NORMAL LIFE: South Africa, The First Leg (Dec 14-Dec 22)
Saturday, 15th DecemberIt was a funny feeling. I had just left the office in the afternoon at 2pm yesterday, and Bree would shortly arrive to collect me so that we could go home, collected our already-packed bags and head to the airport to board the two flights that would whisk us away to Cape Town in South Africa. As I stood at the bus stop across the road from my office building, I shivered: it was just below zero, the sky donning its perpetual shade of grey.
Within twenty hours, we had landed in Cape Town, having taken one Lufthansa flight from Helsinki to Frankfurt and an onward flight onto Cape Town. We arrived around mid-day and the stuffy heat in the jetty that connected the aircraft to the terminal building was a sign to prepare ourselves for an immense – but welcome - change in temperature.
After thirty minutes in the immigration queue, and a further amount of time sorting out the hire car at the Alamo desk, a man in his seventies approached us, offering to take our luggage to the car. I felt somewhat embarrassed as the old man took charge – we strode ahead of us, full of energy, towards the car park at least a kilometre away. In the meantime, the sun bore down directly overhead, warning us to source our hats to avoid first-day burns.
We finally arrived at the car park and, after the guy completed his inspection and I gave him a generous tip, we were on our way, bound for Cape Town. The car was rather stiff, a new release of an old design, a Volkswagen City. After a few minutes, ahead of us in the distance, stood the unmistakable Table Mountain, truly an indication that we were at least driving in the right direction.
We pulled into the courtyard of the five star Grand Westin hotel, at Arabella Quays, just a couple of kilometres north of the Victoria 
& Albert commercial area. Our room, on the fourteenth floor, had floor-to-ceiling windows which granted us a view of the sea. Instead of heading out into town, we decided to rest by going to the hotel’s own spa on the nineteenth floor. There, we swam in the pool which had views of the sea, and both the industrial and commercial areas. We took a sauna which also boasted floor-to-ceiling windows meaning that you could get hot and sweaty whilst enjoying the view. How unusual!
We took a nap by the poolside, really tired by this time. When we woke up sometime later, we headed back to the room and snuggled up together on the ridiculously large king sized bed. We finally awoke around 6pm, go dressed and took a taxi to Waterkant, an area known for it’s architecture and nightlife; for us, there were a number of gay bars and restaurants. We got out the cab on Somerset, then headed north along Dixon until we reached Café Manhattan.
This place has a bit of history for me. I had never been inside before, but the apartment where I stayed last time in South Africa was just twenty metres from this bar/restaurant. From the apartment’s own roof garden, I could see this bar. And now, three years later, I was inside it. We had dinner, followed by a number of ‘Casualties’, a mix of Malibu, southern comfort and energy drink. It was wonderful and very affordable too, costing just €30 for the two of us for two courses and drinks.
It was around 10.30pm, and we decided to check out the Loft in Napier Street – it was a bit naff, with too much space and lot’s of eager-looking people; as we walked in the room, nearly all of the hundred-of-so patrons looked our way. I think the place was sooo boring that peole were desperately hoping that someone would come in who would change the course of their night. We didn’t stay, heading for the exit and checking out the bookstore downstairs. After passing a bit of time in the bookstore, we visited Bronx, perhaps the place to go in Cape Town for guys who want to party hard.
The music pounded our ears, and we felt like sardines as the place continued to get crowded. Much of the bar was off-limits as they were currently renovating the upstairs part of the establishment. When we returned to the ground floor, with a bar featuring topless hunks serving customers the drinks of their choice, we noticed a tall, well-built fella nearby: he was tanned, wearing a bright white tank top which clashed with his bronze, which I am sure was his intention. The stubble around his face was already greying indicating that he was well into his forties and what drew our attention to him was the fact that he was waving his ass – in an attempt to dance - like a twenty year old!
We left the bar as it started to warm up inside. It was nearly 1am and people were still arriving in droves. We tried to flag down a taxi, somewhat struck by the now pleasantly warm weather, which was accompanied by a light shower. The minute we got into our room, it was lights out!
Sunday, 16th December
When we woke up at 9am, heavy rain was smattering against the floor-to-ceiling windows. We showered, then headed to breakfast in the posh restaurant of the five star hotel, somewhat under-dressed in comparison with our fellow diners. As we made our way around the breakfast buffet, I was amazed at the selection. I ate cereals, fruits, Florentine eggs, bacon, hash browns and grilled tomatoes.
