Stirring stories with a twist

The vintage Alfa Romeo had been sitting in my garage in Cape Town, collecting dust for two years. I called the mechanics at Crossley and Webb who agreed to get the car ready for the road in time for my arrival in Cape Town. 

My fantasy was that like Michael Caine’s character in the Italian Job I would return after a long stay away (prison in his case, Covid lockdowns in mine) and collect my sports car that has been kept in perfect fettle by a garage-full of faithful mechanics.  I would roar off into the sunset, or in Michael Caine’s case, head for a hotel room full of hookers – but that’s a different fantasy.  

When the sports car in question is almost 50 years old however, the fantasy is dangerous. It’s a bit like smuggling your ancient aunt Edna out of the retirement home, oiling her artificial knees and asking her to run a marathon.  Something is bound to break. 

The car worked for a while. Most things do. However, on a busy motorway on a beautiful summer weekend, I had to wrestle the Alfa to the kerb, with smoke pouring from the rear wheels. The car ground to a stop as the rear brakes locked, immobilising the vehicle. 

Breaking down in Africa is not for the faint hearted. Ideally one should be carrying a decent tool kit, plenty of spare parts, and a bolt action shot gun. All I had was a bottle of gin and a couple of cigars. 

I was stationery in heavy weekend traffic in a tiny vintage car. I couldn’t even turn on the hazard warning lights  – they hadn’t invented them when the car was built.  This was potentially very dangerous. I stepped out of the car and lit a cigar. 

Fortunately a group of Zimbabweans selling tourist tat on the sidewalk spied me. There are about a million Zimbabwean refugees in South Africa – friendly, hard working folk who had to escape their liberator who stole all their wealth and starved them out.  Stuart, my Zimbabwean rescuer, bounded across the road and started directing traffic away from the stalled vehicle.  I didn’t even carry a red warning triangle to place on the road alerting on-coming vehicles to a road hazard,.  Stuart went back to his wares and returned with a large red plastic rooster that he positioned as a warning beacon!  Brilliant African ingenuity.  I bought a red plastic rooster to carry in the back of my car. Everyone should! 

The Automobile Association didn’t answer their phone – in South Africa 24×7 emergency services don’t work on weekends, particularly if they are sunny. 

I was left to find a local emergency service on Google. The service was called Hookers leaving it unclear whether I had ordered a flat bed truck or a hard working lady with questionable morals. In the meantime friendly South Africans kept stopping by to check whether we were okay. Several people recognised my car from the Cape Town Alfa Romeo Facebook group and offered to stay until help arrived.  The chaps at Crossley & Webb left their families and their weekend Braai’s to open the garage for me to receive the vehicle safely.  This was South Africa at its generous best.

The last two years have been devastating for the South African economy.  The lack of tourism has crippled the large hospitality industry in Cape Town.  But the place remains stunningly beautiful.  The sun shines every day. And the people are some of the nicest you will meet.  

I’ll be visiting Cape Town again soon – come join me. I’ll give you a ride in a yellow Alfa Romeo with a red plastic rooster in the trunk!