September 20, 2011. When in Rome, do as the Romans, or so the saying goes. But when in Stanford be careful if you do as the Stanford-people do.
Okay, a quick geography lesson and some context for those completely in the dark. Stanford is a little town in the Overberg area of the Western Cape, about 20km from Hermanus. It’s favoured by those seeking the quieter side of life, farmers, artists, merchants, publicans, cafe owners etc.
My wife and I were on a quick break to the Cape and decided to spend a couple days at Stanford, eager to get a taste of the famous “better life” our friends had been raving about, but ended up getting a lot more than we bargained for.
We were staying in cottages at the Stanford Hills wine farm, which shall remain entirely blameless in this episode, a picturesque and quiet spot, perfect for a quiet braai or night in front of the fire . . . brilliant for walking or mountain bike riding.
But we, or Stanford, perhaps, had other plans in the pipeline. A quick visit to the local pub coincided with the big Blue Bulls v Western Province Currie Cup clash. A sizeable crowd was heaving at Hennie’s, so we chose instead the equally loud, but not quite so full Oom Steyn’s, just down the drag.
There we checked out the local patrons with some fear and trepidation as testosterone fuelled rugger fans cursed at the big screen, yelled out orders to the bar tender and looked generally ready for anything. We scuttled outside and found a quiet corner . . . bad mistake, for it was here that we met and engaged with some of the good folk of Stanford, who proceeded to welcome us warmly into their bosoms and a world of beer, beer, Jagermeister and more beer.
Entirely innocent in the festive evening which unfolded – and for which we were to pay a heavy price the following day – we were not. Indeed, we eagerly partook of all that was provided thus contributing to our downfall.
It being a Saturday, things were in full swing in this quaint and beautiful country town; it was then, sloshed as we were, that we learned of a tradition in Stanford. This was merely a precursor, for the main event would unfold the following day and into Sunday evening . . . a phenomenon known as “Super Sunday”.
Virtual standstill
The reason? As a large number of the town’s inhabitants are in some way involved in the catering and tourism sector, they rarely get a Sunday off, thus Sunday becomes a virtual Saturday and on Mondays the town comes to a virtual standstill. Or at least that’s how I understood it.
After a particularly vicious Super Saturday, we gingerly decided to ignore our new-found pals, and give Super Sunday a wide berth. Tempting though it was, the lure of a cosy fireplace won out.
Instead we stayed at home in our rustic cottage and quietly licked our wounds. But I have no doubt that Stanford would have done us proud. – Garth Johnstone
Editor’s note: Stanford is about much more than just pubs and jolling. For more info on this beautiful country town visit the Stanfordinfo website.