Not an auspicious start! Through the alleged wonders of the Internet, I had managed to book myself a seat with a modicum of additional legroom. In addition, it was at the back of the plane which had two advantages.
So far, so good – but this is where the plan fell into smithereens. After the meal it was time to slumber – but the specially selected seat wouldn't recline. The crew found me another – but somebody had spilt their drink on it turning it into a swamp. The TV for the third seat didn't work. Thanks to a South African Airways strike, their passengers had filled all the other seats – so there I sat: but was still fast asleep when breakfast was wheeled down the aisle.
CAPE TOWN
And so to Cape Town and
my base for the next few days:
The Backpackers Hostel.
The hostel seemed to be in the middle of either a one way system or
on the central reservation of a dual carriageway.
Through a small door in a wall – with an electronic access system – I walked into what appeared to be a quiet courtyard: almost Moorish. More importantly, it was the access to the bar and restaurant, with an open fire, West African music and a satellite TV with the sound switched off. The dorm had 5 bunk beds but with plenty of circulation room – the best bit was the view of Table Mountain that loomed over the establishment. It was a short stroll down to Long Street the heart of backpacker-land. It's a weird mix of establishments: dusty shops selling hard core electrical bits, next to an antique emporium, adjacent to a boutique selling the latest African design clothing. Interspersed with a vast range of a world ranging selection of eating establishments : “Momma Africa” (selling ostrich, crocodile, kudu etc); Lebanese, Belgian(!), French and Steers (SA's answer to McDs but with much better meat).
Cape Town is dominated by
Table Mountain that looms and encircles the skyline. In some ways it has echoes of Hong
Kong – its has a constant high back-drop visible from most points
in the town: the only absence being the myriad of lights that bless
HK. It has buildings that reflect his chequered
history – a few elegant Georgian & Victorian buildings from the
high of the colonial era. Some were imposing corporate
and government buildings and many in the Long Street
area that still had their balconies providing shady collanded
pavements. So much like New Orleans that film companies come as it's
cheaper than the real thing.
In the business district there were a
number of Art Nouveau / Deco buildings in
the shadow of the inevitable C20th glass and concrete
fingers.
A couple of hundred yards from the commercial / shopping centre are the docks. “The Waterfront” is a modern development combining a large up-market shopping centre, more eating establishments, souvenir shops, buskers, the ferry to Robyn Island, boats sailing to see the sunset and to see whales etc. All rubbing shoulders and intermingled with the the grimy commercial work-a-day comings & goings: large tugs, Chinese fishing boats being sand blasted in dry dock, South Africa's America Cup contender, cable laying ships and oil rigs.
Turning to the more practical developments, the Land Rover was late arriving and was being inspected by Customs on the day after I arrived (ie the Friday); I was under the impression that I would be there when Customs inspected the vehicle and consequently had not provided them with the key to the padlock on the rear door – so it missed that appointment and I had to wait until the Monday for another appointment! Two more days kicking my heels around town not doing the touristy things as I didn't have my camera to record events for posterity.
Reading the local newspaper – as is my wont in strange places – one of the themes throughout the country was corruption in public life. In Cape Town the story was about street parking. The contract had gone to a company with connections to the ruling political party – other tenders were crying 'foul' as they said that they had been excluded even though they were more than capable of undertaking the work. Instead of a high tech smart-card solution, the successful solution involved having a person every 100 yards with a electronic device recording times etc and keeping the money in the pockets of their aprons.
The other current story was a statement from an Adviser in the Cape Town Mayor's Office – one Blackman (sic) Ngoro. It was along the lines that 'coloured' people were not as intelligent as the 'blacks', they were drunks and just 'cheer leaders for the whites'! As can be imagined – this caused a certain amount of comment in a post–apartheid South Africa: many column inches in the papers and lots of angry people on the radio phone ins.
OUT OF CAPE TOWN
Once I had the Landy I couldn't wait to escape Cape Town! The choice was either East or West coast. As I was going to be travelling for some way up the Garden Route on the West Coast, I decided to see a very small part of the East Coast. This would enable me to see some of the Fynbos scenery (fynbos = fine bush). The countryside was flat and rolling and in some ways similar to the UK's South Downs. However, instead of rolling fields of grass, there were rolling hills covered with what looked like the vegetation you get on British moorland – low bushes.
