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May 2006

IMPRESSIONS OF THE RIEBEEK-KASTEEL OLIVE FESTIVAL 5-7 May 2006
by Neels Kornelius

Last month, Riebeeck Kasteel in the Western Cape hosted the “Real Olive Festival”. Neels Kornelius shares his experience:

When talking about festivals like this one in general, you can either be a cynic or a romantic, and I must warn you right at the start that I am going to take the romantic tack.

Let’s get the cynical angle out of the way first. There is a school of thought which holds that a ‘festival’ in any number of the smaller South African towns that have them these days is a money making racket. You take whatever there is about your town that makes it slightly unique – potatoes, cherries, beef or mampoer, and you organise a weekend’s worth of food, drink, stalls and music. Many times it seems that the end goal was simply to make sure that everyone goes home slightly poorer, slightly hung over and perhaps with an interesting local arts-and-crafts artefact.

I tried to be strong. I tried being nonchalant. I even thought the weather would play its part in making this “just another festival”, with predictions for the first real rain of the season. But then our bright red little rented Kia Picanto made the last turn over the Bothmaskloof Pass that separates Malmesbury from Riebeek-Kasteel, and just like in the chocolate ad, all resistance crumbled.

		That Friday afternoon, with the north-wester howling in from the ocean, the valley put on quite a dramatic welcoming face, with the dark clouds rolling in over Kasteelberg only serving to emphasise the sun still shining on the Winterhoek Mountains, which delineate the far side of the valley. The patchwork of vineyard, olive grove and fynbos that spreads out before you as you make the turn past the ‘Welcome to Shiraz country’ sign at the top of the pass does something wonderful to the soul of a Gautenger at the best of times anyway. But then it’s pretty hard to keep up the cynical city boy façade when, minutes after stopping the car under the century old oak tree between the manor house and the wine cellar at Kloovenburg, you’re tasting some of the finest red wine in the country, one arm casually draped over an oak barrel, the labrador sniffing at your shoes, with Pieter du Toit explaining how a photograph taken of his four blond organ-pipe sons with their feet purple
from pressing the harvest inspired the name of last year’s award winning Shiraz, ‘Eight Feet.’ (He’s very good at choosing wine names and he has another trick up his sleeve this year, but more on that later.)

It’s also extremely hard not to melt under the considerable charms of Salome Gunther, co-owner with her husband of the Old Oak Manor, which sort of marks the end of civilisation as far as Riebeek-Kasteel is concerned on the road to Riebeek-Wes, the sister town three kilometres to the north. The ‘old oak’ from which the lodge derives its name dominates the courtyard between the lodge itself, where the décor could be (and has been) the subject of decorating magazine articles, and the restaurant, called Café Felix with its own outside dining area and an art gallery on top. The name of the eatery comes from the three huge grey and chocolate cats who are the masters of the house, and who are not to be disturbed once they have occupied the sunny spots in the manor house early each morning!

Riebeek-Kasteel, to explain it to those who have never been there, has the same charm that Dullstroom and Clarens have – a hard to pin down, hard to describe magic in the air that adds something extra to the obvious features – beautiful surroundings, colourful history, and a set of characters to walk the streets. It’s a kind of atmosphere that elevates the town in the mind’s eye to a heady mix that equals more than the sum of its parts. Like the kind of ethereal quality that makes a painting or a woman beautiful to a particular person, it is hard to define and even harder to replicate – you simply know it when you see it. And, as it turns out, an increasing number of people have seen it, because there is scarcely a house in town that does not have a hefty asking price to it. Yup, if your auntie Pam Golding has set up shop in any particular town, you can pretty much kiss the days of bargain basement property prices goodbye.

It’s also this same hard to define but very noticeable charm of Riebeek-Kasteel that must have inspired the very recent and very stylish revamp of the Royal Hotel in Hoof Straat. Here, on a stormy early winter Friday night, you can stroll into the dining room past the bellboy with the colonial hat on, and order an extremely fine pair of Kassler chops for dinner. No steak on the menu tonight, no sir. And, as if to remind you that the town you’re in will not only offer you a fantastic quality of life (after auntie Pam has made you somewhat poorer) but that the soil of this earth has grown the greatest of men, the Royal Hotel bar has a sizeable portrait of Jan Smuts keeping a watch over the watering hole in his town of birth. Take that, Clarens.

As if to ensure that the Riebeek valley locals get their slice of the festival too, the Friday night offered a food-and-wine fair in Riebeek Wes. Far from dampening everyone’s spirit, the rain, which was by this time pelting in sideways, seemed to just thicken the atmosphere and smell of several ‘bredies’ inside the hall. Whilst touring the tables of the various wine and olive estates the gossip is all festival related. Do you think the helicopter rides will go ahead if the rain continues? Will the rain and cold keep the Capetonians away? It’s was nerve wrecking that the food tent on the town square wasn’t quite ready this afternoon.