After brushing my teeth after the breakfast, we decided to utilise the complimentary shuttle bus into town; in South Africa, there is still an emphasis on using transport to get to your destination, for safety reasons. We pulled into the Victoria & Albert Waterfront, amazed at how empty this commercial district was just one week before Christmas.
We ambled along the pathways, passing the bridge that scales the Alfred Basin and the pleasure boats moored at Pierhead, to arrive at the Victoria Wharf Shopping Centre. It was here, back in 1860, that Queen’s Victoria’s second son, Prince Alfred, tipped the first load of stone into the sea to start construction of the breakwater for Cape Town’s harbour. Now consisting of two harbour basins, the name comes from the both the era (Victorian) and layer (Albert) of the Waterfront’s first stones.
As we made our way through the stores, I bought a Nike/South Africa cap and some camouflage-patterned swimming trunks. We stopped at a café for panini’s with just thirty minutes until our 3pm departure to Robben Island, the place of Nelson Madela’s incarceration during the Apartheid Era. Nearby, a troupe of four black women, clad in traditional dress, yelled out a series of continuous tribal yearnings. I asked the waitress, a young black girl, if she knew what they were singing, given that there are eleven official languages in South Africa. She smiled at me sympathetic, before saying they were just making noise! Hilarious! That’s what it sounds like: noise.
Gulping down our paninis and hot coffees, we dashed to the Robben Island Gateway, from where we would take the thirty minute catamaran ride to the Island. Standing in the queues was a black guy from America who was with his partner, where they currently live in Holland. Bree and I knew this because the guy had casually introduced himself in the lobby of the fourteenth floor the day before.
Although the weather was cloudy, it was perfect weather for what we had in mind: the next three hours were spend on the outbound and returning journeys to and from Robben Island, together with a coach tour of Robben Island. The coach tour was very moving; a 30-year old son of a former prisoner on the island gave a heart-rending account of life on the island. He told us the story of Robert Sobukwe, whose story, conveniently forgotten, seemed much more compelling than Nelson Mandela’s.
Later, in our host’s presentation, he asked people to tell him where they were from. As each person in the bus revealed his or her nationality, there was a distinct realisation that this very island had a global following, that the evil regime that once haunted this place was internationally recognised. What surprised me – and Bree too – was that Finland was one of the few European countries who refused to help South Africa’s repressed black people. And in a not-often speech of thanks, the young host – the same age as me – thanked Sweden and the United Kingdom for their willingness to take in South Africans and to educate them so that South Africa can become a better place. Tears welled in my eyes, but I managed to hide those that rolled down my cheeks.
Later on, a former prisoner gave a detailed insight into life in the prisons: how they were categorised according to their creed, what little they were fed and how they were housed. He made reference to his ‘comrades’ – fellow prisoners – who desired nothing more than for the regime to be recognised for its oppressiveness. It was very moving to watch this man who, in the 21st Century, clearly saw how important it was for the world to hear it, uncensored, from the horses mouth.
As we dashed back towards the waiting catamaran, I noticed a flock of penguins sitting on the nearby breakwater with the towering Table Mountain somewhere in the distance behind. The sky was still grey and, as we sat on the upper deck, the flapping, cold air of the Atlantic sea battered our ears. Back at the Robben Island Gateway, we made our way to where the complimentary bus would be waiting. The gay couple from Holland are also in the bus and an awkward, brief discussion about the daytrip to Robben Island ensues. After the “yeah, it was great”, they had very little to say. Boring twats!
Back at the hotel, we whiled away some more time at the spa, sweating in the sauna and doing some laps in the too-small pool with the fantastic view. 
As night rolled into Cape Town, an unexpected fog came in from the sea. We once again took the complimentary bus into town and, approacheding the Victoria & Albert Waterfront, it became apparent how foggy it was. We made our way to the shopping centre, to where we had seen a number of restaurants earlier in the day.
The weather must have put off visitors because, compared to the already quiet day, it was now deserted. We settled for a Chinese restaurant. After all, it was the birthday boy’s choice. We ordered familiar dishes, a bottle of South African red and sat idly in a near-empty, atmosphere-less restaurant. To cut a long story short, the food was crap, the atmosphere undetectable and it was surprising that, by 10pm, everything was closed. Straight after dinner, we went back to the hotel, where we downed a Bacardi with Cranberry Juice and watched Oprah (there’s only one Oprah) on TV.
