South Africa

Cape Town

We dreamed up this holiday while watching TV. The Australian cricket team were hammering the South Africans in Oz at the time. There would be a return series in South Africa so we thought that it would be cool to catch the Cape Town match. We made sure that we had tickets for the game first and then worked the holiday around the match. Eventually, we decided to go for three weeks and see a bit of the country.

We were met at Cape Town airport by a very jolly taxi driver who managed to give us a complete potted history of the place during the journey to our hotel. It was rush hour so there was queuing on the freeway. This doesn’t apply to the local public transport, however, which consists of mini vans stuffed to bursting point with workers on their way into town. The vehicles are privately owned and the drivers get paid by how many trips they can manage. This leads to some ingenious and enterprising attempts to circumnavigate the traffic. The hard shoulder is fair game and is used routinely, but when this is blocked the grass verge will do. (Best not to get in the way of these chaps). We sat patiently in the back as our driver went through his well practised tourist speech. We passed the major hospital on the way in and he explained that this is the place where the first heart transplant was performed by Christiaan Neethling Barnard in 1967. This is something that the locals are extraordinarily proud of. You can’t get into a taxi in Cape Town without being told of this feat even if you’re nowhere near the hospital. The route from the airport to the centre of town takes you past a huge shanty town, known as the Cape Flats. It really is quite shocking to see for yourself the conditions in which people are living. The pictures in the guide books and images previously seen on TV had not prepared us for the scale of deprivation. The average dwelling looks about the size of garden shed or typical London flat, although not as solid, having been assembled from presumably whatever was available. This is generally off cuts of wood, boxes and corrugated iron. Our driver explained that conditions had dramatically improved with the recent introduction of sewerage and electricity, so I couldn’t imagine how bad it must of been. The government has started building some public housing to re-house people, but there’s obviously a lot to do.

Our hotel was on the ‘Waterfront’ in the centre of town. A beautiful small luxury hotel that was reckoned to be one of the two best in Cape Town. There was no holding back on this trip, 5 star all the way. Well, it seemed a bit scrooge like not to with the Rand trading at 500 to the Albanian Groat – never mind the Pound. The Victoria and Alfred Waterfront is a working harbour that has been developed as a tourist centre in recent years with the introduction of lots of trendy bars, restaurants and shops. We set off to explore that evening and headed towards what looked like a likely venue to sample the local brew. At the entrance we were scanned by some security guards using one of those magic wands that I’d only previously seen at airports. One of the guys asked “Any firearms?” I wasn’t sure if he meant ‘Do I have any?’ or ‘Would I like some?’ Undeterred, although now extremely wary, we headed in. It was actually a very pleasant place with a large number of tables outside overlooking the water. We whiled away a few hours there relaxing into our holiday.

We spotted a few British celebrities in Cape Town, obviously avoiding the Northern winter. Robert Lindsay, the actor, and his family were staying at the same hotel as us. I had this incredible urge to shout “Mother” every time I saw him, but just managed to resist. (For those of you who have never seen GBH you’re doubtless a bit confused. He’s probably more famous as Woolfie Smith in Citizen Smith, and most recently plays the Dad in ‘My Family’ alongside Zoe Wannamaker.) We were strolling along the waterfront one afternoon when we passed Gary Mabbut, who was pointing out the seals to his daughter. Mags turned to me and said “I’m sure I know that guy.”

“That’s because it’s Gary Mabbut”

“Oh! Just as well I didn’t say anything. I was about to stop and chat to him”

I can imagine what he might have thought if she had – “I know I played with some old women in the Spurs defence, but I don’t remember you”.

The seals are very popular with the tourists but not quite as well appreciated by the locals and tradesmen. They stink for a start and are fond of clogging up the jetties while they bask in the sun, making it difficult for the cruise boats to operate. There’s a regular battle going on between the seals and the boat owners equipped with brooms as weapons. The seals manage to hold their own though.

