I originally started writing this post over two months ago, when we first came to South Africa. But now I find myself reading it back to myself in India, after we've left, and it doesn't quite seem to make sense. I don't know why. Perhaps my feelings about the place have changed or perhaps, immersed in the mire of the place, I had no overall perspective on the experience. Or maybe it's the beard. Yes, I expect it is that. I am not shaving very much these days.
At any rate, I trashed it (the post that is, not the beard) and here we go again.
We flew back from Madagascar and spent three days chilling in Johannesburg. The weather was glorious and there was no need to do anything. It felt like the right thing to do after such an immersive and exotic, but tiring, trip to Madagascar and we met this bluff old Glaswegian guy called Malcolm who entertained us with his comedy hobble and stories of running casinos all over Africa throughout his career. Tough life, but exciting it all sounded. He ended up being with us in Cape Town too so we got to know him a bit. I guess he was in his seventies. Living off his pension. Long, hippy like hair. Only one eye working but never misses a thing. Looks a bit like a pirate really now I come to think about it. Drinks in the morning and smokes like a chimney. A real character. Extroverted. Loquacious. A bit intense sometimes. Lots of stories. Believes he has a rare psychiatric condition when he probably doesn't. Loved pineapple flavour Fanta.......
Why am I talking about him? I guess because he was there. And he stood out from the crowd. I quite liked him. Backpacking in your seventies. Hobbling about, telling stories, drinking, smoking and quietly slipping into old age amongst a gaggle of young, know-it-alls. It's not a bad way to do it I think.
We travelled on the Greyhound bus from Johannesburg to Cape Town after a few days relaxing at the Gandhi. Armed with a robust supply of Zolpidem, the 18 hour coach trip passed in a soporific haze and we felt quite good getting off the bus. So much so that when we arrived in Cape Town we almost immediately hiked up Table Mountain. It was a glorious day and we met a random chap called Brendon who offered to be our guide. Nice guy. Tall, lanky, attractive, full of the zeal of someone in their early twenties. But without the forward planning, as we discovered half way up the mountain when those coming down remarked that if we didn't get a move on we would miss the last cable car down. Not wishing to be picking our way down the, at times, precarious and stoney path we were on in the dark, we hot-footed it up the mountain, getting to the top as the sirens blared alerting all to get the hell to the cable car station. Quick photos. No time to appreciate the view. And back down in the cable car which revolves as it descends. Phew!
We ended up staying at a place called Long Street Backpackers (http://www.longstreetbackpackers.co.za) which dubs itself 'The Cradle Of Civilisation', which, now I write this sometime after leaving, really makes perfect sense. Long Street I suppose is the equivalent of somewhere like Soho in London. Frenetic, noisy, in the centre of things. It tires you out after a while but you meet loads of different people and generally spend lots of money you didn't mean to on booze, not an insubstantial proportion of it on their very own shot, the Long Street Love.
Nelson Mandela's prison cell for 18 years...
Our tour guide at the prison, a former inmate!
As was the wind the next day. To such an extent that I was forced to use my sarong as a dust mask!
The view from Signal Hill. Camps bay in the distance. Stunning view. I quite like the photo too as it has the added bonus of looking like I took it just as a thermonuclear warhead was detonated out to sea.
After a couple of days we headed south east towards a place called Wilderness, out first stop along the Garden Route. The drive was long and the weather was appalling. We seemed to be caught in a storm which, given that it washed away part of the road we were driving along, was pretty severe by all accounts. We rode out the storm at our first Garden Route hostel, a place called Fairy Knowe Backpackers (http://www.wildernessbackpackers.com). We have, I note, tended to choose backpackers with a eco-friendly, peace and love theme. Lots of greenery, hammocks, chilled vibes, weed-smoking hippies and that sort of enchanted forest feel. Suits me very well at this time of my life. The only disadvantage is that you can sometimes spend entire days not doing anything. But since it's meant to be a holiday I don't judge myself for that. Yet. Anyway, when the weather cleared we went on a gorgeous walk into the Wilderness national path, wending our way through the forest, over a floating bridge...
...and on up to a stunning waterfall, where the water runs the colour of Red bush tea from all the tannins in the soil.
Another walk took us down the disused railway track to Victoria Bay, on the way visiting a man who had made his home in a cave.
