Memory of Water

Tonight came close to being a good night. And, in fact for awhile it was! I got to go to an amazing show, I got to spend time with Grant and I had a nice dinner. And then it failed.

But let me start from the beginning. I got to go to an amazing show! It is one of the few shows that I am going to this fest (unlike last year when I had a plan practically every night). And I will admit from the outset that I may be a little biased about it - it was directed by a good friend after all. But that is no reason to let the awesomeness slide. I didn't know what to expect from The Memory of Water. I had read the summary of course, but you know summaries - they don't tell you very much. I even convinced Grant that he had to come along. It took a little persuading, but he relented, especially after I bought him his ticket.

And so, at 17:45 we made our way to NG Kerk Saal to go and see The Memory of Water, directed by Deborah Robertson. I had a little trouble getting in (booking through Computicket and collecting the tickets at the door is not a good plan) but we managed with some time to spare and took our seats towards the middle of the room. Two of the actors stayed on stage while people found their seats, one sleeping while the other smoked to add to the atmosphere that the play was to provide. And then it started.

From the first few lines, I was intrigued. And I stayed that way throughout the play. There wasn't a moment of boredom, there wasn't a moment where I thought that it might have been running to long, there wasn't a moment where I regretted going to the show. The acting was superb, the timing was perfect and, even when things went wrong like the set falling over halfway during the show, they didn't skip a beat as the eldest sister exclaimed "Old house!" and they continued with the script. It was funny, it was poignant, it was heartwrenching and it was amazing. I left smiling and filled with warmth, and I would recommend that everyone snatch up the opportunity to see the show before it finishes on Saturday.

Once the play was over, it was time to grab some dinner. Grant wanted to catch the football, so there was no chance of heading home to cook. So we decided to go to the Albany Club. We tend to go there occasionally for lunch and we knew that they would be open for dinner during fest, they are usually quick and make decent meals, so we decided that would be the place to go. We arrived and quickly found a seat. We had been hoping for a table in the bar area since it is warmer and more lively, but no such luck. Nonetheless, we got a table and settled down for a nice meal. The menu was pretty much the same as it always is - typical pub meals of burgers, calamari, chops, etc. with a few Fest additions like Kudu steaks and Butter Chicken. Grant decided to take advantage of the festival and go for the kudu, while I decided on the calamari. The food was decent and came fairly quickly and I was looking forward to dessert when Grant saw the time out of the corner of his eye and realised that he had to run. Which was fine. I ordered the bill as he ran out of the door and waited for it to come. And waited. And waited some more. A table came in and sat down next to me, ordered, got their food and I was still waiting. The other table finished their meal, got the bill and left and I waited. Finally my waiter came in and asked if I wanted the bill because it seemed that my partner wasn't coming back. To which I responded, with frustration. "Yes, I want that bill. That's why I asked for it 25 minutes ago!" Five minutes later he came back with it, and then left. I waited five more minutes before deciding that it was enough and walking through to the kitchen to pay. My waiter found me there and brought over the card machine. Only to say, "I don't know how to do this". It is not rocket science. Once one of the managers had rung it up, he then handed me both the slip for the restaurant and the one that I am supposed to keep. It boggles my mind.

Anyway, I was more than a little annoyed after this, and I made my way to PnP only to park in front of someone who appeared to be taking some coke in front of my car, not wanting to move out of the way which, though not directly affecting me, still pissed me off even further.

So no, despite a wonderful play and a decent dinner, I am sad to say that it has not been a good night. Here's hoping that tomorrow will be better!

Telkom

So it is time for my bitch and complaint session of the month, also known as my rant. Often my rants end up being about random things that have been on my mind, but this month my rant is directed at someone. Not someone as in a person, but someone as in a company. And it’s a company that pretty much everyone in South Africa bitches about – Telkom.

I have had my issues with Telkom in the past. For example, earlier this year when my parents Internet suddenly died and I was put in charge of contacting Telkom to resolve the situation.

“No,” they said. “It is not us. It is your router.”

“It is not our router,” I responded. “The router is sinking perfectly. If it was the router, the light would not be flashing. If it was the router, our computer guy and my boyfriend who works for an ISP would not tell us unequivocally that this is a Telkom problem.”

“No,” they said. “It is not us. It is your router.”

“Send a technician out then,” I replied. “We will PAY for the technician if we are wrong.”

“Okay,” they said. “We will send a technician to [ENTER WRONG ADDRESS HERE].”

“That is not where we live.”

“But your telephone number is [ENTER CORRECT TELEPHONE NUMBER HERE].”

“Yes.”

“Then you live at [ENTER WRONG ADDRESS HERE].”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That is the wrong address! We have never lived there! The only other account that we have with you is for my father’s company which isn’t at that address and never has been!”

“Oh.”