Monday, 17th December
I woke up for a repeat, filling breakfast, this time with the addition of pancakes! The morning was spent driving around the Cape area, cruising past sites such as Llandudno, Sandy Bay, Hout Bay (where we saw the trademark bronze status of a leopard which were once known to roam this area) and Chapman’s Peak, with it’s 114 bends along the coastal route in a relatively short distance of 9 kilometers.
Not long after passing Chapman’s Peak, we reach the expansive coastline of Noordhoek, its shore of white-as-snow-sand rolling for an impressive five kilometers. Leaving the coast, we head cross-country and, via Fish Hoek, reach another coast and the town of Simon’s Town. Simon’s Town is the third oldest European settlement in the country and has been home to the Dutch East India Company’s ships in the winter since 1741. The town has, since, served as a naval base for the British since 1814.
Not long after we passed along St. Georges Street, the main street, we arrive at The Boulders, part of Table Mountain National Park located between Simon’s Town and Cape Point, which is also home to a thriving colony of African Penguins. Although the park is set in the midst of a residential area, it is one of the few sites where the vulnerable bird – Spheniscus demersus – can be observed at close range, wandering freely in a protected, natural environment.
From just two breeding pairs in 1982, the colony has grown to more than 3,000. Now, that’s a lot of breeding! The Boulders, itself, overlooks False Bay and, in the distance, you can see the peaks on the other side of bay where towns such as Gordon’s Bay and Kleinmond lie. We changed into our swimming trunks in the changing rooms and ambled down the concrete ramp to Boulders Beach. Before us were hundreds of other visitors who had come here to ogle at the cute, little flightless birds.
At the end of the 20th Century, it was estimated that only 10% of the once 1.5million population of Penguins remained; their eggs, sourced for food, was the cause of the population’s decline. The penguins, once known as the Jackass Penguin because of its incessant braying, is the only penguin known to breed in Africa.
It was great to swim in the sea, just metres away from a lone penguin which, if you tried to get closer, would star to waddle on one foot then the other. A little bit closer and then the little creature, whose beak is strong enough to cause considerable injury, would start to turn his head from left to right in an endearingly cute way as if to say ‘no, no, you stay there!’
After a while, the sun started to intensify so we decided to cover our shoulders and continue with our journey – there was lot’s to see in this part of the cape and the next stop was the Cape Point, another part of the Table Mountain National Park. Cape Point is the very last – albeit not the most southern – tip of South Africa which everybody the world over can see the moment they look at Africa on an atlas. The strategic position of the Cape Point between two major ocean currents ensure that the area is rich with marine life since the sea temperatures on either side of the Cape are considerably different.
After paying the entry fee, we drove all the way to the car park at Cape Point, cruising past the flat, barren, featureless interior. From there, we did the twenty-minute steep walk to the lighthouse. 
Not content with reaching the lighthouse, we wanted to go to the real Cape Point which was a further 45 minutes walk away. We ambled along the relatively easy course which, at first, dipped steeply below and then levelled out so that, the more we walked, the more impressive the view of the lighthouse, now some several hundreds metres above us, looked.
Bright flowers adorned the walkway and, on our way back, we noticed an unusual animal resting in a patch of water. Wia would later tell me that this was a Dassie, resembling a guinea pig, but actually a relative of the elephant. After admiring the expanse of sea which fills False Bay, we made our way back to the main entrance again, stopping off at the Two Ocean’s Restaurant, hungrily devouring hamburgers with ice-cold coca-cola. By this time, my arms were sizzling from too much exposure to the sun.
When we moved on, we took a slight detour before leaving the park to check out the Cape of Good Hope. Just minutes after turning off the main road which would have taken us back to the main entrance, we arrived at a small turnaround in the road which featured a tasteful memorial to the Cape of Good Hope. It was here, in 1580, that Sir Francis Drake described the Cape as: ‘The most stately thing, and the fairest Cape we saw in the whole circumference of the earth.’ And most South African’s agree that the Cape region is one of the world’s most stunning locations.
We posed with the modest Cape of Good Hope monument and, returning to the car, noticed a baboon nearby, gazing out to sea. We watched him for a while, before setting off towards the town of Scarborough. After passing a mountainous region, we reached the small town of Sunnydale, the location of a township: we could see the long road which wound into the heart of the township. Some people didn’t wear shoes, the area was full of dust, the rooves of the small homes made from tin. It was busy, packed with black people moving to and fro.