On our first full day, we took delivery of our hire car and made straight for the wine district. (There just always seem to be vineyards near where we end up on holiday). The car arrived a little later than planned so we had to make straight for our lunch venue that Mags had spotted in the brochures the previous evening. This was a beautiful old winery called Boschendal in Stellenbosch where they serve a eat as much as possible buffet lunch, accompanied by their excellent wines. Mags tucked into the wine list while I had to make do with water as, conned as usual, I was the driver. There is an old manor house on the estate built in 1812. You have to say that it’s pretty small compared with the stately homes back in Blighty, with only four rooms and a hallway. But it’s an historic site having once been owned by that famous South African Liberal Cecil John Rhodes. We had a wander around the estate in the warm sunshine before heading off to explore the region. We had perfect, blue skies for our drive which made the scenery particularly striking, especially the surrounding mountains.  

Driving around is a real pleasure as there is very little traffic and the roads are very good. We found this to be the case all through our trip in S.A. The only real problem was to avoid the pedestrians as there are no pavements. This wouldn’t be an issue except for the custom of moving over to the hard shoulder (where the pedestrians are) to let cars past. Having overtaken you the car now in front will flash his / her hazard lights to thank you – all very civilised if you ignore the pedestrians jumping into the bushes to safety. The traffic lights take a little getting used to. There’s no red/amber signal between stop and go. You can be waiting patiently at a red light, suddenly glance up and it’s green - a kind of Twilight Zone feeling.

Our second stop was the sleepy village of Franschhoek which was originally settled by French Huguenot families. (These Huguenots got around a bit). The village has a spectacular setting encircled by the Franschhoek and Groot Drakenstein mountains. We strolled idly around gazing at all the pretty, thatched roofed cottages before heading back to base. There’s a lot more to do and see in the wine district (which really means eat and drink) but we didn’t have the time on this trip. Next time, I think we’ll get a chauffeur or stay overnight.

Of course we visited the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point, the southern most point of the Cape Peninsula. These places like Lands End or John O’Groats seem to have some magnetic attraction for tourists so we couldn’t help ourselves. The car just went there by itself. The main attraction is really the drive around the Cape peninsula which is quite spectacular with the Atlantic, the Pacific or sometimes both in view all the time; waves crashing into the shoreline. There are lots of small towns along the route with wonderful beaches, and plenty of stopping points to take photos of the magnificent views.

The area around Cape Point is a nature reserve with plenty of wildlife and flora & fauna to see. The most noticeable creatures are the baboons that approach the cars with the hope of being fed. Tourists are advised not to give them food as they can be dangerous. We didn’t find them particularly attractive or interesting although everyone else seemed to be fascinated.

Another must is the trip to the top of Table Mountain. Apparently, it can be walked but it’s a hell of a way so we took the cable car like everyone else. It’s quite a ride as the car goes up practically vertically. I was pleased to note the small plaque that declared it was built in Switzerland – very reassuring. The car is round in shape with floor to ceiling windows providing for a great view for everyone on board. Just when we were feeling fine, clinging onto the hand supports, the operator flicked a switch and we’re suddenly moving around. This is because it’s a rotating cable car. The idea, I’m sure, must be to give everyone a view from all vantage points. The floor rotates around a central podium whilst the walls stay fixed. This means that the inhabitants are slowly moved clockwise around the cabin. Nice idea, but I think we’d have preferred to have remained stationary. The view is sensational as you get further up the mountain, with the city spread out beneath your feet. Unfortunately, at the top, fog had settled in and visibility was near zero so we didn’t quite get to see the best views. There’s the customary café and tourist shop of course, and some well marked paths to walk along. We tottered about for a while but fog is fog from any angle so we soon headed back down. Needless to say, that was the only day when the mountain was covered in cloud but we didn’t have time to go back up.