He was an interesting, eccentric chap who claimed to have been guided to the cave by the Holy Spirit, which had also told him to get away from all his friends and family. I don't remember the story too well now I come to write it, but the essence was quite ironic, since on the face of it he was seeking a life of solitude tucked away in his cave, whereas in fact he is now a local celebrity and gets visitors all the time. He also provides accommodation for homeless people passing through the area, and they eat on this long table and chairs set out on the railway tracks by the sea. I don't think he was seeking solitude at all really. He was actually quite vain and seemed to like all the attention whilst professing his love of solitude. I took it to be a curious sort of self-effacing self-obssession, but since that's not a million miles form my own personality (or so I believe) I was probably projecting a bit too. Still, the whole style of the place was a sort of fascinating macabre burlesque. It felt as though a ghost train should pull in any second and all sorts of disembodied souls in bloodied wedding dresses and tuxedos pour out ready for a night of despicable frivolity. It was entertaining!
That afternoon we took out a couple of canoes and paddled up-river with some of the other guys at the hostel. Quite hard work actually, but rewarding as we glided into the national park and stopped for a sun bathe and a dip in the reddy-coloured river.
And, to complete our bucolic experience, we spent a morning horse riding, ending with a slightly bizarre dip in a pond with the horse. The horse really didn't want to go in, but it was all part of the package apparently, so with a lot of quite harsh persuasion we finally ended up in the water together, where he decided to refuse to move. Still, it was perhaps better than the antics of Ro's horse, who ended up depositing him into the water very ungraciously. Heh heh heh! ;) I didn't get a picture unfortunately...far too entrancing a scene to miss behind a camera lens.
That was Wilderness over and done with. We bid a fond farewell and moved on about 100kms down the road to The Crags and, I can confidently say, one of the best backpacking lodges I have ever been too. It was basically a hippy commune, the scenery and setting so stunning, the people so relaxed and friendly and the food and accommodation so good, that I really could not fault it in anyway. And I usually find it easy to fault! It was called Wild Spirit, and I thoroughly recommend a visit if you're in the area (http://www.wildspiritlodge.co.za).
This was the view from the dormitory...!
And they even had a yoga studio for fuck's sake! So I did some yoga too. Such a peaceful, restorative place. There weren't even any mosquitoes to speak of. It was a shame we only stayed a few days. Time was running short and the weather looked like it was going to close in again. We took the auspices of more wet weather as an omen to move on one morning (and indeed it pummelled it down the whole day) and drove the long winding road to Away with the Fairies Backpackers (http://awaywiththefairies.co.za) and our final destination in South Africa, Hogsback.
Now this place really is straight out of the Lord of the Rings novels. They even name the rooms things like "Bilbo's Rest".
It really could be the shire. Take a look at the website if you doubt me. We ended up spending the rest of our time in South Africa here, partly because it was gorgeous and the people friendly and partly because an uncommon amount of rain fell all over South Africa that week, and what with its comforting hot meals and open log fires, there really were many worse places to ride out the bad weather. They also had the cutest Jack Russell puppy called Ziggy, and he alone was a reason to stay in my book :)
At any rate, I trashed it (the post that is, not the beard) and here we go again.
We flew back from Madagascar and spent three days chilling in Johannesburg. The weather was glorious and there was no need to do anything. It felt like the right thing to do after such an immersive and exotic, but tiring, trip to Madagascar and we met this bluff old Glaswegian guy called Malcolm who entertained us with his comedy hobble and stories of running casinos all over Africa throughout his career. Tough life, but exciting it all sounded. He ended up being with us in Cape Town too so we got to know him a bit. I guess he was in his seventies. Living off his pension. Long, hippy like hair. Only one eye working but never misses a thing. Looks a bit like a pirate really now I come to think about it. Drinks in the morning and smokes like a chimney. A real character. Extroverted. Loquacious. A bit intense sometimes. Lots of stories. Believes he has a rare psychiatric condition when he probably doesn't. Loved pineapple flavour Fanta.......
Why am I talking about him? I guess because he was there. And he stood out from the crowd. I quite liked him. Backpacking in your seventies. Hobbling about, telling stories, drinking, smoking and quietly slipping into old age amongst a gaggle of young, know-it-alls. It's not a bad way to do it I think.
We travelled on the Greyhound bus from Johannesburg to Cape Town after a few days relaxing at the Gandhi. Armed with a robust supply of Zolpidem, the 18 hour coach trip passed in a soporific haze and we felt quite good getting off the bus. So much so that when we arrived in Cape Town we almost immediately hiked up Table Mountain. It was a glorious day and we met a random chap called Brendon who offered to be our guide. Nice guy. Tall, lanky, attractive, full of the zeal of someone in their early twenties. But without the forward planning, as we discovered half way up the mountain when those coming down remarked that if we didn't get a move on we would miss the last cable car down. Not wishing to be picking our way down the, at times, precarious and stoney path we were on in the dark, we hot-footed it up the mountain, getting to the top as the sirens blared alerting all to get the hell to the cable car station. Quick photos. No time to appreciate the view. And back down in the cable car which revolves as it descends. Phew!