We arrived back at the hotel by 7pm. I drew a bath of hot water and melted a bar of soap in its heat. I slowly, painfully, lowered myself into the bathtub, my skin sizzling as I did so. Finally, my whole body was in – only my eyes and forehead remained above the waterline. As I rested there, images from the township came into my mind: here I was in a five star hotel, enjoying a soapy, hot warm bath and those people were ambling around just to pass time. They seemed happy, though, that was the ironic thing.
The day was passing rapidly, just as good days tend to do, so we upped sticks, got dressed and headed once again to the Victoria & Albert Waterfront. The shops were still open and I bought some t-shirts before we settled down to an easy dinner of KFC. We ate outdoors in the designated area, surrounded by our shopping bags. It was very windy and, more than once, our food attempt to blow away. As with all good days and after a nice fatty meal, tiredness soon sets in! And so, before midnight, we were in bed.
Tuesday, 18th December
When I woke up, the skin on my neck and shoulder felt tight. And when I moved for the first time, I was like ‘ow, ow, ow!’ The sunburn was worse that I had thought so a nice long shower was in order. Breakfast, again, was a feast, but this time with a different selection of choices: kiwi and spinach smoothies and muffins. One surprising thing at breakfast was the presence of a Muslim couple in the most extreme clothing: the husband, in his fifties, worse a flat hat and clothes that resembled pyjamas while the wife, whose age was impossible to assess because she worse one of those all-over-body black costumes, was perhaps the most repressed woman I have ever come to see. As she ate, she removed the black scarf that covered her mouth to put food in her mouth, but whilst chewing, she would cover her mouth again. From what I could see, however, she had a pretty face and I thought it was such a shame that such beauty should be concealed so extremely.
It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky and our first stop was the Cable Mountain Cableway, which turned out to be closed due to strong windy conditions. What a shame, but not to worry because I – as always – had contingency plans in place for things like this! We drove to Paarl, one hour east of Cape Town. Heading east on Route 1, Bree noticed – as did I – that, every now and then, you often saw black people walking along the highway. Wondering out loud, Bree asked: ‘Why isn’t the wealth more fairly distributed?’ I pointed out that if you consider how many there are in the world and work out what proportion has nothing versus that proportion that has a nice home, car, job etc. you will see quite easily that there isn’t enough wealth to, at least sustainably, give everyone what would be considered a ‘fair’ amount. The real question, then, is: what are we prepared to give up to make the fairer – or equal – distribution of wealth actually happen?
We reached the town Paarl, a large commercial centre, which sits amidst mountains and vineyards, on the banks of the Berg River. We came here to sample some wines and, almost immediately, happened upon KWV (Kooperatieve Wijnbouwers Vereeniging), one of South Africa’s best-known wineries, we proceed to enjoy a wine-tasting session with myself spitting out the various samples due to the fact that I was driving. We tried, among others, the Cathedral Cellar Chardonnay (white), the Cathedral Cellar Chiraz (red), the Golden Kaan Pinotage (rose), as well as the Café Culture (pinotage liqueur) and KWV’s Imoya Brandy. Our host, a tanned, posh woman, in her early forties, certainly knew her stuff and it was certainly an education for me in terms of what to look out for when drinking wine. We bought two bottles of wine and a bottle of brandy, which Bree cradled lovingly!
We continued with our Wineland tour, towards a place called Franschoek, but turned off at the Ruperts & Rothchild wine estate, which turned out to be the best thing we did. We were the only visitors and, not only did we sample two deep, but very agreeable red wines (Cabernet and Merlot), but our host also granted us what turned out to be an exclusive tour of the cellars and the production facilities.
We continued along the Wine Route, lunching at an empty roadside Deli/Bistro; chicken sandwich for me, with a more adventurous Biltong (Kudu) sandwich for Bree.
We made our way back towards Cape Town via Route 1 and, back at the base of Cable Mountain, were surprised to see that the Cable Car was still closed. One again, contingency plan number two kicked in: we drove to nearby Camps Bay, no doubt one of the most beautiful – and maybe the windiest - beaches in the world; the twelve apostles at the base of table mountain are clearly visible from here and the water was crystal clear. We took a brief walk along the shore, eventually defeated by the deafening wind. Remaining on the coastal route, we took the slow road back to Cape Town, passing Bantry Bay, Sea Point and Three Anchor Bay. We soon arrived at the Green Point Common, which featured a lighthouse of its own.
