A Year In Motion

The next day we travelled from Jinja to Kampala by minibus. Another reason to like Uganda is that there is no overloading of minibuses (at least around Kampala) – one person per seat. The journey was little more than an hour, and dropped us in the middle of crazy traffic in Kampala centre. There must be some organization to the chaos, but it’s not immediately evident. We got a hotel in the centre and set off exploring the city.

Most of what I know about Kampala comes from the guidebook and the film, The Last King of Scotland. One of the things I liked from the latter was that country music is popular in Uganda, and although I didn’t manage to catch any live performances, it was still funny to walk down a street in an African city and hear different shops playing country music.

Kampala is a buzz. After having witnessed the poverty of northern Tanzania, it was refreshing to see young professionals walking around on their lunch breaks – finally some prosperity in Africa. I have no doubt that Nairobi is the same, but I’ve only seen Kampala. The Ugandan flag features a bird, a crowned crane, in its centre. And as you walk around Kampala, every now and then you instinctively duck down, as a massive stork glides just overhead and lands in a tree in the middle of a hectic street. The natural world is everywhere in Africa, and underlines the tropical sensation of being in a city that practically sits upon the Equator.

Another thing about Kampala is that the cheapest and quickest form of public transport is the “boda boda” – the motorcycle taxi. Kampala is built on hills, and is very spread out, so we had to jump on a boda boda on several occasions. For a small fee, you can pay a complete stranger to take your life in his hands without any guarantee of arriving at your destination. No helmets, three people per bike, and a safety record that claims up to 5 people daily, it was careless, stupid, and a lot of fun. Boda bodas are part of the culture of Uganda, and it’s a great way to get chatting to the locals, once you agree on a price.

A lot of our time in Kampala went into seeking visas for our subsequent travel to Ethiopia. Ninfa cannot obtain a visa on arrival (being from Honduras) for some strange reason, and the Ethiopian Embassy would not arrange one for her either as she is not an East African resident. In fact the consul would not even come out of her office to discuss the matter with us, but advised her secretary to tell us that Ninfa had to travel to the USA to apply for her visa there. Standing in an Ethiopian Embassy in Uganda, it seemed the idiocy of the suggestion was evident to everyone but the Consul. Needless to say, we were annoyed.

Given our new dilemma, we quickly gathered our thoughts and decided to rearrange our African itinerary. We had originally planned to see the mountain gorillas in Uganda or Rwanda. We were going to do that in Uganda, and therefore drop Rwanda. Also, when we were planning our trip in the comfort of our apartment in Dublin, we had intended being out of Africa by 1 September, including some time in Egypt. It was the 20th of August, and we were in Uganda, so 1 September was never going to happen.

As a result, we went into the Rwandan embassy (next door to the Ethiopian Embassy) and they advised us that we needed to apply online for our visa, but that we could both enter without a problem. So our new itinerary was decided. Ethiopia was off the agenda. Instead, we would spend a few days in Rwanda, and head to Egypt before leaving for South East Asia on schedule on the 1st of September.

We spent the rest of our time in Kampala organizing our onward trips. We did have time to partake in a meal of traditional Ugandan food. Before visiting Africa, I was expecting loads of fruit and I don’t know what else. But one thing I didn’t expect was the abundance of root vegetables. We ate matooke (like a condensed turnip), sweet potato, cassava roots, pumpkin and best of all – Irish potatoes! They might not know a lot about Ireland in the middle of Africa, but they sure know that we like our potatoes!

We also got a chance to see some African music in concert. Every evening, a local band plays in the National Theatre along with traditional dancers. The crowd isn’t big, but it’s an enjoyable night, and you can’t come to Africa without indulging in one of its greatest riches – its music.

While we were in Kampala, it rained as well – probably the last thing we were expecting in August on the Equator. But seasons in Africa aren’t the same as our summer and winter. It’s wet or dry, and although officially it was dry, it rained. We took a walk through the muddy streets, dodging between porters bearing all sorts of loads, women selling bananas by the bunch (of 200!), and new friends eager to talk with a muzungu (Swahili for “white person”). We bought our tickets to the South at the old bus station, and prepared to depart to the famous south-west of Uganda, which is, as Winston Churchill famously described, the “pearl of Africa”.

Uganda and Tanzania both border the huge Lake Victoria, but there are no ferries operating the route, so the only option for us to make it from Arusha to Kampala was via Kenya. Travelling fast through Africa becomes a costly exercise, mainly in entrance visas. Kenya is quite cheap in comparison however, with the standard visa at $25 for three months, or a transit visa of up to a week for only $10. I’m fast running out of space on my passport though, so although our transit visa was cheap, it took up a full page of my passport. Only 9 full pages empty for the rest of our world tour – will I make it around the world?!