Camps Bay is an attractive little seaside district of Cape Town where most of the beautiful people seem to hang out with their Porsches. There’s a fantastic white beach separating a long line of restaurants from the Atlantic Ocean. We had lunch in one of these establishments picked at random. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon munching on a seafood platter watching the world go by. Jason Gillespie walked past at one point which wasn’t that much of a surprise as he was playing in the Test Match, but as it was due to start the next day, we thought that he might have been practising. One of the waiters made a concerted effort to get him to eat in the restaurant but with no luck. After lunch we went to dip our toes in the water, and that’s as far as we got as the sea was absolutely freezing. The Cape is unique in that you can swim in the Atlantic, hop into you car, drive a few minutes, and then swim in the Pacific. But unless you have a great desire to do this (‘cos you can) then stick to the Pacific side – it’s a lot warmer. The wind generally picks up in Camps bay in the afternoon and the waves start to grow so the bathers disappear and the surfers come out to play.

Before long we were off to Newlands to watch the test match between South Africa and Australia. The ground is situated in a fairly rich suburb with a fantastic view of Table Mountain. It must be the prettiest ground I’ve been to. We had seats in the Presidents Pavilion round about fine leg. We were meant to get afternoon shade, but this didn’t materialise till about 4 O’clock. We lasted until about 2, slowly melting into our seats before we sought refuge. We moved back up the stand till we found an area under shade. We asked some of the people there if we could sit with them and they graciously consented. Mags of course immediately started chatting to everyone and before long we were best of friends, and we spent the rest of the test match with them. We referred to that little area as codgers corner as everyone was over sixty. It turned out that a group of them had bought debentures for the seats when the stand was built. The reason there were now so many spaces was that half of them had by now retired to that great pavilion in the sky.  There were some interesting characters including an ex-mayor of Cape Town who naturally knew everyone. And another chap who I think must have been an ex cricketer because he seemed to know all the cricket greats. Graham Pollock came over to speak with him. He now lives in London – Graham Gooch helped him get his residency.

Australia won the match pretty convincingly with the highlight being Adam Gilchrist’s quick fire hundred. SA did put up a fight in the second innings, but in the end, the new look, slim Shane Warne bowled practically non stop for a whole day to win the game.

We did have to listen to a fair bit of local politics in codger’s corner which can be summed up from a white perspective as “the blacks are ruining everything”. Still, everyone was very friendly and we had a great time. The secondary entertainment was provided by the ice cream and drinks sellers. These guys just wander around amongst the seats shouting out their particular catch phrase to try and make a sale. One chap would exclaim “What a day!” everywhere he went. This never changed irrespective of the weather or the score for that matter. Another guy just said “Ice Cream” very quickly five times, as if he thought that his sales were directly proportional to the number of times he could say the magic word.  Added to the other shouts of “Water”, “Coke, Coke, Coke”, and “Biltong”, this was the constant soundtrack to the match. The atmosphere at cricket grounds around the world is always different. At Lords the predominant sound is “Shush!”, in the West Indies it is booming reggae music emanating from colossal speakers -interrupted by officials screaming of “Mr DJ!, Mr DJ” over the tanoy in an attempt to get the music to stop while play is in progress. In Australia I can’t recall any one dominant theme, but there’s plenty of wise cracks and assorted sayings such as “Strewth it’s hot!”, “Burp!” and “Bowlin’ Warney”

Other refreshments were available behind the stands. Although on the first day, a Friday, we discovered that most of the outlets were closed during the lunch break. This was because they are mostly owned and run by Muslims who had gone off to pray. Pure genius. Thankfully, there was always Castle corner which never seemed to close.

After the cricket we left Cape Town and headed to the Drakensburg Mountains via Johannesburg. We had been advised that it was best to avoid Jo’burg as violent crime is rife, so we just changed planes there and boarded a tiny propeller jobby that took us to the town of Nelspruit in Mpumalanga in the North Eastern part of the country. The airport at Nelspruit is extremely small, but the service is exceptional. The local baggage handler carried our bags all the way to our hire car, lobbed them into the boot, and then decided to move the car to a more convenient position for us. Unfortunately for him, he picked drive instead of reverse, and managed to bump into a Mercedes reversing out of a nearby parking bay. Our car was unscathed, but the door of the Merc was caved in – poor sod. We left them behind arguing over the damage.

