Hooray for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Shared it with the in-laws this year, which means nicer company but fewer leftovers. That's okay, they're heading off tomorrow on their big Australian adventure before the turkey carcass got picked fully clean...

By my mother-in-law's request, here's the story of my trip to South Africa from 2001(?). You can read this same text, but with pictures, on the Virtual Tourist website.


My decision to go to South Africa came about while sitting in an East Atlanta restaurant, The Heaping Bowl and Brew. This restaurant features a giant map across one wall; we were seated directly under Africa. Gazing at the map, I thought about what an interesting place South Africa always seemed to me; I remembered wondering about it at a young age, looking through my parents’ atlas. Not only was it on the other side of the world, it was the southernmost place in Africa, and entirely contained two other whole countries (Lesotho and Swaziland). Then, through the 1980’s, I would hear about it on the news all the time, in reports about the breakup of apartheid. When I did some research and discovered how scenic and beautiful it was as well, my mind was made up.

When Americans think of Africa, they tend to think of safaris and big game. And while South Africa has several safari parks, to be honest, this sort of thing didn’t really interest me too much. I have seen enough elephants and tigers in zoos. I know it’s another thing altogether to witness them in the wild, but I’ll save that for a trip to the Serengeti someday.

The fact that English is widely spoken there made my decision to go by myself much easier; I didn’t want to be all alone in a place where I couldn’t communicate well. And thanks to a friend’s recommendation of a travel web site, I was able to find a (relatively) cheap ticket down there.

My trip down involved a layover in London, which I could extend as long as I liked. Since I had never been there, I decided to spend a couple of days. I latched onto the city quite well; I could easily see moving there someday. Did a lot of shopping, sightseeing, and pub hopping.

My South Africa trip was everything I was hoping it would be and more. I can highly recommend it as a travel destination; while it may cost a bit to get there, I estimate I saved $100 per day over what I would have spent for similar experiences in Europe, thanks to the strong dollar. In the future, I’m going to remember to factor in the day-to-day costs when considering a place that may be expensive to fly to.

Coming home, I resolved to make a trip by myself somewhere every year (next year I’m thinking Greenland by way of Iceland). Travel, it’s said, doesn’t cure wanderlust; it only makes it worse. I have it in a bad way now.

I love going places where every tree, every plant, every car, rock, bird, or insect is just a little bit different than you’re used to. I love hearing young kids speak another language, and stupidly thinking for a moment, “Wow, that kid’s a genius; I could only speak English at that age!” I love spending the Monopoly money that foreign currency seems to be. I love seeing people work a mundane job in a distant part of the world and wondering what their everyday life must be like. I love telling people about where I’m from, and seeing how it differs from their perceptions. I love finding out how my perceptions about a place were wrong. I love visiting a famous place, and having your mind go “I’m here! I’m really here!” And I love having a real memory to associate with a place, when you hear about it later in conversation or in the news.

As it turns out, I recently had an opportunity to experience this last thing in a particularly poignant way. Last week, a terrorist bomb exploded in a pizzeria that was practically adjacent to the Bay Hotel I had stayed at in Camps Bay. I don’t let these sorts of things bother me, though; the odds are much, much greater that you’ll die in a car crash on the way to the airport than as a victim of a terrorist incident. Not that it ever hurts to be aware of your surroundings and keep your wits about you.

Lastly, I have to mention this. I had long heard that toilets that flush counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere actually flush clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere, due to the centrifugal force of the Earth spinning. Then I heard that this was a bunch of malarkey. So I had resolved to test this out while I was visiting. Unfortunately, I got so wrapped up in things, that during the nine days I was there, I never once remembered to check. So it will have to remain a mystery.

Arrival

I managed to sleep most of the way from London to Cape Town, passing over the equator for my first time some time in the middle of the night. I awoke as we were about to land, dipping out of the clouds to a magnificent view of the jagged coastline.

One of the delights of travel for me is the delicious nervousness of arrival in a new culture. Customs seemed a blur for me in my excited state.

The thing I was most nervous about for this trip was the driving. Public transit isn't very much of an option in South Africa; any guidebook you read will tell you to rent a car. What’s scary is that they drive on the other side of the road there, and all the cars have a stick shift that you must operate with your left hand.