The bus ride from Arusha to Nairobi is along a road which is under complete reconstruction and through some of the driest land in East Africa. We had a complete African Spa experience – the traditional African Massage as the bus bumped and jostled all along the road caressing our muscles with all the tenderness of a bulldozer, and an African Hammam where we could sit sweating in a confined space inhaling clouds of dust instead of steam. We were filthy and tired by the time we got to Nairobi around 10pm. Nairobi has a reputation for being top of the charts of Africa’s most dangerous cities, along with other worthy contenders such as Johannesburg. But unlike other cities, it was still buzzing after dark. Nonetheless, as we had a connection to Kampala the next morning at 7am, we opted not to discover Nairobi by Night, but instead checked into the first hotel we saw which was right next door to the bus office. In Africa, almost all bus routes are run by private operators which means that most of the better companies do not depart from the central bus stations. We had booked with a trans-African operator, Kampala Coach, which offers a Royal Class service from Nairobi to Kampala with luxury armchairs (only three people to a row!), and we treated ourselves to a little transportation indulgence, well warranted after our day at the spa.

The drive through Kenya was beautiful, with rolling hills, and lush verdant valleys. If it wasn’t for the banana trees, you’d be forgiven for thinking you weren’t in Africa at all – it certainly defies the stereotype. We passed through field upon field of tea plantation and it was great to see the land yielding its massive potential. The formalities at the border were completed without a hitch, and in the Ugandan immigration office they even had a TV showing the first day of the English Premier League. Add to that the fact that Irish people are the only non-Africans to be able to enter Uganda free of charge, and I felt at home right away. Ninfa had to pay $50 and there was no TV showing Sex and the City, so she didn’t feel quite as much at home but was still excited.

We continued on our journey, and decided to disembark 100kms before Kampala in a town called Jinja. Jinja is famous for being at the source of the Victoria Nile (the Nile has many sources, and this one emanates from Lake Victoria), and being home to some of the best white-water rafting in the world. We thought we’d give it a go. Our first impressions of Uganda were good as well, as a minibus brought us from the bus stop on the main road into town free of charge, and a local girl called Anita was really kind and guided us to our hotel.

The next morning we set off to Nile River Explorers for our rendez-vous with our fellow rafters. At breakfast we met a New Zealand couple, Tim and Helen, who are volunteering in Uganda, and a Spanish couple travelling through Africa. When we arrived at the river, we decided to team up in a boat together. Each boat should have a crew of 8, one of which is the guide who steers and controls the raft. We were only 7, which meant a bit more rowing exercise for us boys.

The rafting takes us 30km along the Nile and starts at the foot of a dam. Over the first few kms, the water pushes the raft along nicely, and Henry, our skipper, took the opportunity to give us the safety drills and instructions on how to reach the other end still alive. Still not feeling confident, we hit our first rapid. It was a grade 3 and was no problem even for debutants. Rapids are graded according to their difficulty and force, with Grade 6 being similar to a rocky high-speed waterfall, and Grade 1 being something for all the family. It wasn’t long until we hit the Grade 4s, and the Grade 5s, and inevitably our first flip. Flips are fun as it involves holding on to the raft for dear life, only to be catapulted into the air, sink into the churning water, panic while you’re completely disoriented, only to somehow surface and have a safety kayaker waiting for you and pulling you to safety. Quite a buzz, and all this in a split second!

After around 10 of the 15 or so rapids, we had lunch on the boat, and jumped into the water to cool down from the sun. The currents in the water are so strong, and rafting gives a new respect about the forces of nature, and the power of the great river, as you speed along without any effort at all. At times, however, the water is still as a lake, and you begin to realize what 30kms is when constantly rowing. All along the river, the villagers use the river as a fundamental life-source, for everything from clothes-washing to fishing to their daily bathing – we saw more than a few naked men drying off on the riverside, alas the ladies must have been in a more secluded area.