Our destination was a hotel called The Blue Mountain Lodge. We had a 30 minute drive or so to get there although this ended up being a tad longer after we started out in the wrong direction. The hotel is reached via a mile or so of dirt road that our Japanese saloon car really wasn’t designed for. Nevertheless, we got there eventually. We were met at the hotel entrance and told that we were staying in the manor house and had to get back in the car to drive back up the track to get there. We were shown into this house that had its own driveway, gardens, aviary (yes, that’s birds in a large outdoor cage), and swimming pool. Inside there was a huge reception room with a vaulted ceiling, a study, kitchen, two enormous bedrooms both with ensuite bathrooms. The swimming pool overlooked a small lake that was about 200 metres away at the foot of the garden. Our Jaws dropped. Mags enquired “Who else is staying here?”. “Just you madam”. We really had no idea that we’d booked something like this so it was quite a surprise.

Since the place was so wonderful we decided to spend the next day staying put just lording it around our “country estate”. I’ve a great photo of Mags laying on one of the sun lounges next to the swimming pool reading a book, looking every bit as if she was born to this kind of life. Obviously this is a bit of a worry for me.

Dinner is held each evening at the main building of the hotel a short drive away back down the private dirt road. It’s an all inclusive, 5 course, heart attack inducing feast. Someone comes to the house with a selection of appetisers and the menu just before sunset. The drive back is a little adventure after a few chardonnays.

It was extremely difficult to tear ourselves away from this tranquil haven, but we had come to see the countryside, so we headed off in the car to explore. The area is famed for its waterfalls, and it certainly has a few.

Probably the most spectacular place we visited was Bourke’s potholes. This is at the confluence of two rivers that have cut a severe groove through the landscape. Where they meet there’s a crashing of water as each tries to assert itself before they settle into one river. This aquatic violence has eroded the landscape over time, moulding it into some unusual shapes looking like, yes you guessed it, potholes.

The principal industries apart from tourism are banana and avocado farming, and logging. It was interesting to see avocados growing as we had no idea where they came from. In fairness, I don’t think a lot of people spend a great deal of time thinking about it. They grow on small bushes by the way. (I know that you’re riveted).  

Strangely enough, we found that bananas and avocados were extremely cheap. Well, free really. We splashed out on some tomatoes for lunch one day. There are lots of locals selling a few bags of fruit in the towns and along the roadside. Mags insisted that we buy from one of these vendors to make sure that we put something back into the local economy. We approached one of the said fruit sellers and enquired about the price of a bag of toms. You could see her sizing us up and wondering how much she could get away with charging. “2 rand” was the answer. Mags surprised me by responding with “1 rand”. Negotiations thereby started and were about to go into arbitration when I interrupted with an offer of “1 rand 50” which was accepted. Mags complained to me that she was sure that she could have got them cheaper. I reminded her that she wanted to give some money to the locals. She said “Fair enough, but I don’t like being ripped off”. Typical Aussie. 2 rand is about 12 pence by the way.

The other main industry is craft works (No, not dodgy German synthesizer music); carvings and stuff mostly of the wildlife found in the nearby Kruger national park. Practically every waterfall or beauty spot is accompanied by an array of craft sellers. After a while you realise that they are all peddling the same stuff so there must be some factory somewhere where the giraffes, elephants and so on are whittled out at an amazing rate (Probably made in China). Naturally, we bought a load of stuff which we didn’t need which resulted in us throwing away clothes and stuff we actually did need in order to squeeze the figures into our luggage to get them home.

