not live in the waters washing South Africa. I tried salting trout - no, that's not right.
Saffron milk cap - it's a saffron milk cap even in Africa
I roast the sunflower seeds myself and constantly snack on them - behind the wheel, on the beach, in a restaurant. Sometimes I go into the forest for mushrooms. Around Cape Town there are many eucalyptus and pines - among them there are saffron milk caps and russulas. If you go higher into the mountains, where there are more leafy trees, you can pick a bucket of porcini. And champignons grow on city lawns. True, local residents consider forest mushrooms inedible and look at me as if I were crazy.
Europeans think that in South Africa they eat crocodiles or elephants. That is not entirely true. Of course, sometimes we wrap a sandwich with biltong - dried meat of kudu or ostrich. But exotic dishes like zebra tenderloin or giraffe steak, served at the Carnivore restaurant ("Predator"), are intended mainly for tourists.
Usually tourists take away from here the liqueur Amarullo - a 17-percent extract from the amarula tree, whose intoxicating fruits drive animals crazy. The bottle is big, the taste unusual, an elephant is drawn on the label - isn't that a souvenir from an exotic country? But, in my opinion, guests underestimate the fragrant and tart South African wine. Try, for example, Klein Constantia. When Emperor Napoleon was on the island of Saint Helena, he ordered five bottles of this variety every day.
The farmer's best guard
Many people keep ostriches as guards on farms in Africa. Defending itself and its territory, this strong bird can rip open a person's stomach with a blow of its clawed foot - even a lion avoids it. The ostrich is incredibly timid; the slightest rustle arouses its suspicion. That is why, by the way, clever zebras try to stay close to ostriches - if they startle, it means danger is near.
But still the best means of defense is a well-sighted pistol. Personally, I prefer the nine-millimeter "Makarov" - reliable and simple to handle. I strictly follow the storage rules: I keep the weapon in a locked safe, separately from the cartridges. I have not yet had to use it for its intended purpose, knock on wood.
Earlier, the law allowed the use of a firearm for defense when danger threatened two things: life and property. Now weapons can be used only in the first case - when there is a threat to life. The criminal must have a knife, ax, or crowbar in his hands. If he has climbed in to steal tomatoes, I have no right to shoot - for that one can go to court.
In the Western Cape province, farmers do not build fences. If a house surrounded by a fence is encountered, it means its owner moved here from Johannesburg. There is indeed a high crime rate there; people live behind a high wall wrapped in barbed wire - so they bring their habits here. Although the only thing to fear in the vicinity of Cape Town is attacks by monkeys.
Six or seven years ago, after the blacks came to power, there was often hooliganism in the city, cars were stolen, and houses were broken into. White businessmen raised money and ordered a modern tracking system and an equipped observation center from Switzerland. Powerful cameras were installed at every intersection, capable of picking out a criminal's face at a distance of one and a half kilometers. Three dozen monitors were placed in the observation point, which duty officers began to watch 24 hours a day. Now, in the event of a violation of order, a special police unit rushes to the scene. The special forces are also black, but they do not show solidarity with robbers - if an order is given to shoot, they will shoot to kill.
At first after the introduction of the security system in the city, 40-50 people were detained per day. Six months later, the crime rate indicator decreased by 80% - and to this day it continues to fall. Now it is safe in Cape Town: people stroll along the Waterfront until late, the local flea market is working, and in most bars the fun does not abate all night.
In Joburg (Johannesburg) it used to be calm. But now the authorities cannot cope with street crime. On every corner street children pester, trying to wipe the windshield with a dirty rag. It is better not to leave the car - they may attack, demand money, snatch a wallet from your hands. No one cares about skin color - blacks and coloreds are attacked just as often as whites.
Cameras could also be installed in Johannesburg, but it is expensive, and there is no one to finance it. Businessmen have left, the government refuses to pay, parliamentarians have other things to do. In the center of the city, in the townships of Soweto and Alexandria, it is better for whites not to appear. On the other hand, a black person will not get into the millionaires' city of Sandton, no matter how much he wants. At the same time, one cannot imagine the capital of South Africa as a city of complete lawlessness. There are guarded department stores, entertainment centers, zoos, swimming pools, restaurants where blacks and whites are mixed and where no one touches anyone.
Signor Tomato
My farm is small - 12.5 hectares. A mansion, a cottage, a shed, 7 greenhouses, and 14,000 tomato bushes. I had to take a loan from the bank and pay $55,000, but I will quickly recoup this money. My job is to grow tomatoes and deliver them to a reseller. Packing, wrapping, and selling are his concern.
Planting, spraying, and harvesting are done manually; everything else is computerized. Tomatoes grow not in the soil but in a neutral medium - in wood chips. In a reservoir of forty thousand liters, water is mixed with nutrients and minerals, and then this solution is introduced into the plant through capillaries. This progressive method is called hydroponics.