Our final rapid was a combination of a Grade 6 and a Grade 5. We shored and walked around the Grade 6, but what a mighty sight it was. Our skipper Henry told us how dangerous Grade 6 can be, he himself having spent 45 seconds underwater when he last tried one. The fact that one of them is called the Dead Dutchman probably tells you all you need to know. We got back on the raft at the bottom of the Grade 6, and unanimously agreed to “paddle hard” (get the biggest thrill with the biggest risk of flipping) at this our final rapid. We got halfway down the ferocious rapid, and I have no idea what happened. By some freak of fortune, I was still in the boat with the Spanish couple, while Helen and Tim were being rescued by kayaks, and Ninfa was already 100m downriver bobbing right through the rapid followed by some floats which previously were part of our boat. Our crew was now reduced to a few, and we paddled like crazy into the middle of the rapid again, and crashed down into a spray of white water, and somehow came out the other side with the adrenaline rushing. It was crazy! We paid $125 each for the pleasure, which includes a barbecue and beers at a campsite overlooking the rapids. The bar was also showing the Arsenal game, in which they scored a last-minute equalizer against Liverpool – a great way to end to a great day. And oh, the next day on the drive out of Jinja, we saw our first crocodile in the Nile …

Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in Africa, lies in the north of Tanzania near a town called Moshi, close to the Kenyan border, and conveniently on our bus route from Dar es Salaam to Arusha. So we decided to overnight there in order to take in the view of the snow-capped peak, before the snow is projected to melt in 2020 due to the effects of global warming. Alas, during the 24 hours that we spent in Moshi, the clouds were heavy and low, and we saw no more of Kilimanjaro than if we had been sitting looking for it in Ireland or Honduras. But, snow big deal (pardon the awful joke).

Almost everyone who goes on safari in Tanzania will end up passing through Arusha. Lying to the south-east of the Ngorongoro Conservation Area and the Serengeti, the town is full of cheap hotels, safari operators, and scammers, and despite that, we quite liked it. At this stage, we’re well accustomed to touts, and some of them can actually be quite useful, especially in an environment with no signs or anything else to guide you. And for the few who try to rip you off, there are as many or more who are just trying to earn a few shillings in an economy which gives them no other option of employment.

We shopped around a few safari operators before paying a visit to the local tourist office. This is an essential stop in Arusha, because not only is it next to a nice cafe serving great espressos, but it features a message board for travellers seeking other people to share their safari, thereby getting a lower price for all concerned. Safari vehicles in Tanzania sit 7 people, so up to 6 is a good number, and gives everyone a window seat for viewing the action.

We saw one ad from an Austrian couple, Ben and Sophie, for a 3 day safari, which was what we were looking for too. We met them later and arranged to depart the following morning with a 5th person, Nell, an Irish-American. The total cost per person was $335 including all entrance fees, meals and accommodation and we booked through Sunny Safaris who we can recommend. Our itinerary would bring us to three parks – Tarangire, Lake Manyara, and the Ngorongoro crater! Alas, no time for my dream destination of the Serengeti, but it just wasn’t practical. In any case, the famous Wildebeest Migration had already passed into the Maasai Mara on the other side of the border in Kenya. Another day perhaps.

We were told that Tarangire had the most wildlife at this time of year, so we set off there first. A few metres through the entrance gate, we were already spotting zebra, wildebeest and impala on all sides. Ben, one of the Austrians wanted to see elephants, and Tarangire with its large elephant population sounded promising. By the time we had completed our afternoon tour, we had seen close to two hundred elephants – babies, mothers, males, elephants with tusks almost touching the ground, giant elephants – amazing! One of the highlights was seeing a family of about 20 elephants drinking at a river, only for a herd of over 50 buffalo to move down the hillside, leaving clouds of dust in their wake, to drink beside the elephants, and only a few metres in front of us.

Tanzania definitely has more animals than South Africa – the numbers are overwhelming – but Ninfa had one mission only – to see a lion. We had seen a leopard sleeping on a tree by the roadside, but on morning two, we hit the jackpot. On the road ahead of us, a group of cars was stopped at a fork in the road. On the low, wide pillar which held the signposts, a fat lioness was sitting proudly, and she looked scary! We were marvelling at the power she radiated, no doubt the queen of the jungle, when she shot down from her perch and started off in pursuit of a kudu about a hundred metres off. The excitement was rising, and the jeeps circled around the side of the road with the lion and kudu in view. The lion was crouched down, and every step was in slow motion as she closed in on the kudu who was oblivious to the danger. Everyone was hoping the lion would catch her prey, except Ninfa who was hoping the kudu would live to graze another day. In the end, due to divine intervention or a well-honed skill of survival, the kudu bolted and the lioness went skulking off into the forest. It was really exciting, and encapsulates everything about a safari in the wild. That’s why you’re not allowed to get out of your car (although I did have to brave the wild for a quick toilet break nearby a herd of elephants later in the day).

