Days 166 – 181
Johannesburg / Cape Town / The Waterfront / Table Mountain / Hout Bay / Duiker Island / False Bay / Simon’s Town / Boulders Beach / Cape of Good Hope / Cape Point / Tokai / Fish Hoek / Sun Valley / The Karoo / Bloemfontein / Midrand / Centurion / Pretoria
For the entirety of my life I have maintained that beyond Melbourne, there is nowhere on earth that I would feel comfortable considering as my home. A few days in Cape Town forced me to re-assess my postition on this matter; I had finally discovered a city that I truly loved, one where I felt happy, safe and entertained. From belting out ‘Piano Man’ at the top of my lungs at a karaoke bar to climbing up the top of Table Mountain for the second time in a week, I had fallen in love with this famous African hotspot, and I didn’t have any intentions of leaving.
With the third school term behind us all the four of us set out on a plane journey over to the far end of the country. Jane Furse – positioned in the northeast – was the polar opposite to Cape Town – the most southwesterly tip of the continent – however we weren’t going to let this geographical inconvenience ruin our plans. It was either that or a fortnight spent watching movies and using the internet in Polokwane, and as attractive as that latter idea may seem we were after something a little more… amazing.
As we gazed at the rocky mountains of the Western Cape from our aircraft ‘amazing’ was naturally the first word to come to our minds. Lying before us was one of Africa’s finest cities, surrounded by a mountain range one would more likely find in the Great Rift Valley of Eastern Africa. From ground level Cape Town was even finer; the streets were busy without being intimidating, the nightspots were vibrant without being chaotic and the general vibe was generally Western but without compromising its African authenticity. In spite of the impressive cosmopolitan display of Westernised businesses it was the Greenmarket Square craft market that immediately attracted us and it was here that we lost a few hundred rand each. No, we weren’t mugged but, considering the amount of unwanted souvineers that had made their way into our shopping bags, we may as well have been.
To celebrate our first night of holidays we joined a group that were heading to the V&A Waterfront for some kareoke. Having not performed in public for quite a considerable stretch of time I was keen to warm up my vocal chords. ‘Piano Man’ was my song of choice and, judging by the crowd’s generous response, I think i pulled it off relatively well. Either that or everybody was a little too drunk, but I would prefer to examine the evening’s events with sober judgement.
The next day news that the Robben Island tours had been cancelled due to poor weather frustrauted us, as it meant that an impromptu change of plans was necessary. A subsequent technical difficulty a few days later prevented me from making the journey to the historic World Heritage Site, where Nelson Mandela spent a good chunk of his time in prison. Fortunately Cape Town has no shortage of options; a cancellation here means an opportunity elsewhere. By the day’s end I had comprehensively checked out the Waterfront, taken a harbour cruise, visited South Africa’s oldest castle, been to two museums, been out on a pub crawl (ironically I didn’t buy a single drink), collected a huge stack of brochures and snapped about 200 photos of the gigantic mountain that loomed over the top of us. But more on Tafelberg later.
Of these happenings the visit to the District Six Musuem was the most notable. The ‘inspiration’ for the suprise South African box office hit District Nine – which I have subsequently seen at the cinema at the laughable price of $3AUD – the events of District Six saw an entire suburb, populated by ‘coloured’ people, wiped out by the injustices of the racist South African government. Yet another horrifying example of the now infamous apartheid policy this museum portrayed what life was once like for these people and portayed the fresh struggle for them to reclaim their once owned land.
To overcome my emotions I subsequently did the manliest thing I could think of and climbed a mountain. Table Mountain in fact (previously referred to as Tafelberg, the Afrikaans name. Afrikaans, what a funny language!). With the girls either feeling sore or uninterested I set off towards this overwhelming geographical highlight by myself in the hope of running into a group of hikers upon arrival. In a strange compilation of coicedence and convenience I arrived at the base of Plattenlip Gorge at the exact same moment as an older couple, who happened to hail from Bendigo. More intriguing was the fact that this couple’s children were aged the same as my brother and I and attended the same university campuses as us. Subsequently we had plenty to talk about whilst ascending up this incredibly steep hill, making the hour hike (an incredibly fast climb considering 2-3 hours was the expected time) feel like a breeze.
Making it to the top was a feeling more bitter than sweet considering the large cloud cover that sat atop the mountain. Creatively referred to as the ‘Table Cloth’ this abundance of whiteness prevented us from seeing anything beyond a metre in front, meaning that our observations from the lookout points were not dissimilar to staring at blank piece of paper. Unmotivated to walk down I decided to descend via the cableway, a one minute ride from the top to the bottom. Again I was disappointed by the views and this ride, but with it came a determination to do it all again.
Next on the menu was the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, one of the world’s largest collections of flora. For the brief hour or two in which I spent here I got in touch with my less masculine side as I admired the wide array of flowers and plantlife. Any more time here, though, would have been too long as a) living with 3 girls has virtually turned me into a woman already, and b) my legs were unsurprisingly incredibly tired.