Next stop was the Kruger, and Mala Mala game reserve in particular. This is one of the private game reserves inside the park that look after the tourists, making sure they don’t get up to too much mischief and keeping them alive. We were staying in what they termed the “Main Camp”, which was the swishiest one of the four camps that they ran. ‘Camp’ is a bit misleading as everyone has a thatched bungalow each with air-conditioning and his and hers ensuite bathrooms. Laundry is complimentary and all meals are inclusive. There is a swimming pool and a Gym. No tents in site.

We soon discovered that we were a bit out of place as everyone else staying there was loaded. Serious rich people who didn’t need to work anymore. In fact, I think a number of the guests hadn’t bothered ever working. The guest book read like a who’s who guide – Mick Jagger, Tom Watson, Bill Clinton, Lance Klusner, Elton John and so on. Nelson Mandella had also stayed there but, to be fair, he seems to have been everywhere in SA.

You get put into a group for the duration of your stay for the safari drives. Our little ensemble included a Canadian couple around about the same age as us, and an ancient Australian couple. I think the camp must try and put people together that they think will get on based on the information that they have on people. Clearly, this doesn’t always work.  It was my first time on safari but I immediately recognised the Canadians as safari bores. We had a running commentary on our first drive of

- “There are so many more elephants in Kenya” and

- “Black Rhino are much harder to find that the White, but we saw them in Namibia, It was amazing”.

That kind of thing. Still, they settled down after they were satisfied that they were established as the safari kings – or should that be safari tossers. Later, we actually started to get on with them after we got to know them a bit better. Perhaps we had a good influence on the group. Either that or we were turning into safari tossers as well.

The Australian couple really were old. They had just completed an extended cruise from Sydney and were finishing off with this Safari before heading back home to die. The guy had a dodgy leg and couldn’t walk far. He had brought with him a little motorised buggy that assembled from four parts, and he whizzed around the camp in this most of the time. He had made his money running a steel forging business in the 50s. No surprise then that he was a tough old bugger. He bullied his wife relentlessly who wasn’t allowed to have an opinion. Not that she would have remembered anyway, as dementure had well and truly set in, poor thing.

Each group was looked after by a ranger and a tracker. The tracker is always a black guy from the local tribe, and the ranger is always a white guy who drives, does the talking and generally makes sure that the guests are happy. Our ranger was a Zimbabwean called Leon whose main interest was the birdlife. He loved to point out all the different species of birds, telling us about their feeding and migratory habits. He could do the bird calls for most of them, and was able to con the birds into responding to him several times. Some people just don’t seem to fit their names, and Leon is one. I don’t know exactly why this is, but we all had trouble calling him Leon as it seemed so out of place. He’s certainly no French assassin, although he did carry a gun around. The tracker didn’t speak much English so we didn’t get to learn much about him except that he was called Elvis, and that he could spot a Chameleon at night from 50 paces.

So much for the people, it was the animals that we had come to see after all. And the ‘Big 5’ in particular. The 5 are the elephant, rhino, buffalo, lion and leopard; so called, not because of their size, but because they are reputedly the most dangerous to hunt on foot. Each day was organised around two safari drives; one in the morning before it gets too hot, and one in the late afternoon / evening - again to avoid the worst of the sun. This sounds all very sensible except that it meant having to get up at 5:30 a.m for the first drive. The vehicles are open topped land rovers with special tiered seating so that everyone gets a good view.

Our first sighting was of a Leopard that just came walking up to us. Leon pulled to the side of the road to let it past and it walked slowly by only a few feet away from the vehicle. This certainly woke us up. I for one was just a little apprehensive about being so close to a wild man-eater without any protection. Leon explained however that most of the animals can’t tell that there are people inside the truck – all they see is the land rover. They are totally used to the vehicles, and as they know that they can’t eat them and also that they are not a threat, they ignore them. In the animal kingdom it seems you are either food, a predator or just invisible. This means that you can get really close to the animals even if it is just a little scary despite the reassuring words from Leon.