That afternoon, we went to Lake Manyara. Lake Manyara is surrounded by dense forest, which makes it less than optimal for game viewing. Ideally you want thin vegetation and low grasses to be able to spot the animals, and this was anything but. On the other hand, its ideal for primates, and we saw hundreds of baboons, as well as vervet monkeys and blue monkeys, Down by the lake, you can get out of the jeep, and we took the opportunity to stretch our legs and get a closer look at the numerous storks, pelicans and far off in the distance some pink flamingos. On the way out of the park, we hit a traffic jam. Traffic jams on safari are some people’s idea of the worst possible thing, but to be honest they have their purpose. If you see a traffic jam, it means it’s something well worth seeing. This time the jeeps took their turns stopping to view a sleeping lioness and two lion cubs playing and rolling in the dirt – an excellent finale!

Our final day was a trip to Ngorongoro Crater, and we definitely saved the best for last. We left camp at 6am and drove for an hour to the park entrance. From there its another hour to the crater peak, through dusty, foggy, treacherous roads lined by Maasai villages. The crater itself offers an amazing landscape – a flat and dusty bowl surrounded by a steep circle crowned by huge looming clouds. And in terms of game viewing, it’s outstanding. There are no elephants here, but plenty of zebra, wildebeest, impala, hartebeest, and best of all – lions!

We were driving along a quiet track when I saw a traffic jam in the distance. I asked our driver to turn around and make his way to the jam, as it was bound to be good. As we got closer, we could see the vultures circling in the air, and we had a good feeling this was going to be spectacular. When we got there, people in another jeep told us there were three lions. As we got closer, we saw two jackals scavenging on the remains of a dead zebra, while the vultures law skulking in the background waiting their turn. Around the scene lay a lion and two lionesses who had already had their turn, and were waiting a while before coming back for more. It was an incredible sight.

We thought that we wouldn’t be able to beat that, but a little later we saw another smaller traffic jam. This one was even better. Two lions and three lionesses were circling a small group of buffalo, and moving themselves into position for an attack. We sat wonderstruck at the back and forth of the moves, at the daring of the buffalo to charge the lions, at the lions regrouping and attempting to isolate a sole buffalo. We watched for around half an hour at this marvellous sight before the lions resigned themselves to a lost battle. Ngorongoro had proven incredible! We stopped for lunch at a lake and admired some hippos before heading homewards.

The next day, I took a trip to a nearby village to see a little of how the locals live. A school-teacher offered to be my guide for a small fee, and he showed me around the village and the farms and houses of the locals. A couple of local boys joined us, and I admit I was a little nervous that one of them was casually carrying a machete the whole time. But they weren’t in the least bit threatening. They were delighted to have a visitor and enjoyed posing for photos. The children, as always in Africa, were adorable, although a little shy. It was sad to see how dirty they were – snot dried on their faces, and legs and hands caked in dirt. Even a toddler was crawling around in a dirty yard. But what option do they have – no electricity, living in mud huts, sleeping on floors. Most of the women were busy mixing mud and repairing their houses. One of the local women showed us her ornamental Maasai costume and told us a little about the traditions of the village. It was an interesting and sobering insight into the day to day life and poverty of the majority of Tanzanians.

So that marks the end of our trip to Tanzania. Next stop is Uganda to which we will travel by bus through Kenya. Look out for our next post from Uganda!

Photos from Safari are online – check out http://photos.ayearinmotion.com/Africa/Tanzania

One of the things I enjoyed a lot in South Africa was the … newspaper headlines. I regret not noting them at the time, but it’s kind of hard when you’re driving.

So when we were sitting on one of our regular 4-5 hour bus journeys in Malawi, I thought it might be interesting to have a look at the local Malawian press. The man beside me lent me his paper and I read it from cover to cover to much amusement. Some of the articles I quote may reinforce an African stereotype or cliche, and that is not the intention, but the articles are true, so judge for yourself. I have cited three current affairs stories, and three sports stories at the end which are particularly amusing.

Front Page – Main Story

“Ruling Democratic Party (DPP) Mps have endorsed President Bingu wa Mutharika’s brother, Peter, as presidential candidate for the party in the 2014 general elections.”

The article goes on to quote a party spokesman describing as “stupid” anyone who would say this step in undemocratic, citing similar cases in other countries such as the US (the Bushes), and I know of many in Irish politics. The thing is that in Europe and the US, there is not a recent pattern of autocratic leaders who refuse to relinquish the reins of power. Time will tell who’s right in Malawi.

