The Plett / Knysna weekend
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I stayed in Plett during the Knysna Oyster Festival and, thinking back, there are other issues I want to raise - besides the actual festival and the fuckfest that is Crab's Creek on the Saturday night.

[We pause, briefly, for a picture of Seth's view from his Plett house]
 

Very cuck

The issues I am referring to have to do with the Knysna area and its inhabitants. I want to know why so many weird things happen in Knysna. For all its beauty, Knysna also tends to come across as a muddy, tree people inhabiting, satan worshipping haven for murderers.

Something happens every year I go up to Knysna. There is a particularly long, dark stretch of road between Knysna and Plettenberg Bay - a stretch of road that is flanked on either side by dense forest. There are no settlements for miles and no streetlights whatsoever. In a word, it's fucking terrifying. And somehow, every year, I get freaked out by the same thing. It happened this year again - the strangest thing. I was driving along the Knysna Plett road with some friends at about one in the morning and we saw a man in a trench coat walking along the side of the road. He wasn't looking for a lift, he was just walking with a bag in his hand. He was staring straight in front of him, plodding along in the pitch black night. Bizarre!

Where was the man going? What was he doing there? Why wasn't he looking for a lift? We were honestly petrified for the guy. We decided that there was no way in hell that the man would make it home alive. He would either be hit by a car or killed by 'tree people'. The guy must have been terrified. But then it dawned on us - the guy wasn't scared at all! Why? Because he was a serial killer! He was OBVIOUSLY carrying body parts in the bag and was about to dump them in the forest. He wasn't scared at all! Because serial killers don't get scared of other people! They just kill them and dump their bodies in forests!

The next day we were discussing the strange things that go on in Knysna (just go to google and search for 'body found in Knysna' or 'Knysna murder'). The kitesurfer told us about the time he went around the back of an establishment in Knysna to take a pee. The establishment was situated alongside a railway line. He spotted an old unused railway carriage and inside it was a family of tree people. A mother, fasher (I want it to be spelt like that) and two kids. None was taller than 4ft5inches. The kitesurfer said the family had unusually large feet and the mother was squatting over an empty margarine tub. He says it was like something out of a freak show. He wanted to tell us more but he was close to hurling.

Back to the weekend..... we took control of Plett's flagship nightclub, V.I.P. (which stands for Vegas In Plett. Seriously) on the Friday night and enjoyed our time with the locals who have no alternative but to trip on ecstasy on a daily basis. The VIP room in the club is called 'The Viper Room'. There were no VIP's to be seen, unless you count Sasha Martenengo.

Saturday night gave us the Crab's Creek spectacle (you might remember last year's article) which was absolute mayhem. Again we had to endure exchanging our real money for Crab Dollars. The money is in the form of a perforated sheet of different denominations of Crab Dollars. Like a sheet of stamps. Ordering a drink at the bar was close to suicide. I went with a friend and remember at one stage being caught in a helluva compromising situation. We were squashed together as close as two human beings can be squashed together. We couldn't move for about two minutes. My friend's hand was now stuck between us - in front of my crotch. We were being bumped from the front and from behind and realised that, in essence, I was fucking his hand. Not ideal.

Chicks were hammered, guys were pissed and it was freezing cold. The embarrassment with the pink woolen hat on was as annoying as usual. God, you are painful.

We got to our car and as we were climbing in we heard a voice.

"Excuse me"

We were parked in an area below the road. We looked up to see two Knysna teenagers looking down from the road. Their hair was gelled forward and they were wearing tracksuits and gold chains.

"Yes" I muttered

"Where are you guys going", asked one of the youths.

I realised that this was a defining moment. I had to lie. If they found out we were driving through Knysna to Plett, they would have asked for a lift. If we gave them a lift then there is no doubt in my mind that they would have pulled out weapons and sodomised and killed us. They were clearly satan worshippers and were probably on TIK.

"We're driving literally to the end of this road", I lied.

That's when the Englishman shouted from the back seat of our car. "ZANZIBAR!" - referring to where we really wanted to go - the name of a bar in Knysna.

I leant into the car and told the Englishman that he better keep quiet before his body gets sacrificed.

The two youths were staring now.

I looked up at them - "That guy is smashed, he doesn't know what he is saying. We're going to the end of the road where my friend has a caravan. Sorry."

I don't know where those guys were going, probably Phantom Forest or Phantom River or Phantom Acres (all actual Knysna names), but we managed to get away from them. I hopped in the car and I'm sure I heard the one chap utter the words "you're lucky".

It's a beautiful place, old Knysna, but there is weird stuff going on that people try to ignore. The tree people element is just the beginning. Bored teenagers is another. TIK is another.

Be careful out there, folks. And don't give lifts to wired, bored teenagers.

Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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