Hermanus really cashes in on its role as the world whale capital - everything has a whale theme from the local supermarket to some very up market fashion out lets. On top of that there are the myriad of souvenir shops that have whales in every shape & form and in every form from the obvious postcard to questionable underwear. What's not whale related is linked to the Great White Shark as you have the opportunity here to be dangled in the water, standing in a small metal cage, as bait for the star of “Jaws”.
There were two unexpected highlights were on the cliff top in the centre of town where everybody gathers to catch sight of the whales. The first was the worlds only Town Whale Crier. His official job is to blow his horn when a whale is sighted in the bay. In reality, his time was mostly taken in having his photo taken by a bus load of giggling Japanese tourists. His horn is made of dried local sea-weed - round here it is Kelp the stems of which are as thick of your wrist. Somehow, this was made hollow and polished into a unique musical instrument.
The second was being serenaded by a young black kid dressed in a red shell suit. He had an OK voice and sang a selection of arias from Italian operas (I think), Cwm Byar (!) and the SA national anthem.
There were a couple of unexpected links with home today. The local Steers outlet (SA's answer to McDs) was showing live views of Birmingham city centre - as part of its coverage of the Test match at Edgbaston. The other was the front page picture of the International Daily Express that showed the tornado damage in Kings Heath - whole rows of houses without roofs: just shows what happened when I leave Brum for a couple of weeks.
An interesting evening: a beer & chat with the host (a retired SA medic) and hostess (a Canadian) sitting in their lounge cum library - it had books from wilderness rescue, through Japanese comic books, to Maggie's biography. The conversation swang from the World War II Dutch resistance (how they helped track German troop movements through Heineken beer deliveries), cat medicine (about their rescued cat) and - again - Zimbabwe & land reform in SA. The other 'highlight' was getting up at 0300 to answer a call of nature to find in the dark, with my bare feet, that somebody had been sick on the floor and not cleared up. Surprisingly, nobody admitted to this deposit in the morning.
I took the secondary road out of Hermanus heading back to the N2 road at Caledon. It started as tar and then switched to hard earth - mainly smooth but with some run-off creases. The road rose through a valley full of pine trees interspersed with grape vines. Then it emerged into a wider valley with a green rolling floor populated with cows and sheep and strutting black & white European storks. Hills rose steeply on each side - brown with little stream etched mini-valleys reminded me of the Welsh hills.
In the distance, mist made milky lakes in the valleys and hollows - it gradually became denser and for a couple of hours the road - now the main N2 - was swathed in fog limiting visibility to a couple hundred metres. Luckily, it was fairly straight and the traffic was light.
Little known facts: in southern Africa 'robots' are not things that make cars or figments of Issac Asimov's imagination but common or garden traffic lights. They also don't have many roundabouts (or gyratory systems as the Yanks call them). Instead, cross roads have 'stop' signs on all entrances and its first come that has right of way.
The N2, like many roads in SA, has only one lane in each direction but has a narrow hard shoulder marked with a yellow line. When a faster car catches up with you, it is your duty to ease over on to the hard shoulder (tricky at 100kph when there is a ditch waiting to catch you if you stray too far), they pass, flash their hazard lights as a 'thank you' and you flash your head lights as an acknowledgment.
The next stop was Wilderness and the hostel called 'Fairy Know' (not Knoll) - it has its own station on the local narrow gauge train line. I got there just in time to watch the Boks beat the All Blacks in the bar of the adjacent posh hotel. This was the first time I had used my brand new tent and it was an opportunity to rearrange the storage of some of my kit - mostly by putting more on the roof rack leaving more room inside: essential when the planned 'visitors' come with their big suitcases stuffed with posh dresses and hair dryers!
I write this warming my feet on a roaring outside log fire being pestered to throw a ball by a collie dog - the only problem is that he likes to hide the ball first and then gently pats you with his paw to get your attention. I wish that this warmth had lasted through the night. By 0200 I was rummaging through my bag for more clothes as the temperature plummeted - why did I decide to try the tent for the first time tonight? To make things worse, the camp bed collapsed and I ended up sleeping on the very cold ground. By sun-up my torso was still cold but my feet - I could have used them in my cool box and kept food frigid all day.
Once I had a warming cup of tea inside me it was off to Monkey Land (no I wasn't traveling back to Stamford Bridge) westward down the main drag. The scenery was, again, very impressive with steep hills rising dramatically about a mile inland. Every 10/15 miles it looks as if there had been a gap in the sea cliffs and the water had flooded in to form lagoons extending up valleys round corners to vanish into the hills. Some still seemed connected to the sea with tidal mud flats fringed with reeds, others had lost this connection. Both kinds had strange floating houses on them - they had no style: just a shed on a flat bottomed skiff. It looked as if they were use by hard core fishermen who liked to fish at all times - even from their bed.
And so to Monkey Land [link: www.monkeyland.co.za] - this had been advertised some where as having apes, however it only had new world monkeys - apart from a few Lemurs. After paying you had to negotiate double gates to foil any attempted great escape. People sat around eating whilst waiting for their conducted tour. One twist was that every table had a plastic water bottle with a hole punched in the top. This was to fire at mugging monkeys who attempted to mug diners for their food. Our guide was from the DRC and seemed to know every monkey by its first name. One of his pieces of advice was to aways, always check immediately above as monkeys enjoyed combining bodily functions with bombing practice. Evidently, one lady had the misfortune of gazing up in wide mouthed amazement when a monkey was particularly accurate. There were Langurs, Capuchins (or Capachinos as the guide called them), Spider Monkeys and, of course, the Lemurs. Mostly the walk was through the forest floor but at one stage the route took us over a bridge through the forest canopy on a shivering rope bridge but nobody had told the monkeys and all we saw was the tops of trees! They had all been rescued by animal welfare organisations, donated by owners or transferred from closing zoos and were free to range of an enclose wood which covered several acres. The fence was electrified not keep to contain the inmates but more to keep out the local Baboons - that would kill the monkeys if they got in. In addition, there was a selection of ducks and geese: not for ornament but to provide the monkeys with a steady supply of eggs and a Leopard Tortoise call Schumacher.
Back with the Fairies for the night I set about preparing for a warmer night. I had bought a couple of inflatable mattresses in George (the local big town) and used my compressor - hopefully this is all I will use it for rather than inflating tyres - to blow one up: careful not to let it go bang like a friend's daughter's football. In addition, I put on two pairs of socks, trousers and shirts, together with a hat. To be safe, I dug out Breda's sleeping bag and used it too. The result: a night of warmth and deep sleep.
The next day took me further down the coast where the water filled sea lochs/fjords of yesterday gave way to narrow deep dry ravines slashing inland under the road supported by semi-circular bridges. As the coastal plain became wider, the way the fields grew massive and held massive herds of cows (200+).
At last! I've moved from the pages in my road atlas that contains Cape Town. Little things mean a lot!
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