Back at the hotel, Bree went to the gym while I slept. I joined him later for a swim on the nineteenth floor. At 8pm, we opened the smooth and fruity Pearly Bay Celebration wine bottle we had bought from KWV before heading to Café Manhattan in Waterkant for a dinner of Punjab Chicken. We were back and in bed by midnight.
Wednesday, 19th December
After a hearty breakfast of omelette and pancakes, we drove once more up to the base of Table Mountain. We were shocked to find that the queues stretching for several hundred metres and, knowing our skins couldn’t handle any more sun exposure right now, we decided to give it a miss. Instead, we drove to the top of nearby Signal Hill which, at 350metres high, offers amazing views of the city of Cape Town. Every day, except Sundays, a Noon Gun is fired from the lower slopes of Signal Hill which, traditionally, served to calibrate the watches of the burghers.
After a brief wander around Signal Hill, with its captivating view of Table Mountain, we started a 100km drive towards Langebaan, an idyllic seaside town (it reminded me of Summer Bay in Australian soap, Home & Away, actually) located on the edge of lagoon bearing the same name.
We pulled up by the beach and went for a walk among the sand – still to hot to sunbath, we simply paddled in the water and we walk. Nearby, kids played in the water, young guys played rugby and, in the distance, you could see countless kite-boarders whose kites were hovering high above the aquamarine of the lagoon.
What makes this place a special one is the calmness of the area, compared to other beaches (Camps Bay is a good example); the 17km-long lagoon maintains it’s colour and clarity by being just one of three lagoons in the world that are fed by the sea and not a river. With no rivers nearby, the lagoon exists largely due to shifts in the sea over millions of years. The end result: a flourishing, nutrient-rich, ecological paradise where miniature animals live in the water, providing a food source for numerous birds – including flamingos - and fish.
After an hour or so, we decided to make our back towards Cape Town. In itself Langeeban wasn’t an exceptional place – it is in a remote location, not over developed, but it’s beach is beautiful. If we had been a little bit better prepared skin-wise, I think we would definitely have stayed there most of the day!
As always, drives back to your point of origin seem longer than the outbound trip so, to break up the trip, I was pleased to notice a sign for Bloubergstrand. I had seen countless postcard pictures of this place before and so I turned off. During this time, Bree was sleeping – the brightness of the day was a strain on the eyes. Bloubergstrand, 25km north of Cape Town, was the site of the 1806 battle that resulted in the second British occupation of the Cape. It is, coincidentally, the place from which Table Mountain can be best admired. I took some fantastic shots of the place, contrasting the clear blue sky with the deserted beach and the bright, clear – and bloody cold - water of the rough Atlantic Ocean.
It was too cold to swim and so onwards again. We reached Cape Town and parked, for the third time, at the base of Table Mountain . It was third time lucky for us because, within fifteen minutes, we were on our way up to the summit. This was my second time up Table Mountain, kind of like a Homecoming because it is so peaceful, a place you are happy to revisit, and the scenery is out of this world. I remember, in 2005, making a call to Bree from the summit and so it was great to be there with him this time around.
More than 800,000 people make the trip to the top of Table Mountain each year, its summit reaching a maximum height of 1,085metres. The good thing about the summit is that it was been well landscaped, allowing you to trek among the relatively flat surface in relative safety. As usual, the place was full of people, but I recall significantly less people on this visit compared to my last visit and so it allowed for the taking of some very good photos, free of tourists rushing too and fro.
From the summit, we could clearly see down towards Camps Bay and the Twelve Apostles while, in the distance, you could see – if you squinted hard enough – Cape Point. To the north, you could kind of make out where Langebaan Lagoon might be located and, of course, much closer to Cape Town, in the middle of the sea, was Robben Island. We visited the restaurant and downed ice-cold drinks and chocolate muffins!