After practicing in the parking lot for ten minutes or so I felt I was ready to hit the road. It didn't really seem all that hard. I drilled it into my brain that I must just continually keep to the left. And after a nervous encounter with a traffic circle in my first few minutes on the road, things went just fine. Only once during my whole trip there did I find myself going the wrong way, and that was in a relatively tame parking lot situation. My biggest problem was that I kept getting into the passenger side of my rental car. The standard procedure was to sit down, momentarily wonder what happened to the steering wheel, realize what an idiot I am, and then sheepishly pretend I was just getting into the passenger side to retrieve some small article or other. I must've done this a dozen times.

The only really peculiar driving habit there I noticed was that you are expected to pull over onto the shoulder to let faster cars pass you. Everywhere the roads had wide, clean berms for just this purpose.

Parking in Cape Town was something I wished the guidebooks had warned me about. The way it works is this. Every block has a single meter box for all its parking spots. However, you don't put money into it yourself; you give your money to one of the seedy looking characters that hangs out there and helps you park. He will put money in the meter box for you, but only if the parking ticketers come around. If not, he pockets the money. It seems like a racket, but it's really not a bad system. You pay as much as you would normally, and sometimes you can park in a spot for a lot longer than you're really allowed to.

Of course, I knew none of this pulling into Cape Town on my first day. I gave the guy not nearly enough money and got some dirty looks. Fortunately the hotel owner explained the drill to me and I went out and moved my car. (My male ego requires that I mention that I'm a good parallel parker even on the opposite side of the street.)

I can't really recommend staying in town, especially if you're planning to go out or return at night. There were some very nervous moments walking down the street; the guys hanging out on most street corners would not leave you alone. Everywhere else I stayed seemed much safer.

First Day

I was worried that, because I was visiting during their rainy season, I would not get a clear day to visit South Africa's main tourist destination, Table Mountain, but the first day I awoke to bright, clear skies (as I did nearly every day, as it turned out). Table Mountain is the rocky plateau that looms over Cape Town like a wave about to break. The way to the top is by an astounding cable car ride. Atop there are pleasant walking trails, magnificent views, and interesting wildlife.

Also on top there is a small business set up to allow adventure seekers to "abseil" (rappel) down the mountain. They claimed to be the highest public abseil operation in the world. I scoffed internally at the idea at first, but then I got to thinking. I was here for the adventure. Could I convince myself to go? I sat a while and thought about it. Well, I probably didn't have enough money on me to do it. I went and checked, and it only cost about $30; I did have enough on me, and probably would never find a cheaper place to do it. But, they didn't seem to have a photographic operation set up. Why do it if I couldn't even prove that I did it to the folks back home? No problem, the man assured me. We can take a picture with your camera and give it back to you when you walk back up. I went and thought some more. Finally I went back and asked the guy, "Um, are these shoes okay for this?"

"Yes, they're perfectly fine."

"Rats. That was my last excuse."

I think I was pretty green as he was explaining the procedure to me; he had to repeat some questions to me. I willed myself over the edge and began working my way down. I soon realized I was in danger of hyperventilating so I had to really concentrate on breathing steadily. I worked my way down about a hundred feet or so, then abruptly ran out of wall. The remaining 200+ feet were a straight drop, as the wall bends in from there on down. The instructor had warned me about this, I think, but it didn't really register at the time. I sat there a minute or two just trying to will myself to continue down without anything for my feet to push against. Finally I began inching down. The part that makes it even more fun is that you aren't allowed to grab hold of the rope above you with your free hand, as it gets too hot. About halfway down, I swung around to where I could see my tiny shadow against the massive cliff face. I considered the fact that I was half a world a way from anyone whose name I even knew, dangling like a fool off a massive chunk of rock. That was the most alone I'd ever felt or probably ever will. But it was an amazing experience.

Wine Country

After Cape Town I headed inland toward the wine country town of Stellenbosch. As this is also a university town, I figured it would also be a good place to try to meet up with some locals out at the bars at night.

I did an excellent wine tasting at a local winery and enjoyed the surrounding scenery, venturing into the charming nearby town of Franschoek. That night I tried out a few local bars, and finally found myself in a cozy little wood-framed tavern known as Der Acker, a hangout for the post-college crowd. I struck up a conversation with a regular, who introduced me to the bartenders, who introduced me to more people... Soon I found myself sitting in a booth with ten people, chatting about next to everything. They taught me my only phrase of Afrikaans that I picked up (and I’m going to mangle the spelling of it here): “Kann ech anochre bier krey asseblief” (“Can I have another beer please?”). One of my new friends kept trying to lubricate the conversation with rounds of shots of grapefruit schnapps. As the night wore on everyone was rolling their eyes as new rounds appeared, but as I was warned, this was a heavy drinking town in a heavy drinking country, and no one refused their shot. I'm pretty sure I had a really good time.

