This is Wild West Country. Arid desert, big skies, small, dusty, one-street towns, tumbleweed, heavy swing doors opening onto darkened bars, the sound of honky-tonk. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, the Man With No Name. The contrast with manicured Constantia, oh-so-cool Stellenbosch and the industrial sprawl of Paarl couldn’t be greater. This is frontier country: next stop is Namibia.
I’m driving along the bucolic backwaters of Cambridgeshire on a lovely warm spring morning, the smell of honeysuckle in the air, a warm breeze blowing through the open window, and the sound of a bunch of Italian winemakers jabbering away on their mobiles in the back of the car. It’s a bit like listening to Tarzan Sings the Blues.