Within an hour, we had ascended – using the Cable Car, of course – to base, located the car and were pulling into the driveway of our five star hotel. At the base of Table Mountain, as we were leaving, we had noticed that a huge queue had formed for the trip up to Table Mountain. It turned out that they were here for the half-price Sunset Rides, which were available from 6pm. That’s a lot of cheap pikies, I thought to myself! After a relaxing soak in a bathtub filled with hot water and lots more soap, Bree poured a glass of KWV’s 2005 Cathedral Cellars Chardonnay, which had a very oaky aftertaste. Before long, we were in a taxi, heading towards The Carvery, in Regent Street, which is located in the Sea Point district. It was one of the restaurants recommended in a tourist guide we had picked up and it turned out to be wonderful, in a British kind of way. We ate prawn cocktails, followed by a Carvery, during which a chef would cut strips of beef, turkey, pork, or chicken and you could help yourself to big helpings vegetables followed by lashings of gravy.
It was a memorable meal in the sense that our waiter, a nineteen year-old black boy didn’t have a clue what he was doing: not only was he learning a trade, but he was learning English at the same time. Bree and I were very understanding, however, and we showed him how to open a wine bottle, and also asked him – patiently – several times for a fork so Bree could eat his dinner. At the end of the meal, the coffee came ten minutes before the dessert. It was a shambles, but he was young and humble, a visibly nervous. When I gave him a generous tip, it was simply a gesture to say: don’t give up!
The memories didn’t end there. After doing some window shopping – it was around 11pm – along Regent Street, we flagged down a taxi which transported us back to the hotel at Hyperspeed, very much like that used by Han Solo when he wanted to fast track the Millennium Falcon to Tatooine, the fictional planet in the Star Wars movies. ‘Don’t worry,’ the taxi driver shouted, somehow detecting our nervousness ‘I have never had an accident before!’ As we settled into bed, we hoped for the best for the nervous young, black waiter and laughed about the taxi driver, thankful to be alive.
Thursday, 20th December
We walked a bit further, reaching the very modest Cape of Good Hope Castle Built between 1666 and 1679, by the Dutch East India Company, better known as the VOC (Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie), the Castle is the oldest surviving building in the whole of South Africa. Today, the Castle is the seat of the military in the Cape. It all its years, the Castle has never seen action, but there’s still good reason to come and visit.
We strode along the outer walls, visiting each of the five bastions named after William of Orange, ruler of Holland. Afterwards, we strolled along the main courtyards, seeing displays of Dutch extravagance in an area intended for military purposes contrasted with the isolation cells installed by the British to incarcerate troublesome inmates. Afterwards, in the C-block, we toured the William Feur Collection which provided an insight into the way the settlers would arrive at the Cape (as depicted in countless, antiquated paintings) alongside numerous pieces of preserved furniture, which provided seating for more than 100 guests. The most shocking painting depicted the killing of 20,000 wild animals in honour of a visit British monarch. On the west side of C-block, there was an impressive exhibition, telling of the Anglo-Boer War from 1899 to 1902. 
After a drink in the shade in the massive courtyard, it was time for us to move on. As we made our way towards Company Gardens, the sun was at its most intense so we walked in the shade whenever possible. We brushed along the western side of the South African Parliament building, it’s walls a glimmering whiteness in the harsh sun of day. A bit further on, and we saw the statue of Louis Gotha, the first Prime Minister of the Union of South Africa (1910-1919), which stands opposite an impressive English-style Catholic church. A little bit further on, we turned right, walking down an alley which led us to the square where Cape Town’s Museum of Contemporary Art stands.
Set amidst lush gardens, the Museum of Contemporary Art may look rather minimal compared to that in other cities, but outdoors were some rather impressive pieces. We waded deeper into the 6 hectares of handsomely landscaped gardens, which contained exotics plants and trees, all of which were labelled in their Latin names, which mean nothing to the likes of you and me! Company Gardens was established in 1652, by Hendrik Boom, the Dutch East India Company’s master gardener, who would sell the fresh produce from the 18 hectare estate to passing ships.Walking in the shade most of the time, we made our way through the gardens. People napped on the grass, kids squealed as they tried to race their parents and, here and there, people were tucking into what appears to be the national dish, KFC. A bit further down, heading back towards town, we saw the statue of Cecil Rhodes, a British-born South African businessman who founded De Beers (the diamond company) and used his wealth to expand the ideals of the British Empire. When we reached the main road (Alderney), I ushered Bree past the status of Jan Smuts – Prime Minister of South Africa from 1939-1948 – towards the front of the Parliament building. In front of us, admidst lush vegetation and in front of the colonial façade of the parliament building, stood a bright white statue of Queen Victoria.