Day four of the holidays thankfully offered much better weather as it was the day of my much anticipated trip around the Cape Peninsula. Alongside 12 university students from England I was treated to a comprehensive tour of what the Cape Town ‘suburbs’ had to offer, starting with the beautiful Hout Bay. This harbour, complete with a thousand sailing boats and a million mountains, also offered the opportunity to take a ferry out to Duiker Island – something that sounded straight out of Monkey Island. The alternate name for this small landmass of rock was Seal Island, a highly fitting desciption as every square centimetre of the rocks were taken up by lazing seals. As potent as the sight of these seals were was the smell they gave off. Subsequently we spent just 10 minutes admiring these unique creatures before heading back to the mainland, where the stench of humans was comparitively wonderful.
After a detour around the closed scenic drive of Chapman’s Peak we arrived at Simon’s Town, a quaint coastal city that would have been much cooler had it been called Kevin’s Town. To my surprise, though, I found a bit of home amongst all the signs which revered the Mr. Grasshopper lead guitarist with such respect; hidden away was a side street named ‘Forest Hill’. Brilliant. The other highlight of Simon’s Town was the famous Boulders Beach, which – like Duiker Island – was as smelly as it was entertaining. Here, a few hundred malting penguins claimed the beach’s soft sand as its own turf, much to the delight of our tour group and a group of zealous Asian tourists.
From here we moved on past False Bay to the famous Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. Often touted as the most southerly point of continental Africa this peninsula is actually the most south-westerly point, but I wasn’t going to let that small technicality sour the day. After a few mandatory photo stops of the brilliant coastal peaks looming over the Indian Ocean (or maybe it was the Atlantic…) I hopped onto a mountain bike that had faulty brakes. Fortunately I didn’t fall and die, which is always a good thing when you’re in Africa.
The two features of this heavily touristed park were the hikes to the top of Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope. In both cases the higher we walked the greater the views were. Naturally we spent much of our time posing in front of these geographical landmasses, before a group of baboons decided they were better models. Posing in perfect position these apes soon drew a generous crowd of excited tourists, all eager to make use of a priceless photo opportunity. As we left the reserve some ostriches and large antelope-type creatures (there are about 100 different species and their differences are ever so subtle) grazed beside us, addings a safari element to this already spectacular tour.
Tired from all the hiking, cycling and being a tourist the next day was spent in relaxation but with my alarm ringing at 5.30am you wouldn’t have known it. My early wake-up, however, was for me to claim the TV lounge in order to follow the Aussie rules Grand Final, being broadcast on DSTV, the local equivalent of Foxtel. To my delight the game was followed immediately by the Champions Trophy cricket. Oh, how I love cable television… and Australia.
In the meantime our plans for the rest of the holidays ran into a little trouble when the rent-a-car organisation we had booked a car from decided not to let us have the car as we were all under 23. A few days earlier they had guaranteed us an automobile. TIA. Such news wasn’t all bad, though, as it meant we could stay in Cape Town for a few more days. In fact this itinerary was preferable, although it did mean that I would have to subsequently book a 19-hour bus ride across the country. Eish!
Determined not to let that ruin my day I was able to relax that afternoon when a friend from Tokai – one of the southerly suburbs of Cape Town – who I had met in Midrand three months earlier offered me accomodation for the next three nights. For the next few days I was able to experience the same fantastic city from a different viewpoint. Similar to living in the middle of the City Bowl, we were always ants in comparison to the mountains that stared down at us. The most impressive one was entitled Elephant’s Eye, so-called because it looks like the eye of an elephant. Quite clever, really.
Before we climbed to the eye itself, though, we returned to the city where Hillsong Cape Town was taking place. All my life I’ve wanted to attend this heavily-populated and world famous Christian conference… in Sydney. Ironically though I had to travel halfway around the world – in comparison to a few hundred kilmometres – to reach this Australian-initaited church.
Hiking up to the Elephant’s retina was a wonderful experience that was surprisingly more satisfying than my climb to the top of Table Mountain. The path up did not present Garteh and I with breathtaking landscapes of the suburbs below us; rather the path was a gigantic un-African forest, where baboons attacked one another and the trees seemed to never end. Reaching the top, though, provided us wit typical mountain peak scenery; the peninsula, the suburbs and the faraway mountains of the wine regions were revealed to us in all their glory.
Having already trekked for chimpanzees and mountain gorillas, looking for baboons was naturally the next item on the list. Baboons – famous for terrorising rubbish bins, breaking into houses and getting hit by oncoming traffic – are often regarded as pests in the Cape Peninsula, however during this hour-long tour a fresh side of them was revealed. Showing off a striking resemblance to humans, these family orientated apes provided plenty of entertainment. Most interesting was the behavior of the cheeky youngsters (which look like hairy fetuses) who, like human children, didn’t possess a ‘stop’ button. Eventually their mother got tired of these Energizer monkeys, though, and gave one a fierce bite. Corporal punishment if I’ve ever seen it…
With the sun shining and not a single cloud in sight there was only one thing on my mind when I returned to central Cape Town – climb Table Mountain… again. On this sophomore occasion I didn’t run into any Victorians. Rather, I found myself ascending Plattenlip Gorge alongside a couple from Canada, who were hiking at a normal pace. Frustrated by their slowness I subsequently broke the golden rule of hiking and climbed to the top by myself. Naturally I got mugged and lost all my valuables – including my clothes – before getting completely lost and then jumping off the mountain as a result of my pure fear.