*Glare*

This battle of wits continued for a solid three days of me phoning Telkom and telling them to send someone out to fix the problem to no avail. On day four, however, a technician miraculously appeared. Not because of my phoning in. No. Because Grant had convinced someone at work to phone in on our behalf and send someone out. The technician brought in a router and plugged it in… only to find that it didn’t work. Which is what I had been telling them.

“Oh,” was his response.

Half an hour later, it was discovered that our wire linked to the neighbour’s telephone pole and something had gone wrong. It took another 20 minutes to resolve and then we had internet again. Hooray! While he was fixing our line, I was standing in the front garden and happened to witness another guy who was driving past screech to a halt, swiftly reverse and stop in the middle of the road outside our house, climb out of his car and come running towards me screaming: “WHERE IS HE?” It turns out that we were not the only ones having Telkom issues in the neighbourhood.

So, knowing how much of a pain Telkom can be, when we decided to move to a new house and we learned that we were going to need a new phone number (the old tenants were migrating the line with them but, of course, leaving the infrastructure), I insisted that we place the order for the phone line ASAP. We went to Telkom in the first week of November and ordered the line and ADSL upgrade, and even though we were not impressed that we were going to be paying for an installation when all of the equipment was already there, we did not complain. We asked that everything be sorted out by 01 December, and on 01 December, lo and behold, the technician arrived. We were most impressed! We were told that it would take a couple of days for the ADSL line to be active, and we were pleased. Sure, we wouldn’t have internet for a couple of days, but we could live with that.

A week passed and we still hadn’t heard anything from them. Grant had been emailing the Telkom rep in Grahamstown and she was being really apologetic about it, but there was nothing that she could do. Each time we asked, she phoned Telkom and was told that it would take a few more days, information which she then passed on to us. By Friday (a week and a day after the line was installed), I was getting irritated. Not wanting to bug Surita more than was necessary, I decided to contact Telkom directly. I spent half an hour waiting in the queue before finally being seen to, was then informed that it should be done on Monday and that Surita would contact us. Most frustrating, but at least we had been given a date.

Monday came and went with no ADSL. On Tuesday (now a month after we had first placed the order) we were told that we had been given an installation date of 23 December. We were furious! Working at an ISP, we know what is involved in enabling ADSL on a line. It involves walking into the exchange, signing a couple of papers, finding the line, unplugging it and plugging it in elsewhere. It should take no more than 15 minutes and yet – 23 DECEMBER! Surita, once again, was most apologetic and promised to do all that she could to get it done sooner. Surita, we have decided, is magic. On Thursday we were told that the ADSL had been enabled and we were practically jumping for joy. It was still not working at home though, so Grant ran off to Telkom to get a phone and went back to the house to test it. Only to be met by the dull BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP that indicates a dead line. A dead line that told us that the installation that was done on 01 December had not been done correctly. A dead line that indicated that the bill that we had already received for the line rental might as well be torn into tiny little eetsy beetsy bits since there was no way in hell that we were going to be paying for a landline that we couldn’t have used even if we wanted to.

It is now almost a week later and we have finally been told that a technician has been sent to work on the problem. It has been most painful getting hold of Telkom to discuss the matter with them, since the Grahamstown branch is in fact closing and are therefore no longer answering their phones and phoning the main branch in Johannesburg leads me to want to shoot my work phone. Here’s hoping that this is the end of it, but something tells me that it really isn’t and that there are long struggles with Telkom ahead. In the meantime, I am not happy with the service I have received and if I were rating the company, I would give them 1 star. Not that it would make any difference, of course. Practically everyone in the country complains about Telkom and nothing comes of it. I was tempted to write a complaint on HelloPeter (something that I was reluctant to do because I have issues with HelloPeter, a story for another time) but I doubt that they would even bother responding to that. They have a terrible reputation and they are doing nothing to better it. And so I will just rant on my blog where no one is likely to pay attention, but at least I get my frustrations out in the open. /end Rant.

Kindly Give Me Back My Kindle

Hello readers :)

I figured that it had been awhile since I last posted something of interest on this blog, so I thought that I would write a post while I had a spare minute or two.

As anyone who reads my blog may have guessed from the many posts about books, I like to read. Quite a lot really. Enough for me to have books to fill practically fill a full two bookshelves by myself. Which means that when I move around, when I travel and when I move houses, I tend to take a lot of books with me. What this leads to is a lot of extra weight and a lot of extra space. This led to a decision being made last year - I needed an ebook reader. When Shaina got given her Nook for her birthday, I was incredibly jealous and I started working on Grant, insisting that I should get such a device myself. It would come in handy for the both of it, I pleaded. And eventually he gave in, getting my a wonderful Kindle for my own birthday in March.