Front Page – Sub-story

“We don’t need Canada or anybody to buy our tobacco” – President Bingu wa Mutharika

President Mutharika is bullish in response to moves by Canada to ban the use of burley tobacco in cigarettes, and is leading a petition to the WHO to make this ban worldwide, in order to reduce the number of young people taking up smoking. Burley tobacco gives a sweet flavour to cigarettes, and is used to balance the bitterness of the main cigarette ingredient, Virginia tobacco. Of the 100 plus tonnes of tobacco at the Lilongwe tobacco auction, 100% was burley tobacco. It is Malawi’s leading cash crop accounting for an estimated 50% of their export trade. Let’s hope that the ban is implemented sensibly to allow time for the Malawian agri-economy to adjust. There’s no point in saving young people (who ultimately are making their own choice), only to remove the livelihood of some of the poorest people on the planet.

Inside Pages

“New Malawi flag has backing of chiefs”

This is not a new story, so the exact motivations for the move are not outlined in full, but it seems Malawi will soon be changing its flag, as the new design has passed through parliament, and has been ratified by the President, after a consultation period with regional tribal chiefs. The original flag from independence is a horizontal tricolour coloured from top black, red and green, and shows a red rising sun against the black bar. The old flag is no longer deemed suitable, as the country has risen into independence and is now a mature state, and should therefore be represented by a full white sun in the centre of the flag. Oh, and the red bar should be on top, and the black in the middle. It all seems very unnecessary, and the gentleman beside me on the bus, scorned the country’s politicians when I asked his opinion. It seems that chiefs are not the best focus group for such issues, as supporting such measures are often a shrewd move in assuring a reciprocate benefit in the future. The President declared that anyone opposing the new design “is just being difficult”. Important issues indeed.

Sports Section – “Reports say Bullets game ended a draw”

“Zomba-based referee Dennis Ngulube has indicated that the abandoned TNM Super match between Bullets FC and Red Lions ended in a 1-1 draw after he disallowed the visitor’s goal because the ball did not cross the line. … During the ill-fated match, Ngulube changed his decision on Douglas Chirambo’s disallowed goal three times and eventually lost control over the match.

His first decision was to award the goal to Bullets FC. After consultation with his assistant the referee decided to disallow the goal but Bullets disputed. He then reversed his decision and awarded the goal and it was now Red Lions’ turn to protest.

Ngulube’s report further states that for 37 minutes he tried to reason with the two sides and after noting that it was getting late, he abandonded the game.

“It’s now very tricky” Sulom Secretary General Elijah Kachikawo said.”

“More chaos hits U-23”

“At the current African U-23 football tournament, “Malawi played their first game with 10 players after the 9 remaining players on Monday missed their flight to Kenya. The players managed to start off for Kenya on Tuesday, but missed the connecting flight to Egypt. Malawi lost 1-0 to Morocco in their first game. … “It’s very chaotic” the coach said”.

Another article which I forgot to take with me (but remember well) had some comments from opposing managers of two police teams who met recently in the Cup and will meet again in the League this weekend. The manager of the losing side stated that they had lost the game on purpose, and the opposing team will visit them this weekend “overconfident, and we will slaughter them”. I’m tempted to believe he meant this literally, but I’m sure that they will have the decency to arrest themselves after the heat of the moment passes.

That’s all from Malawi – next post from Tanzania!

Cape McClear was definitely a highlight in Malawi. As Ninfa mentioned in our previous post, we were both crazy about the children there, and we couldn’t walk anywhere without them running up and holding our hands. After that they wouldn’t say anything but would just smile contentedly as they accompanied us on our walk. And all the other children would wave and smile as we walked by. On the last day, we gave them balloons (Ninfa had packed balloons for gifts for children – good thinking) which they loved, and myself and Juan (a Spanish guy we have travelled with through Malawi) played a football match on the beach with varying numbers of children participating at any one time.

Another great thing about Cape McClear is that it is an authentic, typical, lakeside Malawian village. So one morning, I took a walk to the market about 1km away. I walked past the mud huts with their rooves of long grass thatch, past the water pump where the children would be helping their mothers pump the water into buckets before they would carry them back home on their heads, and all this with an infant bound to their backs by one of the traditional batik-print clothes. There are a few good quality, good price hotels in Cape McClear haggling usually gives some rewards. We stayed in Mgoza which had an en-suite double room with king-size bed and huge mosquito net for 5000Kw per night. On the other hand, the tours which are organised by the Tour Guides Association are way overpriced – a minimum of $20 per person in a country where half the population earn less than $1 a day. If they charged reasonable rates, such as $10 or $20 a day, they would all be working every day instead of lounging around the village. It was one of the off-duty guides Joseph who walked with me around the market.

