Hopes and Fears

May 5, 2002-Helpful
(photos:Us at Southernmost point of S. Africa,
Road compannion)

A question I would never think to ask at a Shell Gas Station: Do you take credit cards? We found one in Hermanus that only takes special bank debit cards for use at petrol stations. Credit cards aren’t accepted at any gas stations in South Africa. The gas was pumped and in our tank when we found out. We’re getting short on Rands and have to pay cash at our B & B tonight. I guess it’s a trip to a bank tomorrow to cash another travelers check.

I was interested in the explorers of long ago when I was a child. I was fascinated by them as a teacher. Names like Vasco de Gamma and Magellan sound to me like the Scott Carpenters and John Glenns of today. There was no way I wasn’t going to the Cape of Good Hope. It’s about an hour by car from Cape Town and we left before breakfast. We meandered along the shoreline to the town of Camp Bay and on to Hout Bay. There we stumbled into a restaurant called The Rumblin’ Tum. The food was plentiful and lovingly prepared, but the bonus was that there was a TOBI (Tourist Office of Booking Information) at the back of the place. We chatted with the owner/agent about our planned itinerary to the Cape and along the Garden Route. While we inhaled our breakfast she got us organized. She provided us with maps, routing, bookings, and a detailed verbal compass of written directions to our B & B’s as well as sights along the way. She cautioned us about dangerous roads to avoid and suggested driving times so we didn’t have to rush as we “tootled” along. Although one route looked shorter on the map, she said we could be assured that if the car broke down we’d be robbed, the car stolen, and perhaps our lives taken. This was in an area between the sand dunes and the highway to the airport. There are miles upon miles of “township” settlements just like the shantytowns of Soweto that we see on the news. From a distance, the bright colors of the patchwork shacks jump out, but up close it’s deadly.

The way to the Cape took us through the wine country of Constantia, upscale walled residential neighborhoods, past horseback riders in traditional English habits, and cottages with thatched roofs. We climbed up into the Tokai forest and down through seaside dunes. Towns were pastel blurs hanging between the crags and sea. Buildings were a hodge-podge of Cape Dutch, tile roofs, and stucco construction giving them a Mediterranean ambience. Scuba divers were parked on the roadside at every turn and unabashedly changed into and out of their wet suits..

We paid our entry fee at the Cape Peninsula National Park. David later noted that no one checked our tickets to be sure we’d not sneaked in by bribing an official as they did in Kenya. For a minute we did think we were back on a game drive. The road was posted with warnings about the danger of feeding the baboons and we were kept alert dodging ostrich. There were enough ostrich to say there was a herd but I didn’t know if this was the correct terminology. I knew that a gaggle was of geese and ostrich are too big to be a flock. I decided that a large number of ostrich was an oodle. Oodles of ostrich has a nice ring.

Hopeful

The Cape of Good Hope is where the warm waters of the Indian Ocean meet the cold Atlantic. We were headed for the south-westernmost point in Africa overlooking this region called Cape Point. It was raining as we boarded a funicular that went up to a promontory where there was a lighthouse built in 1857. By the time we reached the top, the sun was out and the clouds had lifted. We ended up in the midst of a Turkish tour group whose English consisted of “Istanbul, Turkia, and Bosphorous.” Everyone was taking each others pictures and we understood when they offered to take ours. We returned the favor.

As we were leaving the park, we saw a road going down to Cape Point at sea level. It was a terrifying and impressive experience. We were face to face with enormous roiling breakers and could easily see white caps crashing over daunting reefs. A freighter was rounding the Cape and making its way West from the Indian to the Atlantic Ocean and the plight of the early mariners became clear. Our respect for them grew as we thought about how they were out in the elements in small ships without the aid of sonar, radar, radios, satellites, or global positioning and weather data.

Our drive towards the Garden Route took us through Strand, an unimpressive seaside town of bland buildings across from a bleak beach littered with kelp and pebbles. I think the beaches of the Gold Coast have spoiled me forever. The natural beauty surely outshone the manmade. The sun was bouncing from sea to mountains as it illuminated the vertical rib-like rocky protrusions that clung to the cliffs. Black storm clouds hung over the peaks as we admired the red rock face that covered the lower ranges. The drive was so pristine that even the overlooks were paved with tidy red bricks in neat geometric patterns. I’ve seen mountains, sea, and sky in such a splendid display before this. I guess I’m blessed with a poor memory since each time I look upon those wonders it’s like seeing them for the first time.

We made good time since we realized that certain stretches of road had no speed limit. We got to Hermanus at dusk and had trouble finding our B & B, Westcliff House. The voucher had the wrong house number on it. We sorted things out as the heavens opened and we had to dodge the rain as the thunderstorm that avoided us all day hit with a vengeance. It was short lived and we moved into our cozy $30/night room. Westcliff House is behind a wall and has an electric security fence. All the houses in this neighborhood do. All the houses in all of the nice neighborhoods do. The B & B is a salmon colored stucco building with a thatched roof. I feel like I’m going to be sleeping with Shakespeare tonight.

We had pizza for dinner. We tried one with beef and peri-peri sauce. That’s a spicy African marinade. It was delicious even with the gherkins that were on the pizza. They served a dish of minced garlic on the side. I was in garlic lovers heaven and liberally applied the mushed cloves making a big dent in the bowl. I hope Shakespeare likes garlic.

Toby