South Africa Part III

24th September 2004

I wake to blue skies and then rain. I sort out photos for an update while the rain falls outside. People come and go, rise and fall from late nights. Morts & Ali will do their own thing today visiting the crafts market in Greenmarket Square, the Aquarium and a helicopter ride around the Cape Peninsula. I leave the backpackers and drive to the centre of town to walk the City Bowl. It begins at the Castle of Good Hope, SA’s oldest structure built between 1666-79, where tribal dancing is taking place. I walk past the City Hall built in 1905 in its Italian Renaissance style, stop to look round the moving District Six Museum and along Government Av. past the Houses of Parliament. The walk then takes me above modern Cape Town, along the cobbled streets of the traditional homes of the Cape Muslims, Bo-Kaap (“above Cape Town”), with their pastel coloured houses and mosques. The interesting two-hour walk ends near the train station. I hop back in the car and drive up to the cableway on Table Mountain to admire the view over the city and Atlantic Ocean. Then along to Signal Hill to gaze over Sea Point. I receive a text message from Morts; he proposed up in the helicopter, Ali accepted in tears and they want me to join them for champagne at The Waterfront!! We sip bubbly in the heat of the improved weather before heading back to their accommodation in Camp’s Bay for celebratory drinks. We get a taxi down into the bay and sit overlooking the ocean enjoying a superb meal at Blues restaurant. Back in the apartment, we sip more champagne and attempt to watch Ali’s favourite film, Sleepless in Seattle, but all fall into deep sleeps on the sofa and floor!

25th September 2004

After getting stunned 500 Rand for the mistake of me sleeping on the floor, we head off before lunch on the Cape Peninsula drive, from east round to west. Starting in Muizenberg in False Bay we drive south following the coastal railway line into Kalk Bay. Named after the kilns that in the 17th century produced lime from seashells for building paint, Kalk Bay is a busy fishing harbour. We stop for milkshakes in The Brass Bell on the waterfront and watch the waves crash onto the wall, yards from the screen separating our table from the water. We walk the harbour wall lined with fishermen in their vessels mending nets and crayfish pots. On we go through Fish Hoek and Simon’s Town and stop at Boulders to watch the African penguins, formerly known as Jackass penguins. They burrow beneath bushes and waddle up the rocks from the water – so funny. Then down the coast into the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve where the landscape suddenly flattens out to semi bush and the odd sand dune. The only large visible outcrop of rock is that of Cape Point in the distance. We park up, ignore the funicular and start the climb up the hundred or so steps to the old lighthouse (1860) at the top and the what feels like the end of Africa. The most southerly point of the continent is in fact Agulhas, east of Hermanus. I signpost points in the direction of London and read 9623kms - what have we been doing?! We drive round to the Cape of Good Hope which is actually further south than the Point – here myself and the vehicle will go no further south in Africa and it feels like I have reached my destination – a great feeling! I try to imagine what sailing round this landmark would feel like and when we are suddenly hit with torrential rain, a picture springs to mind. We drive quickly out of the reserve and through the holiday-home town of Scarborough before heading inland and back to the coast to Noordhoek. ‘Hoek’ is Afrikaans for ‘corner’ so Noordhoek I assume means North Corner. The rain catches up with us at the end of the spectacular Chapman’s Peak drive, a winding road clinging onto the cliff face with the Atlantic below. It is one of the most beautiful and spectacular stretches of coastal road in the world and has only just reopened after being closed due to dangerous rockslides. Hout Bay nestles behind the almost vertical Sentinel and the steep slopes of Chapman’s Peak. We run through the puddles in the car park and dive into the Mariners’ Wharf for a delicious late lunch. Up past Llandudno, where the remains of the tanker Romelia, wrecked in 1977, lie off the rocks, and into Camps Bay, with the spectacular Twelve Apostles of Table Mountain as a backdrop to the white sandy beaches and palmed tree lined road with its bars and restaurants. We head for the Waterfront talk diamonds; I check email and send an update. After dropping them back at their penthouse suite, I hunt down St. Pauls B&B in the city centre and treat myself to three night’s ‘luxury’. I move some things into my three-bed room and head back to pick Morts and ‘his fiancée’ up to catch a film at one of the cinemas in the Waterfront. The film ‘King Arthur’ is dreadful and made worse by the shouts and screams of fifty school kids behind us. They drop me off and take the car up to Camps Bay for safety.