Like a true plantation owner, I do nothing with my own hands. I have a colored foreman and three black workers. During the harvest season, for a couple of weeks, I have to hire five more. I come to the farm two or three times a month, sometimes stay for a few days - I supervise the work, swim in the pool and enjoy nature. And as a result, I help the country's economy - I provide people with work.
If you organize your business properly, you can go years without paying taxes here. By law, deductions are made only on net profit, while maintaining and developing production is not taxed. Under the last two items you can write off everything - except, perhaps, vodka. Car, phone, electricity, computer - these expenses are counted as costs for maintaining and developing the business. Officially, my company is listed as unprofitable, although in fact it brings substantial profit.
One of my workers is a Bushman. During the harvest season he appears from nowhere and then disappears to who knows where. I never pour him whiskey and strictly forbid anyone else from doing so. Bushmen genetically do not sweat; moisture does not evaporate from their bodies. Alcohol stays in the blood for many hours - a Bushman can become an alcoholic from a couple of bottles.
But for life in the desert, Bushmen are adapted like wild animals. They find some roots, squeeze out moisture and drink. They scratch an antelope with a poisoned arrow and run after it until it becomes paralyzed. Then the whole tribe eats it to the last bite. Honestly, of all the people I have to deal with in South Africa, I respect the Bushmen the most.
Sometimes representatives of the Xhosa people come to work for me. They are also called 'red people' - they love clothes of purple colors. Unlike the peaceful Bushmen, the Xhosa are terribly warlike. They still revere the sorcerer Makana - the very one who inspired them to attack the small English fortress of Grahamstown. The sorcerer said: the bullets of the enemies would turn into icy drops in the air, melt and fall to the ground as rain. The garrison of the fortress numbered only 350 men; the attackers were 20 times more. The outcome of the battle: 1,500 dead Xhosa and two dead Englishmen. The Xhosa to this day are distinguished by astonishing impracticality; this people is the most undependable in terms of time. When a Xhosa promises to do a job by a set date, I always ask again: is that by the clock or by African time?
Another worker of mine represents the legendary Zulu. Now the Zulu have their own kingdom, KwaZulu; they have a constitution, flag, and coat of arms. The Zulu live a settled life - they engage in agriculture, weave baskets, and raise cattle. I have concluded that a Zulu never needs to be rushed - he will do the work himself - slowly but surely.
Usually tourists are introduced to the life of the local population in some ethnographic village. From ten in the morning, half-naked warriors in feathers and native girls in loincloths prance around the reed huts. But after six in the evening, such a village closes; the participants of the show pull on jeans and go to drink beer at the nearest shebeen - a semi-underground bar that doesn't pay taxes.
Who is a genet?
My favorite place in Cape Town is the old lighthouse set on the top of the Cape of Good Hope. From here a cosmic landscape opens up: the boundless expanse of the ocean with white specks of ships on the curved horizon line. This lighthouse has an unusual history. It was built on the highest spot, but one feature of the local climate was overlooked. There are days when clouds descend low, cover the cliffs, and prevent the searchlight beam from getting through. At water level it is light and clear, while the top is hidden behind a veil of dense fog. The navigator of a passing ship thinks the shore is far away - and steers the vessel straight onto the rocks. Thus, misled, the Portuguese dry-cargo ship 'Lusitania' was wrecked here. After that, another lighthouse was built, much lower than the old one. To this day, this second lighthouse remains the most powerful in the world - 28 million candlepower. In clear weather it can be seen for 34 miles. And the old, abandoned lighthouse now serves as an observation deck.
I can sit up there for a long time, watching how a wave is born far out in the ocean, gains strength, rolls toward the shore, and breaks into billions of drops. Sometimes a large shaggy baboon settles nearby. Protecting his eyes from the glaring sun, he puts his paw to his brow and gazes into the distance just as intently as I do. I don't know what he is thinking at that moment. We just sit side by side and keep quiet, trying not to disturb each other with a sudden movement.
After living in South Africa, I began to treat animals differently - not at all like creatures with whom you are on opposite sides of the bars. Previously, all antelopes looked alike to me, but now I can tell them apart even from a distance. There's the duiker - a funny rascal with a tuft of hair on its head; there's the beautiful kudu with spiral horns; there's the dik-dik with a little trunk instead of a nose; there's the impala, leaping three meters into the air; there's the dwarf suni, making a terrible whistle like the robber nightingale.
Much of what is shown in the 'Wildlife' series I have seen with my own eyes: the mating games of giant elephants, a jackal chasing a pelican, the birth of a wildebeest, black rhinos bathing. Once I even had a genet living on my farm - a large animal with a spotted coat and a fluffy white tail. The genet hunts mice at night, climbs trees well, and loves having its ear scratched. Yet it is not quite a cat. The genet swims well but does not eat fish, and when defending itself, it secretes a strong-smelling liquid from special glands. Miracles indeed!
Now do you understand why I have lived in South Africa for so long and don't want to leave anywhere?