Like a seasoned student of the National Arts Festival I’ve studied my Festival programme, flagged it with yellow stickies like a college text book and created a spread sheet of shows and venues (craftily worked in and around my day job).
But my first move on this wintery first day of the Grahamstown Festival? Chickpea fudge.
Let it be known that I have every good intention of getting my cultural fix at this year’s festval, of doing all things elevating and edifying during this mad extravaganza. But let’s face it, deep down what I’ve really been hankering for this entire year are the novelties and niceties that accompany the official lineup. Chickpea fudge and shawarmas baby. Good coffee and those mini doughnuts.
There’s more to the festival than what is in the programme. On my way to work this morning, as I was tightening my coat against the frigid blasts, I noticed a lamp post on South Street was looking rather cozy. Decorated with a crocheted floral slip-cover, it was clear that the ordinary object had been ‘yarn-bombed’ — an international phenomenon that puts a slightly more wholesome twist on street art.
Bizarre masses
You never know what you’re going to see this time of year and that’s the beauty of it. As the bizarre masses descend on this ordinary Eastern Cape village, there’s an abrupt surge in cigarettes and culture, dreadlocks and derby caps.
Suddenly venues emerge from the shadows and you find yourself socialising with — okay, next-to — the likes of Kesivan Naidoo and Meri Kenaz. Last night, while dining at the Festival stalwart, The Long Table (a church hall that, come Festival time, transforms into a late-night restaurant where artists linger over hearty homemade lasagne and steaming bowls of soup), I spotted the cheerful reunion of Naidoo and Kenaz. Visions of a new genres arising out of such unconventional collaborations were nurtured in the dim glow of the restaurant — and why not? After all this is a church hall come speakeasy.
It all makes being in Grahamstown feel so, I don’t know, glamorous or something. The town draws on an untapped energy source it could have used during this month’s scattered power outages, and it’s moving with an enterprising agility. Suddenly winter isn’t such a slog and just the thought of the sheer variety of artisan coffee vendors is enough to broach the cold.
So I’m off to reconnect with my friends at the Hare Krishna stall, to catch up on some people-watching and to indulge in the sensory symphony that is the National Arts Festival. Of course I’m armed with my Festival programme and schedule but I know that the Best of the Fest is what can’t be plotted on a spreadsheet. I’m enough of a veteran to know that.
For more from the National Arts Festival, see our special report.