Joseph also took me to meet his mother at her house which is built with cinderbrick and a corrugated iron roof. He is saving to pay for the plaster on the outside. The house is fairly spartan, but his mother does have a bed, while I’ve seen inside other houses, where reed mats are the only bedding available for the inhabitants. But the people always have a warm smile for any visitor. The devil finds work for idle hands though, and at night we had to stick to the lakefront strip as in the other areas we were likely to bump into young men who had too much chibuku or cachaca to drink, and were already quite threatening during the day. I met one such man who was trying to sell me some souvenir or other, yet was completely drunk already and it was only 1pm.

We left Cape McClear on the 5:30am matola which beeped its way through the village, packing us in like sardines, and then returning to do another circuit to squeeze in a few more. I think he didn’t leave until he had woken everyone in the village. There is no happy medium in African land transport. For the 30km transfer from Cape McClear to Monkey Bay, you either you own your own car (and travel with a mechanic for inevitable breakdowns), you pay $50 for someone to take you, or you take a chapa which costs $2 per person. We connected with a coach from National Bus Co. in Monkey Bay to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. I had to stand as I was the only man (the bus was at least 50% men) who seemed to think it appropriate to offer his seat to a woman carrying an infant. Despite the men being young, strong and healthy, there is obviously no tradition of chivalry in Malawian society. On the other hand, it made a pleasant change to stand, as at least I wasn’t cramped in the same position on a small seat for 4 hours.

Our first impressions of Lilongwe were not good. The bus station is full of more than the usual mix of touts, pushy taxi drivers, and beggars. Our hotel had arranged a pick-up (which never came) so we waited for over half an hour with all our stuff, which invited numerous, repetitive interruptions and annoyances. But this is generally the worst you will get in Africa … in daylight, and people are quite protective when anyone gets a little too insistent. When we did walk away into the town centre, we passed areas which were obviously no-go areas at night-time. In Africa, there are people everywhere by day, but at night “it’s a jungle out there!”. Power cuts and lack of street-lighting make you an easy target – you have to taxi everywhere, in some cases even if its only 200m down the street. But the taxi-drivers are fine and can be trusted. When we left Mamma Mia’s italian restaurant (which had espresso coffee – heaven!) we travelled with Amon, a soldier of God who doesn’t drink and doesn’t smoke, and although this kind of person would probably bore me after a while at home, in Africa, they’re my kind of guy!

We liked Amon and he offered us a good price to go to the tobacco auctions the next day, so we agreed. We had intended to use Lilongwe for two things – a place to get good bus connections north, and the place to see the Malawi Tobacco Auctions. Tobacco is Malawi’s most important cash crop, and accounts for more than half of the country’s export earnings. Lilongwe is the place where the growers come to sell their goods to dealers represnting the global tobacco industry heavyweights. The tobacco grown in Malawi is of the Burley variety, which is an important element in a blended cigarette – the burley is sweet, and balances the bitterness of the Virginia leaf grown elsewhere. The tobacco is brought to auction in 80kg to 100kg bags, and is rated by the auction floor staff. A good quality tobacco will fetch over $2.50 per kilo, and poorer quality around $2. This year, prices were down around $0.50 per kilo due to moves by Canada to ban the use of burley tobacco in cigarettes worldwide, as its sweetness attracts too many younger smokers.

The activity on the auction floor is frenetic. The sacks of tobacco are lined in rows, along which the auctioneer leads a line of buyers, all armed with pen and clipboard. Around them, barrow boys sprint for their lives, moving the sacks from the high stacks in the warehouse onto the auction floor, and then out onto the trucks. Crashes are common, proving perhaps that tobacco can cause harm in more ways than one. The smell of tobacco is heavy in the air, and its a great experience to see how things operate high up the supply chain in a controversial global industry.

We left the auctions and went back to the bus station, and boarded a bus for Mzuzu, the northern hub of Malawi. We arrived late in Mzuzu, and paid a local 50Kw ($.033) to guide us the 500m through the dark to our guesthouse. Mzuzu has nothing much to offer the visitor except connections to Nkatha Bay on the lake, or to Karonga and Songwe at the Tanzanian border. We were opting for the latter, as overland travel, touts and drunken souvenir-sellers had tarnished Ninfa’s Malawi dream of the country living up to its reputation as the Warm Heart of Africa.

