Cape Fear: A South African Adventure
I first visited South Africa when I was 21, spending three months self-driving from Cape Town in the south west over to Mozambique in the north east. It was 2004 and the time of the third general election since the African National Congress (ANC), the political party previously led by Nelson Mandela, came into power. There was still a sense of optimism in the air and the locals you spoke to were proud of a post-apartied South Africa. I also, however, witnessed the worst racism I have seen in my lifetime. One white hotel owner in Kwazulu-Natal, a province in the north east, tried to convince me that black and white people sleeping together was the same as sheep and cows mating. Utterly ridiculous nonsense spouted from his useless mouth for more than an hour over a dinner that I could not escape. I had to sit there and disagree with him, but as someone barely out of my teens, I sadly lacked the gravitas to properly fight. I also witnessed verbal abuse from white people to black multiple times during the trip. Petrol pumps manned by black people were the worst locations I saw it. These uncomfortable events created deep and lasting scars that have endured to this day, despite otherwise having been an incredible adventure. That previous trip though has allowed me to compare and contrast our current visit to Cape Town, viewing the present through that previous optimism tinted lens.
For this trip, we flew into Cape Town from Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania. Simultaneously, my parents-in-law, Mary and Jim, were also flying in from London. As we wait for them at the arrivals hall, my wife, Jess, and I both start wondering how many possible ways they could get stuck between here and the plane. Did their bags get lost? Did they get lost? Did they even make it on to the plane? Did they say something they shouldn’t have to an immigration officer? Did Jim pack an assortment of pointed weaponry ‘just in case’, something those who know him would not find entirely surprising. Our anxieties grow as more and more British accents wander past us to greet their loved ones. Finally though, our fears are allayed as they walk through the arrivals gate. Having not seen them in two months we enjoy a hug and a catch up. We then make our way to the rental car agency before heading out to Cape Town itself.
(Mary and Jess happy to see each other at the airport, Cape Town, South Africa)
As we navigate our way towards the imposing slopes of Table Mountain, I get the sense that some things have improved. When I previously visited I vividly remember the Cape Flats, an expansive shanty town, or ‘township’ as they are called here, that ran from the airport to the city itself. It’s hard to recall the fine detail, but I don’t remember seeing as many permanent buildings as there are today, certainly not as many satellite dishes and so much overhead electrical cabling. But fundamentally it’s still there, the township has not been replaced by a shining estate of new build properties in the intervening 19 years. As we drive onward the Cape Flats eventually give way to the city proper, and it’s here that you feel the transition to a wealthier population. Cape Town itself is beautiful, with apartment buildings and the Constantia vineyards terracing the mountainsides of Table Mountain. It’s a rocky and green landscape that defines the city, and arguably one of the most stunning metropolitan settings available. You’d be mad not to love it.
For our week in Cape Town we’re staying in Sea Point, a small neighbourhood on the western flank of a rocky mound called the Lions Head. As we pull up to our AirBnB on the seafront a juvenile Cape Fur seal jumps from the foamy kelp onto a large rock to greet us. Jim enjoys watching him from the elevated promenade, but upon turning back quickly comments on the number of electrical fences that adorn almost every residential wall in sight. It’s a poignant reminder of the crime problem the country still grapples with. The murder rate sits at more than 40 per 100,000 people, placing it firmly in the top 5 worst countries. It’s not an accolade any country wants to claim.
When our host arrives she shows us around the apartment which, from an elevated position, has views over the seashore only 50 meters away. She explains the various property details to us, but then suggests that my wife downloads an app to tell her the details of the ‘load-shedding’. I look at her in confusion at the announcement of this alien phrase. It turns out that South Africa cannot produce enough electricity for its population. As a consequence, throughout the day they turn it off on a rolling basis to different neighbourhoods. The best way to find out when is through an app. I ask our host if this has been going on for a few months and she laughs and says “no, for more like 15 years”. It’s a damning indictment of the current ANC government. In all of the African countries I have visited I have never had daily power cuts, occasional ones, but nothing this consistent. It’s a result of decades of mismanagement, corruption, and in some cases intentional sabotage, throughout the state owned energy company Eskom. At least their app is accurate, as we eat lunch at 2pm the restaurants lights go out on cue.