It is now August, and I am ashamed to say that I have not made too much use of my Kindle. After downloading a huge number of books and taking my Kindle to Johannesburg with me, I have barely touched it since, and there is good reason for this. My Kindle, my wonderful Kindle, the third (or fourth) love of my life (after Grant, Puddims and, at times, my HTC) is faulty. You see, while Amazon advertises that the Kindle battery can last a full month, I can barely get four hours out of the thing. The wireless is turned off. There is no music playing. I have decreased the number of books on the machine, but after fully charging it, turning it on and opening a book, it automatically jumps to less than half health. The last time I did this, I then turned it off and left it sitting on my desk. Two days later, it was completely dead.

Contacting Kindle from South Africa is a problem. You see, Amazon does not have South African support, and though I emailed them about the problem, they required a phone call. There is no local number to call. My cellphone does not have roaming and cannot dial international numbers. My Skype does not have credit as I have no credit card. I am left with only one option - to take the machine in to the shop where Grant bought it. Which I will do. But I thought that I would vent my upsetness first.

I am upset. I loved my Kindle with all my heart, glorifying it as the best birthday present ever. And it is broken. I seriously think that Kindle needs to get some South African support, particularly if these devices are being marketed at an International audience, which they are. If they cannot get South African support, then they need to be prepared to have better reception when emailed and provide better service than merely saying: "We can't help you over email. Give us a call." I can't give you a call, and I am left with a defective machine until I can get off my ass and go to Insight. Which, fair enough, is not too far away. But while Amazon offers a replacement in days, I know that my Kindle is not going to get back to me for weeks when I hand it over to Insight, because it is doing nothing more than passing it on to a middle man, who then has to get in contact with their suppliers, who then have to get in contact with Amazon, who then have to send a replacement, which then needs to be sent to Insight and finally ends up at me a lot later than it would have if I could have just gotten hold of Amazon myself.

I am upset. I am unimpressed and I want my Kindle back, the way that it should be. Rant over.

Time for a Treat?

Treat Cafe in Hertex design studio
Durbanville
Cape Town

“They're so pretty!”

Deep brown sugar smothered upon decadent chocolate cake; buttery icing sitting atop another spotted with dark poppy seeds. speckled eggs sprinkled across a third cake oozing spice and another beside it bleeding red. It took all I had not to just whip out my camera right then and there.

“Can I help you?” I gave the woman beside me the briefest of up-and-downs, taking in her lime-green and black striped shirt and wondering where she might have gotten it. This was our waitress? I thought she was a customer.

“Do you have a table for two?”

Looking around the room at the tables filled with women sipping cappuccinos and sharing gossip, it didn't seem likely. Evidently Treat is a popular place for the middle-aged gossipy women of Durbanville, but our waitress didn't skip a beat.

“There's one at the front of house if you don't mind sitting there.”

We weren't there to socialise anyway.

“That will be perfect.”

We were quickly shown to our seats - a table, a good way away from the rest of the cafe, that I had thought was part of the display when I'd walked in. Hidden amidst the comfortable-looking couches and the swabs of patterned material that lined the wall of Hertex design studio, placed directly beneath a chandelier that looked like something out of a hotel, we sat ourselves down and waited for our menus. I took advantage of the first few minutes to grab my camera, as I am prone to do, and shoot away. But when, a few minutes later, I sat down again, we still had no menus.

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.”

We'd been seated for a good five minutes longer before the waitress remembered us.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No. We need menus.”

“Oh.” A flush of pink came over her cheeks and she rushed back to the cafe entrance to fetch us some. We didn't have a problem with her service again.

Looking at the menu, I couldn't help but wonder how much everything was going to cost. When a 170ml can of apple iced tea cost R17, I wasn't holding out too much hope for a cheap meal. But that wasn't going to stop me. I was a girl on a mission.

The food arrived quickly, beautifully presented, and we dug in only to discover that there was nothing special to it. Not bad, but nothing to go out of your way for either. But then, this wasn't a restaurant, not somewhere you would go for a lunch – this was a cafe, a place for tea and cake, and the cake was what had brought us here in the first place. Those beautiful cakes that had wowed me at the start. Nevermind the mediocre lunch, it could be overlooked as long as the cakes tasted as good as they looked.

We ate as much of the lunch as we could, neither of us cleaning our plates, and prepared ourselves for the glory that was awaiting us. What would it be? Chocolate? Lemon meringue? Red velvet? No, no. We decided to share two slices so that we could get a taste of each – the intriguingly decorated cinnamon cake and my favourite lemon-poppy. Minutes later, the slices were placed before us and we held our forks in awe before finally digging in. There was a moment's silence as we chewed. Revered silence perhaps?

“Does yours taste like butter?”

I nodded in agreement, the taste filling my mouth and suffocating any other. Our first impression didn't improve over the next few bitefuls. Eventually we gave up on the cakes, not finishing them either and decided to pay and leave before we could be disappointed by anything else.

“That will be R165.”

I fished around in my wallet for some cash and walked quickly through the beautifully decorated cafe to the exit. I couldn't get there quick enough.