Morati and Gabrielle started their tour by driving to the photogenic Sydney Harbour. Morati was especially taken up with the Sydney Harbour Bridge, about which he had read a lot.
He’d even researched it by watching programmes about it on the travel channel back home.
The bridge was opened in 1932 and was hailed as “an engineering masterpiece that was way ahead of its time”.
They then drove past the iconic Sydney Opera House and well-known Bondi Beach. Gabrielle suggested that if there was time, on his return from his last stop, a town called Dubbo, he might get the chance to go up onto the bridge.
When he had read the tour guide brochures in his hotel room last night, he understood why they now had to postpone the climb, the shortest of which – known as “The Taster” – would take almost two hours.
Gabrielle parked the car so that they could take a walk through the Royal Botanical Gardens.
It felt like they’d known each other for much longer than twenty-four hours.
They then stopped for a bite to eat in the Circular Quay, at Mr Wong, famous for contemporary Cantonese cuisine.
“You are probably going to have plenty of our signature fish and chips throughout your travels in New South Wales, so I thought we should eat something different to give you a taste of our migrant heritage,” Gabrielle informed him.
The food was top-class. Nearly three hours into the tour, which felt only like thirty minutes to Morati, they stopped at the Coogee Pavilion for craft beer.
Morati was not an ideologue when it came to his drink. He loved whisky and ciders, but he stocked gin at home, and enjoyed good wine, mostly reds.
He would also never pass on an opportunity to down a cocktail, especially if he was travelling or attending a show.
But in all honesty, he’d never been a beer person, even in his youth while he was growing up in Soweto, where beer was almost the only drink of choice.
It was usually only the older men who drank spirits – vodka, cane, brandy, or cheap whisky.
But here Down Under, with the luscious Gabrielle at his side, he decided to give the craft beer at Coogee a chance.
The customers in the pavilion seemed thrilled to have a black man in the room and bought him round after round. Not wanting to be rude, he politely obliged.
“Be careful not to get too tipsy, my friend,” Gabrielle playfully warned him.
When you get back from all your travels, I’d love to take you out and about so that you can experience the buzz and music of Surry Hills, Enmore and Newtown. There you will taste many more of our beers from Down Under.
“When you get back from all your travels, I’d love to take you out and about so that you can experience the buzz and music of Surry Hills, Enmore and Newtown. There you will taste many more of our beers from Down Under.”
Hours later, feeling somewhat inebriated, Morati hazily watched Gabrielle navigate the car back to the hotel. God, this woman was gorgeous. What a backside … and those lips.
“Thank you very much for a beautiful day and a professional tour. You should get paid for this,” Morati said.
“I do get paid for it, handsomely.” Gabrielle flashed a grin.
“I mean you should do it for a living. You are so good at it.”
“It would not pay me half as much as I earn, driving Mr White and his guests around.”
By now they had arrived at the Holiday Inn.
“That was fun. Enjoy your dinner Mister Mo. Go to the rooftop afterwards and enjoy a few drinks at the bar and the amazing night views of the city. I’ll see you at 11am tomorrow to take you to the airport for your next stop in Newcastle.”
“Great. You must have a good evening too.” Morati slowly unclipped his safety belt and opened the car door.
Then Gabrielle switched the car off. There was a long silence. “Uhhh … unless you want me to join you for dinner?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Morati made every effort to hide his enthusiasm. Inside he was whooping.
“Ok. I’ll go and freshen up and I’ll be back at 7pm sharp. When you get to reception, make sure to book a table at the restaurant. It tends to get busy, especially on Friday nights.”
Morati did a thumbs up as he got out of the car. Without glancing back, he walked away briskly. In his head he was acting cool and calm, but perhaps the slight wiggle in his walk betrayed his excitement.
Only when he got into his room, did he let out a yell. “God is black. She must be.”
This is an extract from The Sweetest Taboo by Rams Mabote
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