(Sunset at the Seapoint apartment, Cape Town, South Africa)
The next day we decide to visit Table Mountain, riding the cable car up in the morning. The sky is clear and the rotating gondola gives you an expansive view of the landscape surrounding the city. In the distance a flat plain of industry gradually peters out into hills where the main wine regions begin to the east. When we reach the top we enjoy the views and then hike over to the far side of the mountain towards a series of reservoirs. The hike gets quite strenuous at times, descending down a series of steep ladders on the mountainous slopes. Eventually, we call it a day and hike back, having lunch at a cafe at the top. In the evening we wander to the nearby MoJo food market in Sea Point and watch people learning to Salsa dance in the centre of the hall. Needless to say, I’m a passive observer despite my wife’s protestations. The only negative is the number of people asking for money as we walk the streets. It’s probably no worse than when I’ve walked the streets of San Francisco, but it reminds us of the significant disparity between rich and poor. South African unemployment is the highest in the world at 33%. It’s been steadily climbing for more than a decade. Again, the ANC are sadly failing here.
(View of the Lions Head from the top of Table Mountain. Seapoint is down to the left and Robben Island in the bay to the right)
The next morning we’re booked on to a tour of Robben island, where Nelson Mandela, amongst many other political prisoners, were held during apartheid. For those who are not already familiar with apartheid, it’s probably not surprising as the word itself was invented specifically to describe this period of South African history. It describes the state mandated racial segregation across the country during the second half of the 20th century. Implemented by an all white government, the primary objective was to retain power among the white minority. During this time almost all aspects of South African society were stratified by race, including housing, marriage, employment, and even something as basic as access to specific beaches. To know that this occurred in part during my lifetime is quite unbelievable. It was utter madness and complete abuse of power on a national scale. The ripples of those years, and the divide they vehemently enforced, frame much of South Africa’s on going political and social issues.
When I visited the Robben Island museum last time at the age of 21 it was off the back of having read a Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela. As such, my knowledge of the period was good and I remember the tour meaning a lot to me. Unfortunately, I don’t think they have updated anything since, and consequently the tour now feels dated. The video they showed on the ferry over to the island is badly edited, in places appears as if people have simply added text on top of previous text. It plays so fast it’s actually quite stressful if you want to try and follow it. Given its historical importance, it could, and should, be a lot better. Once on the island you board a small bus and travel to see some of the buildings and sights of significance, including the quarry where many prisoners were forced into hard labour. The chalky white walls of the quarry shine brightly in the midday sun, which over many years led to prisoners having irreparable eye damage. The tour inside the prison is conducted by a former political prisoner himself, which is great, but I felt the content didn’t do the historical significance of the place justice. If you didn’t know much about South African history I think that sadly you’d probably leave knowing relatively little more than you came with. Fundamentally, the tour lacks a clear chronology. I wonder if it’s just my interpretation as we catch the ferry back, but unprovoked my wife and her parents voice the same views, which is a shame. After we get back to the city we have dinner in the sun on the delightful Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, yes you read that correctly, Alfred not Albert. I hadn’t appreciated this last time, but it’s named after her second son, not her husband (and first cousin) Albert.
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(Robben Island with Table Mountain in the background, Cape Town, South Africa)
The next day we head off in the car to Boulders beach where African Penguins have made their home. They used to be known as Jackass Penguins for their calls which sound like laughs. We enjoy a stroll along the boardwalks, watching them waddle up the beach to their burrows in the sloping sand banks that make up the coastline.
(African Penguins at Boulders Beach, Cape Town, South Africa)
We then drive south to the Cape Point National Park. It’s not a safari per se, but there are a range of animals you can see in the park. We first drive right to the bottom and visit the Cape Point lighthouse via a small funicular railway that was installed in 1996. We watch the misty spray from the blowholes of some Southern Right whales migrating far out from the coast. Then, over lunch, my wife gets attacked by a series of small birds as we try to eat sandwiches. For some reason it’s only her, but keep reading, it’s gets even better. We then head down to the most south-westerly point of the continent for some obligatory photos at the Cape of Good Hope sign.