26th September 2004

The cloud over Table Mountain looks ominous and when Morts & Ali pick me up we decide not to risk being rescued from the depths of the cloud and opt for a safer walk round the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens instead. They are pretty good and would be amazing if you were into plants and flowers…. We drive to Llandudno beach and briefly watch the surfers enjoy the waves crashing onto this superb beach. We have yet another delicious but fattening lunch in Camps Bay to the sound of mad guitarists strumming on the pavement outside. We drive to the Waterfront and wander round the huge African crafts building which used to be the old Harbour offices. Back in the car park, I download Morts’ photos onto CD, which takes forever; we chuck around lemons and apples to pass the time. After a quick shower in my B&B, I drive them to the airport for their 7.30pm flight back to the UK. I almost hit another car when leaving the Drop-off zone – I must be sad to see them leave. Back on my bed, I write my diary and sip on a beer listening to any noises outside which may be a threat on the car.

27th September 2004

The car is still there and the top of the 1000+m high mountain is cloudless – today is the day! After a hearty breakfast, and picking up some Mars bars and water from the local Caltex, I drive up to the lower cableway station. I push my way through the hundreds of people queuing for the ride up and walk the 2kms to the start of the Platteklip Gorge. The going is fairly easy and I feel good, passing numerous groups of slower hikers. The sun is getting hotter each minute on my back. The views over the city and Robben Island are amazing as I climb up the foot-high rock steps up through the gorge. The info lady at the bottom suggested the climb would take me two hours, the Lonely Planet guidebook suggests two and a half. I had just nailed the first three-quarters in half an hour when the thighs started to burn and the sun was sapping my energy. The echoes through the gorge of kids messing about on the top sounded like the Gods calling out or even the ghosts of failed hikers before me. I kept thinking of the book I have just read, The Power of One, where, in the end, the boy defeats his old school bully in a David versus Goliath pub boxing fight. In my case it was ya old pal against this huge mountain. The gorge thinned out as I reached the flat, fynbos (fine bush) covered ‘table top’. I walked around for a while admiring the views and asking the odd random to take my photo over the city. I then spot a camera crew filming three people getting ready to abseil off the top. I recognise one of the women to be a very healthy looking Angela Ripon. It turns out she is chucking herself off the top in aid of her new Travel Program series. After offering some engineering advice to keep her helmet-mounted camera from falling forward over her face, I buy a ticket for the cableway down. The ride down is brief but made all the better with the 360º rotating floor. Back at the B&B, I hand wash some clothes and hang them around the railings of the courtyard. I drive to Hout Bay and the Mariners’ Wharfe to pick up some fish & chips to eat on the harbour wall and watch the fishermen leave for the night. I drive back along the awesome coastal road to Llandudno Beach and immediately dump my stuff on the sand and dive into the waves; bloody freezing compared with the Indian Ocean! The sideways rip tide didn’t help matters either so instead of being embarrassing dragged from the water, I dry off on the beach. After quickly rinsing off the salt back at the B&B, I drive to the Waterfront to catch another film at the cinema. I end up buying a Lonely Planet on Namibia instead, stop for a takeaway pizza and read on my bed with a beer until passing out amongst my seven pillows.

28th September 2004

The car is still there again – relief! During breakfast I learn that two men were spotted snooping round the vehicle in the early hours but were luckily scared off by the Manager – good man. I find a Shell garage with a pit for an oil and filter change and chat to the Jordy owner about my trip who tells me to visit the Namibian Tourist Board in town. I drive to the office, which has moved to the main tourism office near my B&B. I park outside and walk to the office, pick up more info and maps and check email before I leave. Before reluctantly leaving this amazing city, I stop in Camps Bay for some last minute beach time and to stock up on food. Instead of driving the R27 up the coast, I find myself on the N2 east out of town towards the airport. After a wasted hour on the road, I eventually find the R27 and head north up the west coast. The road passes lagoons, the odd patch of huge sand dunes amongst the fynbos and the Atlantic begins to look very bleak. I follow signs to Vredenberg and find the Beach Camp, outside of the sleepy fishing village of Paternoster. The village itself is kind of attractive with a good beach and whitewashed houses for the local fishing families and also holiday homes for wealthy Capetonians. The camp is inside the Columbine Nature Reserve on the very edge of the Atlantic. One can set up camp anywhere along the 3km of rocky coastline. I find a secluded spot at the end of a dirt track slightly sheltered behind a boulder from the sea breeze. I set up camp and fill a beaker of wine from the silver bag and drink it on the furthest rock accessible, literally sitting in the ocean with the spray from the crashing waves, drifting under my feet. I have the vegetable lasagne, which Ali brought back from Blues restaurant in a doggy bag, and watch the sun quickly fall into the ocean. The full moon behind me lights up the waves and the lighthouse arcs its beam through the night sky. What a camping spot!