Well, the whole experience was fantastic and much better than I had expected. I had thought that it would be a bit like Knowsley safari park (a zoo in England) but on a grander scale. In reality, it’s a thrill to see these animals in their natural habitat all trying to survive. There were many highlights including watching a rhino take a mud bath, witnessing a young elephant bull demolish a tree, being overtaken by a herd of buffalo in the dark, tracking a Leopard through the bush and watching it leap into a tree, lion cubs at play and just admiring the scenery. At sunset, Leon would stop for a while so that we would stretch our legs and take a leak, if necessary. He always chose an open area to make sure that we weren’t hopping out of the car next to a pride of Lions. Still, modesty dictated that you had to search for a bush to urinate. I think we all broke our personal bests for fastest pee.

For me the most memorable moment came when we tracked a group of four lioness stalking buffalo in the evening.  The lions were slowly but surely creeping up on the buffalo that seemed to be unaware of their presence. However, just when it looked as if the predators were about to pounce, a group of buffalo charged towards the lions dispersing them and scaring them off – brilliant stuff.

At Mala Mala, the guests were outnumbered by the staff by a ratio of six to one. This seemed to be typical of South Africa which has clearly embarked on a policy of full employment by means of using lots of people to do the smallest of jobs. This is particularly noticeable to tourists in the service industries where you are swamped by waiters in each restaurant. (This doesn’t necessarily improve the service.).  A good example is the use of labour at road works. Teams of black guys work on the roads to keep them in top condition (and the roads are all good) using mostly shovels with very little machinery. At each end of the road works a guy is ‘employed’ to stand there all day with a red flag to warn motorists that road works are in progress – a kind of human red triangle. You get so used to this over employment that it’s a surprise to find that when you get into a taxi, there’s only one person driving. Much of this must stem from the ridiculously cheap labour that is available from the black community who continue to make up the majority of the poorest people in the country. Driving around in some of the more remote parts there are always people on the roadside walking to work or home. They must walk miles each day.

The last leg of our trip took us to the Garden Route, the name given to the stretch of coastline form Grahamstown, near Port Elizabeth to Mossel Bay, near Cape Town. We stayed in Plettenburg Bay about half way along the Garden Route in a hotel located on a cliff top with majestic views of the coast and the long sandy beach below. We arrived at around lunchtime to be greeted by the sight of dolphins playing in the bay. We located the restaurant and sat down to a lovely meal of succulent white fish washed down with a bottle or two of Chardonnay. We were seated on the terrace near the swimming pool with a fantastic view so we just sat there relaxing and chatting away all afternoon. Before we knew it the sun was going down and we had to clear out to make way for the dinner guests. Now the sensible thing at this point would have been to go straight to bed. Needless to say we enquired as to the whereabouts of the nearest bar and commandeered a taxi to take us there. It was only about 400 yards but walking was by this stage out of the question. After a few tequilas and beers, we made complete fools of ourselves dancing around the bar. Tequila for me is like fast food. Seems like a good idea at the time but you always regret it afterwards.

The whole Garden Route is served by the N2 which bisects the land that lies between the coast and the mountains so getting around is very easy. We zoomed up and down this for a few days stopping off at places of interest and just generally enjoying the countryside. At one point, we left the main road in search of adventure only to end up on a dirt track hopelessly lost. After a couple of hours of u-bends and dust we ended up back where we had started. However, we did discover an Ostrich farm and I got to pretend that I was Colin McRae for a while.

One of the notable places on the Garden Route that we visited was Knysna (No, I can’t pronounce it either). It’s a small town situated next to a large natural lagoon protected from the sea by two sandstone cliffs, the Knysna heads. There’s a waterfront complex of shops and restaurants and a steam train departs from there every day for George following a picturesque route. We didn’t have time for the train – it’s not the quickest form of transport - but did pick up a few bargains in the craft shops.  More luggage to carry home.