We ended up staying at a place called Long Street Backpackers (http://www.longstreetbackpackers.co.za) which dubs itself 'The Cradle Of Civilisation', which, now I write this sometime after leaving, really makes perfect sense. Long Street I suppose is the equivalent of somewhere like Soho in London. Frenetic, noisy, in the centre of things. It tires you out after a while but you meet loads of different people and generally spend lots of money you didn't mean to on booze, not an insubstantial proportion of it on their very own shot, the Long Street Love.
Anyway, so I can cut out a lot of typing by just saying there were lots of drunken nights out (and in) and we got to know the place so well we even started serving people behind the bar (because they thought we worked there). Good times.
On a rare sober day we visited Robben Island, prison to Nelson Mandela for the best part of two decades. Easily reachable by boat from the waterfront in Cape Town, it is now no longer a prison but a museum, although even in this guise the perversion continues in the form of our museum guide who was a former prisoner but now lives on the island with his former guards, who are also now his friends. Mental! It was sobering to see the harsh life they had to put up with, the punishments they had to endure in the name of their fight. Whilst society is never going to be equitable in a utopian way, we are nonetheless blessed to be able to get on with our lives in relative freedom (or at least in the absence of persecution). Glorious views of Table Mountain from Robben Island!
Our ugly mugs obscuring it!
Nelson Mandela's prison cell for 18 years...
The prison itself, from the front.
We tried, and failed to go to Cape Point, mostly because we were hungover, stopped for a long lunch and then got diverted by the Boulder's Beach penguin sanctuary. Lots of penguins. Ro was in his element as he loves them. I thought they were a bit smelly really, although their antics were funny- bossing and shoving each other about and playing in the breakers on the beach.
That weekend we went to a South African Trance party, which in the UK would fall under the guise of an electronic music festival, although here they focus much more on psychedelic trance music than in the UK, where it is quite underground. Since I love psychedelic trance I was a happy bunny, and the setting was definitely stunning!
They had this cute stand where you could pick up a clothes peg which had an inscription on it and peg it to yourself or someone else, so Ro pegged '"I am blessed" to me and I pegged "I am huggable" to him. And then we had a hug. Awwww. How sweet ;-)
The music was epic.
As was the wind the next day. To such an extent that I was forced to use my sarong as a dust mask!
We retreated back to Long Street with our stomping shoes sated and over the next couple of days did some walks around the hills surrounding Table Mountain and I took a trip to Camps Bay and walked up Signal Hill (Ro had painful neck spasms that day).
The view from Signal Hill. Camps bay in the distance. Stunning view. I quite like the photo too as it has the added bonus of looking like I took it just as a thermonuclear warhead was detonated out to sea.
We were lucky as the flowers were also out :)
Camps bay. Lots of pretty people.
The sunset from the beach at Llandudnow, with two dogs taking advantage of the romantic ambience.
We also went to another random Trance party called the Village, which turned out to be set in the winelands nestled into a little valley behind a dam. Beautiful!
A couple of days later we were off up north towards Namibia. Lots of driving to come. We stopped over in a bizarre place called Citrusdal in the Cederberg mountains, which attracted us because of its hot springs. In reality, and although the hot springs were very pleasant, it's the sort of place that makes you feel uneasy but you're not really sure why, and then you realise that the whole place feels like some sort of weird cult, with slightly syndromal men and women regarding you suspiciously, the woman at reception clearly some sort of despotic overlord, and a copy of the bible in your room, which itself is so bare and austere that it feels like it might have been used for some sort of atrocity in the past. We left quickly the next day and powered our way up through Springbok, and across the Namibian border. The verdant pastures of the Western Cape were long gone, replaced with the arid scrub of the fast approaching desert. See my post on Namibia for the lowdown on this epic country. Two weeks later however we were crossing back over the border and drove all the way back to Cape Town in one fell swoop from the Namibian border. A behemodrive!
Inevitably we spent a few days in Long Street...it was starting to feel like home. But time was ticking on and we were keen to see the wine country and garden route before getting back to Johannesburg to fly to Delhi on the 2nd November. We took off up to Stellenbosch, which has something like 250 vineyards surrounding it, and spent a pleasant couple of days sampling wines. The scenery here is particularly stunning. Vineyards with a backdrop of green hills! The wine probably improved my perceptions too!
