Way down yonder where two oceans meet and greet

Day 8:

Our time in Cape Town was shorter than I might have liked. It is an eclectic place. Beautiful. Chaotic. Diverse. And from a USA perspective, I would call it exotic. Tuesday morning, we headed down South to Hermanus.

Driving ourselves was definitely the right choice. Even if it was in a hunk-of-junk Haval. Did I mention the car? I think I mentioned the car. I'm sure if I mentioned the car. Did I mention the car? Imagine going around a gentle curve at 120 km with the cruise control on and the car decides to slap on the engine brake. Every...single...curve... But I digress.

The drive was nice, about an hour-and-a-half from Cape Town. Hermanus is nestled in a coastal bay. And to all my Trekkie friends I have to say, "Admiral, there be whales here!” Though I'm getting ahead of myself just a bit. Foreshadowing, anyone? Like in the movie, Stranger Than Fiction, “Little did he know…”

We took the standard 30 rolls of film along the way. Okay, no film, but you get the gist. Beautiful mountain peaks. Verdant hills interspersed with rocky, scrubby terrain. And all along the way, the legacy of nearly two centuries of slavery and another 150 plus years of apartheid.

A genuine fellow who is self-aware of his privileged place in life cannot tour the major population centers of South Africa without being clear-eyed about the legacy of slavery, racism and discrimination. Jeremiah 31:21, “The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.”

While the verse was speaking largely to generations paying for the mistakes/sins of their parents, the same can be said for generations paying for the despondency and destitution of their parents. For generational trauma. For generational poverty. For the deprivation of education and opportunity passed from parent to child to grandchild...

A meaningful segment of America has just chosen to turn a blind eye toward “those who take refuge.” More than a blind eye. An active hand in advancing the same kind of hatred, division and selfishness that drove both apartheid and Jim Crow. That was the political campaign that was waged, whether it was the reason for a given person's vote or not. The embrace was ardently promoted by people proclaiming a religion that purports to follow the teachings of a person who was himself a refugee. A person who taught compassion for the poor, the sick, refugees. Who above all, he taught selfless love (the Greek word “agape” and the Latin word that I believe is “caritas” which is often translated as charity—a word which many of the same folks hold in the deepest disdain).

‘Nuff said about that for the moment.

When we arrived in Hermanus, we stopped off at Hemingway’s Bookcase. It is a wonderful little bookstore with rare prints, quirky decor, and enchanting hosts. Its narrow aisles are filled with the dusty and compelling aroma of well-read old books that have enriched the minds of countless thought wanderers. Wayfarers of the mind’s eye.

From the bookstore, we headed to the waterfront harbor. There we took in the crashing surf of an aggressive southern Atlantic Ocean. Along the surfside walkway was a fun mix of sculptures and other works of art, some abstract, others not so much so. Flitting around on and among the rocks were families of rock hyraxes (dassies), momma’s, papas, and the southern hemisphere’s spring gift of little babies.

As we we're walking alongside the rocks, we noticed a gathering of people looking off toward the east.  Some had cameras, others binoculars. My Spidey sense perked. Could it be? This late in the season? They were supposed to have migrated by now! But they were better than a kilometer around the bend and the 8x on my Sony was not enough to do pictures justice.

Me: Anxious, urgent look at my mobility-challenged, somewhat hobbled spouse.

Me: Holding my camera at the ready.

Me: Travel sneakers primed.

Faith: “Go ahead. Get your pictures. I’ll catch up with you.”

Me: Scampering off like a school kid leaving class for recess. Off toward a right-handed crook in the walkway. Weaving and winding along the shoreline trail. There! A little footpath through the shrubs toward the water. Flashing glimpses of heads visible through the bushes, all turned toward the east. My hurried steps. A bench, a cliff side, and a manageably small crowd. And there in the water a short distance beyond, a pair of humpback whales feasting within and dancing upon their saltwater banquet table.

Day 9:

From Hermanus, we headed further southeast to the southernmost tip of Africa. I'll admit I've never been strong on my geography at a detail level, though I do love traveling the globe. It didn't occur to me, and my education never made it explicit. The southern tip of Africa is the spot at which the Indian and the Atlantic Ocean's meet.

The landscape is rocky, interspersed with ground cover in every possible shade of green, lovely spring flowers, and the odd, scrubby little bush. The oceans vie for dominance and the water is turned a milky green.

The southern tip of Africa is marked by a plaque demarcating the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. In a concrete and rock circle a few meters to the north (that's essentially yards for us’n USA folk), is a three-dimensional sculpture of Africa laid out horizontally upon the land it represents. It is Crafted in human-eye perspective so that standing near the base, it looks the way we always see Africa portrayed on globes and atlases.

From the southern tip, we made our way inland. Huddled at the base of the Langeberg Mountain range is the Dutch agrarian town of Swellendam. A grain silo complex dominates the western edge of the city. Town area, all seven or eight blocks of it, is a Dutch garden oasis overlooked by a sudden tower of mountains to the north.