29th September 2004

I awake during the night sensing the seas are close to the car, but drift off again. I emerge at 8.30am, always sleeping later in the tent for some reason. The morning sun is hot and a haze drifts over the rocks. I make a coffee and write diary with the sun’s heat on my back. The remains of the white froth proved that the waves came up the rocks during the night to about 15m from the car! I drive out of the camp past the large white lighthouse and towards Velddrif on to Eland’s Bay on the dirt road along the coast. The town is ugly but the long beach and mountains are pleasant so I reverse up to the beach fence in a caravan park and get back into routine with the hotdog lunch. The drive along the tolled dirt track, following the train tracks, sand dunes and coast, takes me past lagoons, the home to a number of Greater flamingos. I reach the end of the tolled section and pay one of the three men waiting there. They are friendly and ask me about my trip and jokily suggest I need a lady next to me for the two weeks I’m on my own. I return the joke my asking if they know any. One of the men tells me to book into any of the hotels in Lamberts Bay up the road and ask for a ‘lady’. He also informs me not to forget ‘the plastic’. I drive away with a smile on my face. Lamberts Bay is grotty, just like its women I suspect, so I drive on for 75kms to Clanwilliam and the start of the Cederberg Wilderness area. The R364 between here and Calvinia is an amazing dirt road through unspoilt, empty countryside and several magnificent passes. The Pakhius Pass took me through an amazing jumble of multi-coloured rocks and rather like a mini Grand Canyon. I speed along the good track at 100kmph, feeling like a desert rally driver with a huge dust tail behind me. The Botterkloof Pass is equally impressive. I eventually find the very basic caravan park in Calvinia, a funny town made up of a grid system of roads and surrounded by ‘wild west’ country. The gates appear locked so I phone the number on the gate. The lady informs me they aren’t locked, to drive in and she’ll be with me in twenty minutes. I set up camp and am immediately met by another person sharing the campsite with me, an old Scottish man who is currently, on and off, cycling the globe. I pay the lady when she arrives and cook pasta before typing away on the laptop under the glow of the paraffin lamp and the tunes of a local radio station.

30th September 2004

After a shower and shave, I chat to the old Scottish man about his travels and share my stories etc. I go on to learn he is from Largs on the West Coast of Scotland so chat some more about my sailing experiences in the area. I manage to leave Calvinia by 10.30am and fill up in town before heading NE towards Upington. The road is one of the straightest and longest I have ever driven and takes me first through semi-bush, dodging tortoises slowly crossing the road in the high 20’s. After passing through black boulder terrain, the landscape flattens. I stop in a lay-by outside the nothing town of Kenhardt for a stale cheese sandwich before carrying on – the temperature rising the further north I progress. I hit a T-junction, turning away from Upington through the small vine region towns of Keimos and Kakamas passing many vineyards, not too dissimilar to a small Franschoek. I find the Augrabies Falls NP and the not so helpful receptionist who informs me that park entrance is 60 R and camping, an extra 95 R. I refrain from camping and run down to the main falls, jumping from rock to rock to the safety fence overlooking the 18km long ravine and 56m falls. The name of the Falls derives from the Namaqua word for ‘place of great noise’. The Orange River, known not for its muddy colour, but after Prince William V of Orange (Dutch Monarch in late 1770’s), meanders across the plain but after an uplift in the land 500 million years ago, it began to carve a deep ravine into the underlying granite, which is pretty impressive. I drive out of the park to the confusion of the friendly gateman and stop to ask to camp at a river adventure camp down the road. A white South African ‘dude’ with dreds greets me and ‘slowly’ walks me around the camping area. I set up shop under a tree next to the showers and immediately get out all the Namibian reading material I have collected. Either side of eating last night’s remaining pasta, I read up on the incredible sounding country of Namibia, of which I head into tomorrow; retreating early to read in the tent away from the damn bugs.

Distance travelled since London : 32,730 kms

To see the pics, click here!-------> Photo Link!