Cape Agulhas

My next destination was the southernmost point of Africa, Cape Agulhas (not the Cape of Good Hope as is often claimed). I had been advised by one of my new Stellenbosch mates to drive along the coast for the magnificent view, and I wasn't disappointed. What they didn't warn me is that this route would, as I got close to the cape, take me over thirty or so miles of dirt road. It was relatively smooth dirt; still, I began to worry what would happen if my car broke down there. This was as far removed from the civilization I'm used to as I came on my trip. Birdwatching camps, native schoolchildren, and farms fringed my route.

I picked up the pavement again close to the cape. It was pretty much deserted when I arrived. I had to wait a while to have someone take my picture among the surf-pounded rocks. Cape Agulhas is really just a geographical curiosity, but as good a destination as any when the whole country is foreign and strange and beautiful.

I stayed the next night in a town up the coast, Hermanus, which is a tourist draw in that whales came up to within scores of feet from the water's rocky edge to spawn. Thanks to the strong dollar, my room that night which looked directly down into the bay cost only about $40. No whales, unfortunately; it was only the very beginning of whale season.

Boulders Beach

The next day I headed back towards the Cape of Good Hope. Along the way I stopped at Boulders Beach to see the jackasses. Jackass penguins, that is; that's what they're really called. They are (I think) year round visitors on this beach. The brush that rises above the beach is lousy with penguin nests and baby penguins. It's all fenced in, so even the babies had only the sluggish half-wariness that comes with having no real predators to worry about.

Cape of Good Hope
The Cape of Good Hope itself is better described with pictures than words.

Final Days

My last few days I decided to splurge, and stay in a five-star hotel; the Bay Hotel in Camps Bay. This decision was made easier by the fact that, with the exchange rates at the time, it was only $82 a night.

I made some other forays into the nightlife, checking out such clubs as the nearby La Med. Home for the beautiful white people who dance badly -- it was like the opening credits to Friends. Much better was the Observatory district, a narrow little street near Cape Town's university. Friendly little bars line the streets. At one of these I had a long, friendly conversation about racism with a "colored" woman.

In South Africa, everyone was considered either "white", "black", or "colored" under apartheid; the latter category is a catch-all that includes mulattos, Indians, Arabs, and even, I believe, Chinese. These distinctions no longer hold the force of law, but they are still in effect on a much subtler level. South Africa now has the most liberal constitution in the world, guaranteeing equal rights regardless of race, gender, nationality, age, economic status or sexual orientation, and though everyone is supposed to be equal in the eyes of the law now, in practice there is still a wide gulf between the "haves" and the "have nots". Most of the u unpleasant jobs are still staffed by blacks or colored people. Nowhere was this de facto separation more apparent than a scene I came across while driving out of Cape Town one day; twenty or so white golfers were lined up at a driving range, while a black man with a helmet as his only real protection retrieved the golf balls into a bucket out on the range.

Anyway, the woman I chatted with, I was surprised to learn, had grown up in an integrated school. Because of the sensational nature of the news reports I had heard throughout the 80's, I had assumed that every school down there was segregated by race but this was not the case. She had encountered some incidents of racism during her life, but all in all her experience didn't seem all that much different than someone living in the United States.

My flight back involved nine hours back to London, a three-hour layover (during which I had to make my way from Gatwick airport to Heathrow airport), and another nine hours back to Atlanta. It wasn’t at all as bad as it sounds, thanks to the portable TV sets that everyone gets onboard British Airways international flights. They are a godsend for making a trip fly by like nothing.

What's been going on:

Instead of going to the races this year, we just went up to the Transport Bar and watched the people come and go. Some were even undead.

Saw Crowded House last week; very good. The show ended with a touching tribute to their former drummer who killed himself here in Melbourne a year or two back.

Am playing soccer in the corporate games again this year, but am having trouble finding a pair of soccer boots that fit me. I swear, sometimes the businesses in this country make it hard for you to give them your money.

We are culture floozies. This weekend we hit the Hispanic festival (which had some really good food) on Saturday and the Polish festival (which had some really long lines for some decent food) today. We passed on the Turkish festival. Multiculturalism is the bomb!

Marjorie's parents are in the country and on their way here. They'll be heading off to even more places we've never been, and we'll be trying not to resent them for it. :-)