The accommodation for the next two nights was to be the Beach Camp at
Paternoster. 100 miles up the coast and through a small posh holiday
town full of small, well-maintained, white houses there was a sign
pointing down a sandy track. At the end there was a collection of
tents and a Robinson Crusoe bar – there was also 2 long drop
toilets (one for each gender) with a note asking guests not to use
for a pee but to use the beach instead!
In the summer it must be an idyllic spot with the waves breaking on the boulders off the beach, canoes to paddle along the coast, walking through the fynbos up to the lighthouse and along the shore line or just sitting outside the bar with a cold beer. When I arrived it came as a bit of a shock to the woman who ran it – she wasn't expecting anybody: despite me phoning ahead to ensure they had a place available. It turned out that I was the only guest! The owner had a friend staying and I was to be the only paying guest. These two seemed to spend all their time playing Pool (badly) and chatting in Afrikaans. The owner made it clear – in a fairly subtle way – that I was expected to cook my own evening meal. Later, when I was just off to bed she enquired whether I had my own sleeping bag – not sure what would have happened if I had given a negative answer.
Having had a beer watching the Pool contest, I wandered off along the shore line, occasionally clambering over the boulders to get a better view and occasionally kicking my way through the fynbos which often gave off a smell of Thyme. As the sun went down over the sea, Cormorants started to fly past in long lines and to settle in roosts on off shore-rocks.
After eating my own meal, I joined the other two in the open-fronted bar by
the light of paraffin lamps – the camp
had no mains electricity (although it did have solar power to charge
cell (mobile) phones – locals would be lost without their cell
phones) and used bottled gas for cooking and the fridge. Eventually
a wood burner was lit and it took some of the chill off the night.
Conversation wandered from South African politics, Zimbabwe (the owner was
originally from there and had predictable views on Uncle Bob) and
sailing (she also had a 34' yacht moored in Simonstown the other side
of Cape Town). When conversation lagged and the fire started to die, we
went off to our beds – on their advice I slept in a layer of
clothes. Hence, I had a good nights sleep
and woke to the sun rise off the beach.
The aim was to spend two nights here and visit the West Coast National Park. But then misfortune struck – one of my teeth found a hard bit in my breakfast muesli and a piece of tooth fractured off ! This triggered not so much Plan B but more like Plan Z: find a dentist. So I said good bye to the Beach Camp and off I drove to the nearest big town to see if they had a dentist and one that could fit me in to pull the tooth! Not knowing where to look, I went into the pharmacy and asked – I was given instructions that seemed to involve driving around the town for a while: but in fact was just two doors down the street. He was able to fit me in 30 minutes later, said that the tooth needn't be pulled did a completely painless root canal job and sent me on my way with a description of what he had done, together with the X-Rays to give to my dentist in the UK. All this cost me R914 or £83 which I could claim back from my travel insurance - painless morning in all ways.
I decided that I had had enough of this part of the world and of Cape Town and decided to head off up the West Coast. After getting lost in Cape Town, I eventually found the right road out of town and headed out through the suburbs and townships across the plains looking at this massive mountain ridge slowly approaching. The Landy chugged its way up the steep switch-backed road to the pass top and at the top there was a great view back to Table Mountain which dominated the landscape – even though it was over 60 miles away. The accommodation for the night was to be in Hermanus – the whale watching centre of the world: or so its' publicity said.
After checking in, I wandered into town and at 1800 it was closing very fast – so much for being a tourist mecca. From a cliff top view point, the bay was full of breaking waves and, without binoculars, it wasn't possible to see if there were any whales. Back at the hostel, I joined a couple from the UK who had being doing VSO [Voluntary Service Overseas] in Malawi (who urged me to go there), a Dutch family and two young Afrikaans to watch a video of Shrek 2. Afterwards, I chatted to the young Brits about their travels down from Malawi – they came down roughly the same way I am going up.
The next morning I stood on the cliff top – this time with my binoculars – to find the whales. As the sea was now flat it was much easier: anything white was caused by a whale. There must have been 6 – 12 out there – Right Whales I think. Some came within 100 yards of the cliffs – it's warmer & calmer there and they prefer it for giving birth. It wasn't the breaching you see on the TV with whales shooting out of the surface like Polaris missiles – it was just the top of their bodies as they wallowed just at the surface.
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