Come Saturday, no one needed to have been worried. Come to think of it, by Sunday afternoon the worries must have seemed silly. First, a side note. And a weighty one at that, because I’d like to think I’m not usually given to the use of superlatives – but the French-toasted croissant with syrup, bacon and banana I had for breakfast on Saturday (and Sunday!) morning at the Old Oak Manor was the best breakfast I have ever had.

Since this festival is called the Real Olive Festival, it’s probably worth mentioning something about the two things that make up that name. Most obviously, olive refers to the fact that several of South Africa’s best olive producers call the town home. The Olive Boutique, where Mike and Juliana Meredith produce, amongst many other olive products, a kalamata olive in a blueberry dressing that could, with little persuasion, replace gold as an international currency. Mike & Juliana are also responsible, with others, for producing a festival wine every year made by one of the local cellars, but this year Mike has gone one better and produced a special festival oil. Across the road from them is Het Vlock Kasteel, where the wine cellar which was used as a festival hall this year is in the shape of, yup, an actual castle. Around the corner and up the road from these two is Kloovenburg, where the Du Toit family has been farming for two centuries, and where Pieter du Toit started making wine again in the late nineties after a hiatus of some fifty years. More importantly for the festival, of course, is that fact that wife Annalene produces an award winning oil as the flagship of her range of olive products. Last but not least there is the Goedgedacht Community Trust, who produce their oil from olives grown as part of a community upliftment project between Riebeek-Kasteel and Malmesbury. If it seems ambitious to centre an entire festival around four producers, believe me, its not. These four produce more than enough variety and quality between them to keep the most discerning connoisseur happy, and the Riebeek valley is probably as close to as good as it gets for growing olives in the Western Cape.

As far as the real part of the name goes, well, that simply reminds you that about 400 km away, on the same weekend, the good people of Prince Albert in the Karoo were also holding their olive festival.

For the purposes of describing the olive festival, Riebeek Kasteel is laid out in a massive T formed by Hoof Straat and the road to Riebeek-Wes. Working from the bottom upwards, at least geographically speaking, you start at the coffee tent across from the Royal Hotel, next to which a new set of galleries and coffee shops are being finished – another sure sign that the city folk have now officially ‘discovered’ this place.

I’ve mentioned the bellboy with the colonial hat on, haven’t I? Another fifty meters towards the mountain you find the town square on the left, but before turning off there be sure to visit Garden Bleu, pun absolutely intended, on the right. Especially for the wrought iron crucifixes dotted amongst the charming garden benches and incredibly posh birdcages.

And then, on the stoep of the local municipality, (which by the way looks out over an ox which was I guess supposed to commemorate the Great Trek, but which has been given a very funky new SA makeover) the surprise of the festival: a full Jamaican steel drum band, from Malmesbury nogal, who played what I can best describe as the most incredible fusion of reggae, jazz and South African township rhythms I have ever heard. Try NOT being in a festive mood when the sun is slowly burning the cold front into memory, the smell of sheep on a spit and wood smoke fills the air, and Daar-kom-die-alibama from a steel drum provides the background to an oke from Stellenbosch whose mission for the day is to try and sell you a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Will work for biltong.”

On the other end of the town square the food tent started gathering momentum early on the Saturday morning as a shelter against the last teeth of the cold front of the night before – and then only kept on gathering momentum as the weekend wore on. Having some of the best cheese, olives and wine in the country together under one roof, the line between ‘tasting’ and ‘eating’ becomes very blurred very quickly, and you could be completely stuffed if you work your way around the perimeter of the tent with any measure of dedication. Of course the other function of the tent is to make the time when the Boeing goes over a very fluid concept. Having a fantastic Shiraz literally wash the Colgate off your teeth is very acceptable at a festival such as this. And, whatever they paid the charming Dixie band, whose members have the skill to pose for a picture whilst never skipping a beat, it wasn’t enough.

		At the top of the T-junction, turning left past the art gallery in the old church, you would have found, especially on the Sunday, both the business end of this olive festival as well as its parking lot. If the seemingly huge numbers of cars the local traffic officers had to deal with bothered anybody, then nobody let it show. The mood was, well, festive. Outside the Olive Boutique you were accosted by a volunteer who stickered you as an “Extra Virgin Lover” on arrival and who then ushered you into Mike & Juliana’s world of wonders.
	Apart from making a range of olive oil-based beauty products that should put the cosmetics counter at your local department store to shame, what these guys really are wizards at is flavoured olives – in lime juice, in blueberry dressing, in rosemary and garlic. They were all on offer, and then some. What was really unique about the Olive Boutique was their DIY olive starter pack, in which you took home some fresh olives and instructions on how to mix and maintain the brine when you get home.