By the way I was being sarcastic (hard to convey through text, ay?)
My walk to Maclear’s Beacon – the mountain’s highest point, at over 1000m – and around the mountain’s remarkable plateau justified making the journey up for the second time. On one side I was treated to comprehensive panoramas of the entire Cape Peninsula and South Africa’s version of the Twelve Apostles (so named because there are… about twenty of them) while the opposite path offered me the chance to stroll above the city centre. This walk was quite a dangerous one, considering absolutely no fences were put in place to stop me from falling to a quick and painful death. I didn’t risk it for a biscuit, though, making sure that my feet were a good metre or two away from the cliff edge at all times.
Deciding not to rake out another R70 for the cableway I made my way back down the mountain via a different hiking route. By the time I had reached the bottom I had been hiking for roughly six hours straight; my knees were probably on the verge of breaking, such was the difficulty in descending down the steep track.
To celebrate my long-awaited hike, and subsequent survival, I returned to the karaoke bar that night with a few fellow Aussies, where our song of choice was Hakuna Matata. The crowd’s reaction was less flattering this time, a good indication that perhaps Cape Town was trying to get rid of me. I took the hint and less than 36 hours later I had departed. The majority of those hours were spent either in bed or in front of the TV as the Aussies played off for a game in the Champions Trophy final (fortunately for me they won on the final ball) but in my defence, had I done any more walking my feet would have most likely collapsed. And that would have been pretty inconvenient.
To my disbelief the 19 hour bus trip I took from Cape Town to Midrand was actually fairly comfortable. In addition to having a soft, reclining chair with air-con and plenty of leg room I was situated at a window seat, meaning that for the majority of the journey I was able to admire the fantastic scenery that ‘outback’ South Africa had on offer. Immediately after leaving Cape Town, the mountains and forests of the wine country provided rich color, before the deserted Karoo region took over. This plain, flat area of the country was exactly the kind of the thing I was expecting from Africa – wide open spaces of red and orange, where the occasional tree brought these seemingly dead fields alive.
What I wasn’t expecting to see in Africa, though, was Australia. Australia playing England, that is. As consolation for missing the entire Ashes series I was treated to the semi final of the ICC Champions Trophy where these two famous rivals came head-to-head. It was like an early homecoming, except that rather than being reunited with my family or mates I was looking at the familiar faces of Ricky, Michael, Shane, Cameron and Peter, right before my eyes (or Ponting, Hussey, Watson, White and Siddle for those of you not yet on a first name basis). The team also comprised of a few unfamiliar faces, illustrating how long it has been since I watched a cricket game, but evidently Australia’s winning ways had not changed; unbeaten centuries from both Watson and Ponting saw the Aussies win by an unbelievable 9 wickets. What was a little unusual was an interruption from some white, flying insects during the innings break. A few thousand of these little bugs seemed attracted to the oval, so much so that they mated and then fell from the sky… into Paul Collingwood’s mouth (don’t worry, he plays for England).
Three days later I returned to the same Centurion Stadium to watch the Aussies defeat New Zealand in the tournament’s grand final match. From the outset it was obvious that we were going to win, but it wasn’t until Shane Watson smashed his second consecutive century that I was able to fully embrace my long-hidden patriotism. Actually, the second last ball of the match was satisfying enough, considering it landed about a metre away from my feet (had I not had my camera in hand I would have caught it… honestly). The disappointment of missing the catch, however, was counteracted by the sight of my face on the huge television screen; I had made my long-awaited debut on international television. Youtube it!
In between these two exhilarating ‘contests’, I headed up north to Pretoria (or Tshwane) for two nights. This time I had the opportunity to do more than just apply for a new passport, however I can’t say that this capital (the third South African capital I had visited in three days) had a great deal of attractions on offer. What it did possess, though, was a greater amount of safety and security in comparison to its southerly neighbour Jo’burg; not once did I feel under threat whilst walking around the busy central business district. Aside from the cheap internet the biggest draw card to Pretoria was Freedom Park, a beautiful memorial site to South Africa’s freedom fighters, situated on top of a small kopje. I can’t say that the subject matter of this place was of much interest to me, but the pure brilliance of the architecture was enough for me to be impressed.
Just as entertaining was the local rugby union contest between the Blue Bulls and the Griquas (still have no idea what a griqua is), where white Afrikaans-speaking South Africans appeared in great numbers. With fans as passionate and drunk as AFL supporters the atmosphere of this one-sided rugby game felt quite familiar, even if I barely understood the rules of the game.
The lowlight of the holiday period was the unfortunate technicality that spring break doesn’t last forever. Returning to Jane Furse after two weeks of non-stop fun and entertainment was far from the greatest feeling in the world, but it was nonetheless inevitable. With two months left before I return to the comforts of home I am now aware that I am well and truly on the home stretch of this holiday, but if I’ve learnt anything on this six month adventure it is that two months can often take forever.
Recent Comments