So we had an early night and boarded the bus at 6am for Karonga with AXA coach company along with Juan, who was travelling as far as Dar es Salaam with us. AXA pride themselves on punctuality and reliability, but when we were still sitting in the bus depot at 7am, I was doubting this claim. I complained to the conductor about the delay, but to no avail. In fact the only thing that happened was that some passengers complained about me complaining, which I found very odd. In fact there are two rules about bus travel in Africa. One is that it is exceptional for a bus to depart at the stated departure time. The second is that arrival times are purely notional, overly optimistic and never reliable.

In any case, we made it to Karonga a couple of hours behind schedule, and had to organise transport to the border, about 30 minutes drive away. At the bus station in Karonga, there are loads of taxis offering transport to the Songwe border crossing for 600 Kw per person. But on further investigation, it became clear that this price was only available on the basis of the car carrying 5 passengers plus luggage and driver. Our other option was a chapa which would be cheaper but no less crowded, so we eventually struck a deal to hire a whole car for the three of us for a total price of 2,000Kw, only 200Kw (1euro) more expensive. The 30 minutes in the beat-up old Toyota Camry were easily the most blissful moments of African transport we have enjoyed since our rental car in South Africa.

We got dropped off at the border, and completed our customs and immigration formalities. When we got to the other side, we purchased our Tanzanian visas. Tanzanian single-entry three-month visas are priced at $50 for all but two nationalities – the USA (as expected) and Ireland (???) both of whom pay $100. Well, I didn’t really have any option, but I’m still wondering what Ireland did to Tanzania to merit this.

The border crossing also turned out to be costly for another traveller who attempted to change money with some of the black market money changers on the bridge that separates the Malawi and Tanzanian offices. It seems that instead of changing his money, they basically crowded around him and ran off with his money instead. There’s a lot of shady characters at this border crossing, so fellow travellers should exercise more caution than usual. The problem is that there is no bureau de change at the border, so you will inevitably have to change money on the black market. We were advised by the police (yes!) to do so in some of the businesses further down the road, which we did, albeit at a terrible rate.

Our last stop was Mbeya, which was two-hours from Songwe. This time we took a chapa (or dalla dalla as they’re known in Tanzania) which only had one passenger per seat for half the trip – more luxury! We arrived just after dark in Mbeya, bought our bus tickets for the following morning to Dar es Salaam, and booked into a hotel to get some well-needed rest before our estimated 12 hour journey the next day.

So that’s it for Malawi. Next post will bring you a digest of some amusing Malawian news stories, and after that some accounts of our first impressions of Tanzania.

After having seen Spain qualify for the World Cup Final, we started the last leg of our World Cup odyssey back towards Johannesburg. At this stage, having seen almost all of South Africa and its main attractions, there remained only one – the Drakensberg mountains.

Forming a natural border between Lesotho and South Africa, the Drakensberg lie deep in rural Kwazulu-Natal. We spent two days driving around the spectacular scenery which is classed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The landscape is characterised by rolling plains of long yellow grasses, divided by small rivers, and dotted everywhere with scattered settlements of traditional Zulu houses. The highlight was definitely the famous Amphitheatre, which is an 8km stretch of cliffs which rise over 3,000m in height, forming a natural border between South Africa and Lesotho.

Back in Johannesburg, we had two goals to fulfil. One was to visit the Apartheid Museum, and the other the World Cup Final. As it happened, there was a Park and Ride facility located at the Apartheid Museum, which allowed us to combine both into the same day. So we left early on the Sunday to give us plenty of time for the three hours which are advised for the Apartheid Museum. As it happens, you could spend a whole day in the museum, as it charts the history of South Africa from the discovery of gold in Johannesburg in the 19th century, right up to the present-day democracy.

From the first encounter at the museum, you get a sense of the twisted reality that was apartheid, as your entry ticket classifies you as White, or Non-White. Based on that, you are invited to use the appropriate entrance to the museum, which is lined with other signs from the apartheid-era, classifying areas and services based on race. During apartheid, groups of unqualified inspectors would judge a person’s colour by a number of predefined categories such as white, coloured, or black. In some cases, this could have disastrous consequences resulting in families being split apart as a man could be classified differently from his wife. In such cases, there was an appeals process, where your “colour” could be revised. One of the more amusing exhibits showed a newspaper article which listed the changes that had been recorded by the appeals board, the final sentence stating, with no hint of irony, that “no blacks have become white”.