After a couple of days we headed south east towards a place called Wilderness, out first stop along the Garden Route. The drive was long and the weather was appalling. We seemed to be caught in a storm which, given that it washed away part of the road we were driving along, was pretty severe by all accounts. We rode out the storm at our first Garden Route hostel, a place called Fairy Knowe Backpackers (http://www.wildernessbackpackers.com). We have, I note, tended to choose backpackers with a eco-friendly, peace and love theme. Lots of greenery, hammocks, chilled vibes, weed-smoking hippies and that sort of enchanted forest feel. Suits me very well at this time of my life. The only disadvantage is that you can sometimes spend entire days not doing anything. But since it's meant to be a holiday I don't judge myself for that. Yet. Anyway, when the weather cleared we went on a gorgeous walk into the Wilderness national path, wending our way through the forest, over a floating bridge...
...and on up to a stunning waterfall, where the water runs the colour of Red bush tea from all the tannins in the soil.
Another walk took us down the disused railway track to Victoria Bay, on the way visiting a man who had made his home in a cave.
He was an interesting, eccentric chap who claimed to have been guided to the cave by the Holy Spirit, which had also told him to get away from all his friends and family. I don't remember the story too well now I come to write it, but the essence was quite ironic, since on the face of it he was seeking a life of solitude tucked away in his cave, whereas in fact he is now a local celebrity and gets visitors all the time. He also provides accommodation for homeless people passing through the area, and they eat on this long table and chairs set out on the railway tracks by the sea. I don't think he was seeking solitude at all really. He was actually quite vain and seemed to like all the attention whilst professing his love of solitude. I took it to be a curious sort of self-effacing self-obssession, but since that's not a million miles form my own personality (or so I believe) I was probably projecting a bit too. Still, the whole style of the place was a sort of fascinating macabre burlesque. It felt as though a ghost train should pull in any second and all sorts of disembodied souls in bloodied wedding dresses and tuxedos pour out ready for a night of despicable frivolity. It was entertaining!
The next day it was a truly glorious day and we seized the opportunity to go tandem paragliding, leaping off a hill overlooking the bay and spending about 40 minutes swooping through the air, catching thermals up high and then careening downwards again in long, nausea inducing spirals. Massive fun! Stunning views.
That afternoon we took out a couple of canoes and paddled up-river with some of the other guys at the hostel. Quite hard work actually, but rewarding as we glided into the national park and stopped for a sun bathe and a dip in the reddy-coloured river.
And, to complete our bucolic experience, we spent a morning horse riding, ending with a slightly bizarre dip in a pond with the horse. The horse really didn't want to go in, but it was all part of the package apparently, so with a lot of quite harsh persuasion we finally ended up in the water together, where he decided to refuse to move. Still, it was perhaps better than the antics of Ro's horse, who ended up depositing him into the water very ungraciously. Heh heh heh! ;) I didn't get a picture unfortunately...far too entrancing a scene to miss behind a camera lens.
That was Wilderness over and done with. We bid a fond farewell and moved on about 100kms down the road to The Crags and, I can confidently say, one of the best backpacking lodges I have ever been too. It was basically a hippy commune, the scenery and setting so stunning, the people so relaxed and friendly and the food and accommodation so good, that I really could not fault it in anyway. And I usually find it easy to fault! It was called Wild Spirit, and I thoroughly recommend a visit if you're in the area (http://www.wildspiritlodge.co.za).
This was the view from the dormitory...!
And views from the communal areas.
A beautiful walk through an enchanted feeling forest led to a stunning waterfall where I took a skinny dip in the pool! Fresh.
Lots of positive messages :)
And they even had a yoga studio for fuck's sake! So I did some yoga too. Such a peaceful, restorative place. There weren't even any mosquitoes to speak of. It was a shame we only stayed a few days. Time was running short and the weather looked like it was going to close in again. We took the auspices of more wet weather as an omen to move on one morning (and indeed it pummelled it down the whole day) and drove the long winding road to Away with the Fairies Backpackers (http://awaywiththefairies.co.za) and our final destination in South Africa, Hogsback.
Now this place really is straight out of the Lord of the Rings novels. They even name the rooms things like "Bilbo's Rest".
It really could be the shire. Take a look at the website if you doubt me. We ended up spending the rest of our time in South Africa here, partly because it was gorgeous and the people friendly and partly because an uncommon amount of rain fell all over South Africa that week, and what with its comforting hot meals and open log fires, there really were many worse places to ride out the bad weather. They also had the cutest Jack Russell puppy called Ziggy, and he alone was a reason to stay in my book :)
This place had one of the more extraordinary, and cool, installations I've seen in my life; an outdoor bath installed at the edge of a cliff with a view that makes you swoon!
Simply amayyyyyyzing!
And on the final day of nice weather we went mountain biking through the forests, stopping at waterfalls and admiring views. I leave you with a series of shots. I'm aware I'm ending this with relative short shrift. Apologies. All I can say in my defence is that writing these posts is quite hard work! India next, and the squalor of the Delhi slums. Could there be a starker contrast?
Lots of love
DrJ xx
No comments:
Post a Comment