(Striking a pose at of Good Hope sign, Cape Point National Park, South Africa)
On the way we see ostrich and antelope grazing along the roadside. We then decide it would be a good idea to take a walk along the beach. I’ve read some good reviews and I think I’ve found just the spot. We get out of the car with a hot flask of tea and some towels to sit on. I have every intention of going into the water for a swim if time allows. As we stroll along the beautiful soft white beach my mother-in-law points out some baboons up on a hill to our right. I smile and comment on how cool that is. My wife and I have seen them in three countries already on our trip, so I take relatively little notice. She then says ‘look at that big one, it’s looking at us’. Sure enough, he’s sitting on his backside looking down at us, about 100m away and 50m up a sand bank. I nod my head politely like any good son-in-law should and then we walk a few more steps. My wife and her mother then start calling us in equally fast succession as the baboon starts to casually amble in our direction. They’re telling us to come back to them, now. Again, I’m not overly concerned at this point. As the baboon starts picking up speed I decide to try and nip this quickly in the bud and walk towards it and make the loudest noise I can. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he bares his 3 inch fangs at me and rears up unafraid. He’s huge, easily weighing more than 30kg. I swing my rucksack at him as hard as I can and instead of backing off he try’s to grab at it, thankfully failing. Rather than continuing this fight he decides to seek other prey. He simply circles around me and heads straight for my wife, Jess. He grabs her bag and effortlessly pulls her straight down face first into the sand. The baboon is screeching and grappling manically as Jess digs through the soft sand to extricate herself from the baboon mounted rucksack. The baboon puts the bag between his legs and starts to fling anything he finds out in front of him, including my wife’s beach towel. In the meantime, Jim and I have finally managed to make it back and are swinging anything we can to make it leave the bag, and us, alone. In the process the baboon swipes his long arm and makes contact with Jim’s hand, thankfully not drawing blood, but he says it was like being hit with a rock.
At some point during this fearful few seconds something else has been ejected out of the bag. It’s a flask of hot, and the finest, Twinnings English Breakfast Tea. In the moment, one of us, I say me but my wife says her, tells Jim to get the tea and throw it at him. He opens the lid, time slows, and with an aim equal to Achilles himself, he jettisons the glorious beige liquid right into the baboons face. The baboon immediately drops the bag and backs off. He’s obviously more of a Darjeeling kind of guy. We quickly pick up the bag and its contents and make our way back towards the car as fast as we can. The baboon follows us, maintaining a 50m distance the entire time. As we climb back up towards the car he runs over to the only other two people on the beach, grabs their bag and runs up a sand dune with it. We rest at the car and assess the damage. It turns out that in the process of pulling my wife’s towel from her bag the baboon managed to use it for himself, wiping his heavily soiled backside all along the length of the towel in the process. We may have won the battle but he certainly won the war. Unsurprisingly, the towel gets consigned to the boot for the drive back north. Thank god we rented a saloon.
The issue with baboon attacks is apparently widely known locally, and in the past they used to shoot them. We’re told this is no longer the case. The baboons have clearly established an association between humans carrying bags and food. Whether this is caused by idiotic tourists feeding them, or the animals finding the occasional unattended bag containing food, is unclear. It could be a bit of both. The solution is even unclearer. Some suggest shock collars on the worst offending animals, others suggest relocation to more remote parks where tourists stay in vehicles. Maybe tourists have to stay in their cars in the park here, but the animals are also present throughout the suburbs of Cape Town. Certainly shooting them should be a very last resort, but I expect someone will get badly hurt soon if nothing improves.
On our way north we stop and walk along the beach on what’s termed the ‘Shipwreck Trail’. Along this treacherous stretch of Atlantic coastline you can find multiple maritime disasters. We’re pushed for time but we manage to make it to the wreck of the SS Thomas T Tucker which ran aground in fog in 1942. As the sun is setting we watch the foamy Atlantic rollers pound the remains of the vessel.