We walked the few metres back to the main road and flagged down a taxi. We both jumped into the back seats and asked the taxi driver to take us to our hotel. He didn’t know where it was so we guided him! And, by god, the driver stank! In Finnish, I pointed out the putrid smell, grunting between gritted teeth: 'Kauhea tuoksu!' which translates to some like: horrible smell. During the drive, we saw a status of the Jan van Riebeeck (1619-1677), the Dutch founder of Cape Town.
Just as we reached the hotel, Bree remembered that he wanted to visit some of the stores we had window-shopped at the previous evening so, having collected our car, we drove to the East side of town, towards Regent Street. It is very easy to drive in Cape Town, especially with South Africans driving on the left, the way the world should be! We paid a quick visit to a number of stores, looking for swimwear. In one store, the owner was amazed – I would say even fascinated – with my hearing device.
With a dog sitting on a counter in the distance which seemed to be eating some leftover pasty, the owner proceeded to ask questions like: is it a music player? It helps you hear? Really? How does it work? Then the owner rambled on about the African National Congress’ election of Zuma as President of the ANC. 'Very interesting,' I said, 'but it’s very difficult to comment since we don’t understand much of what has been said and done.' 'He’s a criminal, corrupt, horrible,' the owner barked. Fortunately, Bree finally found what he was looking for, and I was glad to leave the store, snacking on salty crisps as we returned to the hotel.
After a fifteen-minute nap, we went to the gym on the nineteenth floor. It was an experience given that a) the running machine faced the floor to ceiling windows and b) this was on the nineteenth floor, offering a pleasant view of Cape Town and the sea beyond. I did some weights, some stretching and then we went to the sauna and swam. Fantastic!
In the hotel room, I proceeded to write postcards to family and friends, sipping cherry aid before start on the wine, which was cooling as we scribbled away. When we were done with the postcards, it was time to head into town for dinner. We headed towards the Victoria & Albert Waterfront and, as we alighted from the bus, I noticed a store – named Resonance - from where I had bought Bree a gift in 2005. Having been impressed by his gift, he wanted to check it out. He was instantly impressed with a particular painting. It was okay, nothing special, featuring the black outline of woman painted onto a grey surface. It’s hard to describe, but when we were told that the price tag was €2,000, I was hoping Bree would come to his senses.
He was dead serious, I could tell, but when I pressed for discount, the woman said: “We have already reduced the price by 14%” and I said to her: “You have taken away 14% which was the VAT which we, as Europeans, don’t have to pay anyway so you haven’t really given us anything.” She was insistent, but we told her that we were returning to Cape Town next week after a break in the north and that we needed time to think before parting with such a huge sum of money. She gave us her number and, even as we headed for the door, she was unwavering in her offer. Just before we did leave the shop, though, Bree saw an ornate collection of Ostrich eggs hanging from the ceiling, each of which had a light bulb within emitting light through the countless holes that had been plucked into each egg. “Ooooh!” Bree exclaimed. “Get out!” I ordered into his ear, “this shop doesn’t deserve our custom.”
We ambled along the throng of restaurants, unsure where to dine. We finally settled on The Grill and, after ordering our food and wine (an Asara Chardonnay), a brief argument ensued. “The art wasn’t even African in style.” I said, to which Bree replied: “It doesn’t matter, I will always remember that we bought it from here.” “We?”, I shot back, “you think I’m parting with €2,000 for that?!” We decided not to talk about it, agreeing instead that maybe it was good to think about and, in the meantime, let the shop owner stew a bit. I bet the painting is still on the wall, even now!
The food finally arrived: Bree dined on a mixed grill of Ostrich, Impala and Kudu while I took the safer option of Barbecued Ribs. Seated outside, the air temperature had cooled considerably since our arrival, a light breeze rustling among the diners. Bree asked one of the waiters to light one of the outdoor overhead gas heaters, which he quickly did. Shortly afterwards, a party of Turkish customers sat nearby and, within minutes, started to complain about being too hot. I pointed out to Bree – I could see them better than he could – that trouble was brewing. It escalated to a point where, since the Turks had annoyed the waiters like hell, Bree wasn’t standing for it. “The heat is staying,” he insisted, suggesting “perhaps you should move?” They were silenced quite quickly, and I was so proud of him.
The dessert arrived, Bree having an Irish Coffee while I downed a heavy slice of Cheesecake. Yummy yum yum! Back in the apartment, I re-enacted Bree’s ‘insistence’ scene, facial expressions included, and we giggled!
