In the deepest, darkest heart of South Africa, amidst the marauding elephants and rugged mountain, lies the golden soul of the Rainbow Nation – the plump and delicious Big Pineapple. Welcome to Bathurst (no, not that Bathurst!), a quaint and unassuming rural village in the country’s Feastern Cape just so happens to be home to the largest pineapple in the whole wide world.
Whaaaat!? The biggest in the whole dadgum world? Yes, my friend, there is no grander.
The Big Pineapple stands an astonishing 16.7 metres from top to tail, making him 70 centimetres taller than the comparatively tiny Aussie version in Woombye, Queensland. As an Australian that’s hard to admit, because we like to think we have the most impressive Bigs around. As an aficionado of all things BIG, however, I simply couldn’t be happier.
He lives, quite appropriately, on a peaceful pineapple plantation overlooking the sea. With his realistic rind and provocative crown – both of which are lovingly maintained and oh-so-colourful – he appears to have sprouted from the fertile soil. The Big Pineapple is at one with his surroundings, yet his grandiose stature is decidedly otherworldly.
There’s a two-storey muse-yum hidden within The Pineapple’s bulbous belly with a small selection of souvenirs, and he offers a viewing platform with spectacular views over the plantation. Whilst he’s open all year round, this South African superstar is best seen during summer and spring-bok.
But how did a gigantic pineapple – a near-dentical reproduction of a building so entwined in Australian culture – end up on a humble farm in a quiet corner of Africa? Well, my friend, that’s a story of love and loss and international espionage…
Barrie to the Rescue
During the 1980s, the once-prosperous South African pineapple industry was in freefall. Maligned for their meagre seasonal yields and embarrassingly southern latitude, the region was fast becoming a joke in pineapple circles.
Enter one Barrie Purdon, a debonair gentleman whose name still echoes throughout the Eastern Cape. Taking leadership of meeting of despondent local pineapple growers, Barrie concocted an outrageous scheme to draw attention to the region’s favourite fruit. The farmers would pool their Rand together to build the largest pineapple humanity had ever seen.
“But Barrie,” one compatriot probably said whilst chomping on a stick of biltong. “There are already two pineapples of extraordinary size in Australia.”
“One claims to be the world’s tallest,” one farmer fretted.
“And the other the world’s widest!” a second farmer wept.
“Then ours shall be the tallest…” Barrie probably announced, before pausing for dramatic effect, “and the widest!”
Pineapple Perfection
The plan was likely met, at first, by conspicuous silence, before a lone agriculturalist at the back – a lantern-jawed individual of few words – began to clap slowly. As his rhythm grew in tempo, another farmer joined in, and another, until rapturous applause permeated across the pineapple paddies.
And then a loan voice, trembling yet adamant, cut through the cacophony.
“But Barrie,” a small man said, fidgeting with the wide-brimmed hat he clasped to his chest. “We don’t know how to build a Big Pineapple. We don’t even have any plans.”
Barrie nodded knowingly.
“Maybe if we ask the Aussies really nicely, they’ll let us borrow their plans?” a hayseed suggested.
“We’ve tried that, but they were not amenable,” Barrie chuckled. “They wish to hold onto their record with an iron fist.”
“Then, Baz, that’s it,” another chap wailed, tears pouring down his world-weary cheeks. “Without the plans there’s be no Big Pineapple. No resurrection of the local agricultural industry. I’ll lose my farm!”
“Settle down, bra, the plans have been there all along,” Barrie most likely responded, peering into the distance. “Right there in Queensland, Australia.”
Details of what transpired next remain murky, but the tale told by wide-eyed teenagers around braais from Tsitsikamma to Port Alfred involves Barrie rappelling, Mission: Impossible-style, into the belly of the Aussie Big Pineapple, stealing the construction plans, and escaping the country in a hot air balloon.
How much of the story is true remains the topic of heated debate, but nobody can question that Barrie returned home a hero, with construction on the Pineapple beginning in earnest. Australians were left to rue this lapse national security, and utterance of the name ‘Barrie Purdon’ has been punishable by death in Queensland ever since.
The Piña to Your Colada
Construction on The World’s Biggest Pineapple began in 1990, with fibreglass outer skin draped over a steel and concrete superstructure. Just 12 months later, the behemoth was opened to an apprehensive, yet enchanted public. They didn’t quite know what to make of the five-storey fruit, but it soon became the pineapple of their eye.
Spurred on by the success of their very own Big Thing, Bathurst’s pineapple growers enjoyed unprecedented prosperity, leading to an age of enlightenment in the region. If this is what apartheid can achieve, it wasn’t all bad, eh?
These days the crowds have petered out and when I visited, on a bright and sunny afternoon in mid-May, I was the only Biggie in attendance. I was able to clamber to the top of the succulent sweetheart, drink in the luscious information boards, and admire his remarkably well-preserved outer shell at my leisure.
Unlike Australians, who worship the Big Mango, Big Strawberry and Big Pears, it seems that many South Africans just don’t get the appeal of massive bits of fruit. It really rinds my gears!
This is an extraordinary example of oversized architecture and one of the finest roadside attractions the world has ever known. If the boundless natural and cultural wonders of South Africa aren’t enough to convince you to make this your next holiday destination, then I’m sure The Big Pineapple shall be the tipping point.
I’ve been pining for this large legend ever since I left him, and hope I Afri-can visit him again soon!