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(Wreck of the SS Thomas T Tucker, Cape Point National Park shipwreck trail, South Africa)
As we wander around the wreckage on the beach we find a huge whale skull and some vertebrae that have also washed up. We stroll back before the sun sets, watching over our shoulders all the time in case of further baboons. On the way back to the city we see a 3ft brightly patterned puff adder warming itself in the last of the suns rays at the side of the road. Once back at the city we have an excellent Italian meal at a restaurant (Step Brothers) on a road just off the seafront behind our apartment. It tops off an eventful, fun, but fear-filled day.
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(A Puff Adder catches the last of the days warmth at the road side, Cape Point National Park, South Africa)
The next morning my mother-in-law, Mary, and I decide to brave the cold Atlantic Ocean in a man-made pool in front of our apartment that fills at high tide. For three days we’ve watched as people have slipped on the green algae when getting in to enjoy the cold water. It’s probably about 10 degrees, but feels like 5. An elderly man is already in there and decides to tell me that the cold is activating my metachlorites. I stay quiet, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a mineral, I’m not sure how you’d ‘activate’ it. Unless of course he meant metachlorians, the tiny things that give Darth Vader ‘the force’. If so, maybe he’s been in the water a bit too long. Regardless, he tells me he’s been doing it daily for 6 months and has lost 6 stone. The force is strong in him, methinks.
Next, we drive over to the Franschhoek wine region, stopping at two vineyards on the way. Firstly, Vergenoegd Low, which has one of the most stunning Dutch-style buildings I’ve seen in the Cape. Their wines are also excellent and we buy a few bottles for later.
(Vergenoegd Low winery, Stellenbosch, Cape Town, South Africa)
The next, the Graff Estate, is more modern, having beautiful artwork and contemporary architecture. We sit and relax whilst tasting a range of wines and an amazing olive tapenade overlooking the Stellenbosch hillsides. We then drive into Franschhoek itself, a town formed following the exile of French Huguenots in the 17th century. Franschhoek literally translates from Dutch to ‘French Corner’. That said, the majority of the architecture is Dutch, with sweeping gables on the ends of the older municipal buildings. It’s a beautiful little town where art, sculptures and vineyards combine to provide a distinctive feel.
(The Graff Vineyards, Stellenbosch)
The next day the weather sadly isn’t the best so we decide to drive to a few vineyards for tastings. I’ll be driving, so I have to go easy on the sampling. The drink drive limit is slightly lower here than in the U.K., but I’d imagine the punishments are higher. We enjoy the local equivalent of champagne, called ‘Methode Cap Classique’ and a range of mainly red wines. An impromptu cellar tour and wine pairing with Turkish delight at the La Bri estate is a particular highlight.
(Wine and Turkish Delight tasting, Franschhoek, South Africa)
The next day we head back to the airport to fly on to our next destination, Namibia. I’ll be sad to say goodbye to South Africa after such a short trip, but I’m sure I’ll be back. I’ve always had a great love for the country, and been drawn to it in a way I struggle to express. It’s scenically stunning and the rugged coast and abundant wildlife expose you to something raw that’s often missing in Europe. Our trip to Cape Town this time was a universal success, baboons aside, with my parents-in-law singing nothing but praise.
In regards to the country itself, in some ways it’s improved but in most ways it’s not. There’s still a horrendous wealth divide, with the rich nestled cheek by jowl against the incomprehensibly poor, creating an awkward sense of injustice. Whilst visiting we really only get a western view of the country, enjoying nice food and staying in good accommodation, but there’s another side to South Africa, one plagued by poor governance and corruption. It’s opaquely obscured from the tourist but is unavoidably evident at times, with load shedding and security fencing being just two examples. Since I first learnt the details of apartheid in my late teens I’ve always wanted to see the country flourish, see it shake off the racial intolerance of the past and see it governed in a fair way to the benefit of its people. Sadly, I think the wheels are turning too slowly, and in some areas are actually going backwards. Something significant needs to change for it to realise its potential, without it, I worry for its future.
(Top image: the view of the Thelema Mountain Vineyards, Stellenbosch, South Africa)