We stopped off at The Continent of Sulina, a fairy garden in the heart of the city. Just ... wow! You have never seen such a concentration of plant life and magical creatures—fairies, gnomes, elves, dwarves, unicorns and DRAGONS. Many of the faery creatures and their associated decorations were handcrafted by the sculptors who own and steward the property.

I might do a blog entry specific to the sometimes-subtle little differences between the US and other places we have visited. One difference is throughout most of the cities we visited in South Africa, the business day starts at 8:00 a.m. and ends at 4:30 p.m. I'd love to see a shop in the States that isn't catering to construction contractors open before 9:00. That's not a critique. It is an observation of an interesting difference.

The day was getting on and we wanted to catch one more sight before everything shuttered at the 4:30 bell. We made a quick visit to the Dristdy Museum and the Old Gaol. The jail was an original. The rest of the building were constructed and the 1960s as replicas of early Dutch buildings, thatched roofs and all.

My dinner was an ostrich stew called bobotie at De Vagebond. I was warned that the ostrich would be gamey. Nonsense. It was fantastic. Mild and tender along the lines of roasted turkey with its unique, tangy flavor. One of the appetizers for the meal was ostrich salami on crackers. The owner of the restaurant runs and ostrich farm. Ostrich, it seems, is a fairly common dish in South Africa. Faith had a smoked trout that was pink and tasted similar to Chinook salmon. 

As of the moment of posting this entry, I have had a second chance to eat ostrich, this time as steaks. It is a much firmer meat than turkey as a steak. Along the lines of beef.

We ended the evening in conversation with our South African hosts and their friends at our bed and breakfast, talking about our adventures and their thoughts and suggestions for our coming days.

Day 10:

Mossel Bay was the first place that Bartolomeu Dias made landfall in Southern Africa in the late 1400. It also boasts one of the earliest human habitations on earth at Pinnacle Point.

160,000 years ago, humans lived within caves at the edge of a plain that is now covered with the Indian Ocean. They ate small animals, fish, and even a bit of whale from the beach that was perhaps a kilometer or two further south during the then ice age. They used red ocher, perhaps as a sunscreen, perhaps to paint their skin, perhaps to paint the caves. They made fire for warmth and possibly for protection. They made rudimentary tools.

The route down to the caves begins as a narrow dirt trail that winds along the edge of 100+ foot cliffs. It ends with a set of 400 wooden steps going down to nooks and caves carved into the cliffs’ sandstone rock formations. Faith made the journey with the fortitude of a trooper.

We headed into town to tour the Bartolomeu Dias museum complex. The museum houses a life-size replica of one of the ships he sailed right there into Mossel Bay’s harbor. Until some point in the recent past, you were able to tour down inside the ship. That is no longer a possibility. It was, nevertheless, and interesting view.

The museum complex also hosts a shell museum, a variety of maritime artifacts, and a small handful of buildings with traditional thatched roofs. Oh, and the post Office Tree. It is a 500+ year old milkwood. Legend has it that in 1500, a Portuguese sailor left a message there for another sailor about the dangerous Waters and damage to his ship. Supposedly the message was received a year later. The tree became sort of a post office for other sailors to leave messages.

Our room in the bed and breakfast had an amazing view of the Bay on its private deck. The room was huge. And it cost us something like 60 bucks. Unfortunately, it was too cold and windy to spend much time out there.

Day 11:

From Mossel Bay, we took the garden route toward Port Elizabeth. We made three fun stops along the way. The first was Knysna Heads viewpoint. The coastal cliffs arrange to form a narrow channel and a bay area where the Knysna River meets the Indian Ocean. We had a bike to eat can a something to drink and a much-needed restroom break as we took in the view. The quiche was good. The view was better. The southern coast along the garden route is a rocky, craggy, and a verdant wilderness with towering cliffs and sweeping ocean views.

On the drive to our next coastal location, we stopped inland at Bloukrans Bridge. We did a bit of shopping in an open market. We picked up a souvenir trinket of a rhinoceros carved from Stone, and we watched crazy people jump off the bridge’s 216-meter-high span (708 feet) toward its gorge-carving river rushing far below. Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Still, it was fun to watch.

(If you zoom in, you may be able to see her in mid-fall)

Our last stop before heading to Port Elizabeth (now known by its traditional name Gqeberha) was Storms River Mouth within the Tsitsikamma National Park. Its name barely does justice to the rage the Indian Ocean inflicts upon the river and it's adjacent coastline. The waves roil and crash along striated boulders aligned parallel to the surf.

I wish we had more time to explore the Garden Route. It is a national treasure for the country of South Africa. But our time was short. Our flight up to the Timbavati game reserve was at 8:20 the next morning. It was nearly dark by the time we arrived at our bed and breakfast in Port Elizabeth.

- Talk with you again on safari –