Friday, 21st December
Once again, I downed fried eggs with a latte, some fruits and a banana smoothie! Yummy! My favourite waitress, Hannah, forever smiling and humble was serving us. She was rather amused when I showed her my bright pink, sunburnt head. Despite trying she couldn’t stifle her giggles! She was lovely, she really was. One thing is for sure: I will miss this place!
After breakfast, we proceeded to pack. We were bound for Johannesburg, which would be our base for the second leg of our trip. And so we retrieved our car from the valet parking, and headed towards Cape Town International airport. We returned the car to the car hire place, then checked in for our two-hour Kulula flight. The flights had been a bargain, costing just €210 return for the two of us.
During the flight, I keenly read my English-language South Africa edition of the Daily Express. As per usual, the British Press was at it again, attacking anything which might actually be a good thing: this time it was spiralling cost of the Olympics, which will be hosted in London in 2012. After I had enough of British journalism (if you can even call it that), I read the in-flight magazine while I munched on a chicken wrap. After reading a very interesting horoscope forecast for an Arian such as myself for 2008 (read here) , I gazed out of the window at the barren landscape below, dozing briefly, until we landed in Johannesburg with a thump.
Later on, we drove to Wia and Kalie’s place, which was a ten-minute drive away. We paid a visit to a nearby supermarket, stocking up on appealing foods which we later ate on their porch. The weather was slightly cooler in Pretoria, the sun less intense than it had been in Cape Town, but now it was late afternoon and the temperature was slowing cooling. To Bree’s delight, we ate fresh South Africa grapes, lychees and prickly pears, the latter of which I had never tasted before. They tasted wonderful!
We drove back to the guesthouse, quickly showers and packed, in advance, for the next day’s drive to Sun City. The reason we packed in advance in because, Corrette, Kalie’s daughter, was due to arrive any moment to take us out for a night in Pretoria’s downtown. Just after 9pm, we heard a knock on the door and we trailed Corrette in our car towards Pretoria. It was dark, and Bree and I couldn’t tell north from south nor east from west. Despite the darkness, however, we could tell that streets were long and straight, lined with lush trees whose leaves hung overhead. Within twenty minutes, we had pulled up outside this old theatre building, inside which were a sprinkling of gay people at the bar as well as on the dancefloor.
Corrette introduced us to a straight couple from Australia who just happened to be living in London at this very moment in time. Shortly afterwards, we were introduced to a handsome guy, in his mid-30s, from Germany who, after a few moments of discussion, admitted that his time in Pretoria was coming to an end. He explained that he always felt on edge because of the local social problems and wanted to relax more
The night drew on, and the music got louder and, later, we were all the dance-floor. After listening to a few songs, however, I have to admit that the DJ seemed to be ‘butchering’ the music. There were intros from Madonna’s Vogue and Cher’s The Music’s No Good Without You, which then went of into some kind of rapped trance. It was quite funny when, later, the young Australia girl came up to me and, not really asking, but asking: ‘Is this place shit, or what?’ To be fair, I think the bar scene in Pretoria has a lot to compete against, considering what the British and Australian visitors this evening are used to. The music was abysmal, a lyrical massacre, the invisible sound waves reverberating off the bare, hard-as-stone walls.
I spent a long time talking to the Australian couple, asking them about life in Australia, and their life in London. They were equally interested in Finnish life and so the four of us kept ourselves entertained. While the girl walked off towards the bar to get a round of drinks, the husband casually asked if we did drugs. Having spent what felt like a eternity talking about how great life with his wife was, his raving about drugs made me wonder if his fantastic life was attributed to what might well be a fantastic life, or the drug-enhanced version.
As if that wasn’t shocking enough, one of Corrette’s friends offered to escort us home. It was pushing 2am and it really was time to get moving. He kindly led the way home, us trailing behind him. It became apparent that the guy was actually very drunk, but I was grateful that he managed to get us home because we would never have found the way back! When I bade him goodnight, the guy even looked visibly very drunk, perhaps more intoxicated than anyone I have ever seen. When I got into bed in the early hours of December 22nd, I realised just how different the night could have turned out, considering we were surrounded by so many bad influences. Corrette, however, had been fantastic!
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The Second Leg is currently being prepared for publication.
You can watch a video of this South Africa trip on my videoblog here.
Or why not read about other trips (including the first trip to South Africa) here
posted by About Me: @ 12:13 pm
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