There is so much information in the museum. My only criticism would be that it could break up the visit into different stages to help you progress, for example, The Formative Years, Organised Resistance etc, as sometimes the amount of information can be slightly overwhelming – I’ve named the sections myself below. One section that I found very interesting was “Petty Apartheid”. This described practices where schools would be provided, but without tables and chairs. Or at train stations, the majority of passengers were non-whites, and they would have only one gate, while the whites would have several which would hardly be used. And trains for non-whites would not run on time, and would not have destinations marked on them, rendering it almost impossible to be sure you would board the right train. The intention was obviously to degrade the people as much as possible. Another fascinating section was on the life of Steve Biko, a resistance leader who sought to overcome these psychological methods, and to restore pride and self-belief in the black people. He was beaten into a coma while in custody, and not given medical treatment for days, which resulted in his death, one of many who died at the hands of the regime.

Another section of the museum describes the actions of white people to fight the apartheid policies, but as Nelson Mandela stated in one of his trials, these people “existed in spite of, not because of the grotesque system of justice in this country”. Another area describes the township violence which took place after the release of the political prisoners and the unbanning of the black political parties. This period was in fact the bloodiest time of all, a state of almost civil war among the different ethnic communities. And importantly, a section on the international landscape during these times. During the Cold War, a blind eye was turned to Apartheid because the USA counted on South Africa as an ally to fight communism in Southern Africa, even supporting a strike against nearby Angola. And in fact, international pressure was only applied on South Africa after the end of the Cold War, showing the ugly side of world politics, where self-interest inevitably prevails over principle. The flipside of course is that Robert Mugabe gave shelter and support to the ANC military wing in exile in their time of need, which helps you understand why South Africa has never condemned the Mugabe regime at its worst in Zimbabwe.

We had spent over three hours in the museum and still hadn’t finished, but kick-off was approaching, and the museum was closing anyway, so we hit the road to Soccer City. There were people from every country at the final, and it was full of colour, none more noticeable than the trademark orange of the Netherlands, helped by the fact that most of the seating in the stadium is itself orange. But even that couldn’t help Spain running out 1-0 in extra-time after a tense and frequently ill-disciplined final. In fact the highlights for us were a colourful opening ceremony, a brief appearance from Nelson Mandela, who was greeted by 80,000 fans singing Ma-Di-Ba!, and to top it all off, the presenting of the World Cup trophy to the winning team. And so it ended, Spain were the World Cup champions, we had attended 4 of their 7 games and somewhat frustratingly seen them score a only a single goal in 3 of those games, and Honduras could hold their heads high knowing that ultimately, it was the world’s best who had sent them home.

As we were in Johannesburg, and were bidding farewell to South Africa, we figured it would be appropriate if we had a night out with the first South African we had met on our World Cup trip, Francois, who had helped us so much throughout our trip with tips and contacts. So we met in the aptly-named restaurant “Carnivore” on the outskirts of Johannesburg. The restaurant is centred around a huge fire grill, which serves up a huge selection of South African game. We ate springbok, crocodile, venison, pork, and my personal favourite – zebra! All washed down with some good company and some Pinotage.

And so we bid our farewell to a month in South Africa, the first African World Cup, 7,500km of driving, enough memories to keep for a lifetime, and to make us want to come back for more. So thanks South Africa for everything and well done for making it a terrific adventure!

Hi again everyone! Well it’s been a while since we updated the blog, as Africa has presented more than a few difficulties in obtaining reliable internet connections, or any connections at all. As a result, we’ve packed a lot into our last two posts from South Africa, so apologies for a long post.

On our last post, we had been having a splash with the Great White Sharks in Mossel Bay in the Western Cape province in South Africa, exactly one week before the World Cup final in Soccer City. Our route would take us some 1,200km right around the coast of South Africa and to Durban, and then 600km more back to Johannesburg. That journey would bring us through the remainder of the Western Cape along the Garden Route taking in some of its highlights like Knysna and Plettenberg Bay. We would then cross into the Eastern Cape, also known by its former name of Transkei, which is the birthplace of Nelson Mandela, the poorest province of South Africa, and the home of the Wild Coast. And finally, we would arrive in Kwazulu-Natal, the heart of the Zulu nation, home also to the large Indian community in Durban, and the Drakensberg mountains which form the natural mountain border with Lesotho. Then we’d head 600km back to Jozi and the climax of our trip and the World Cup in Soccer City on July 11, 2010. A full itinerary, and that’s exactly what South Africa was for us – always interesting, at times exhausting, and a monumental road-trip.

Garden Route

The highlight of the remainder of our trip along the Garden Route was Knysna. It is situated just inside a narrow channel of sea formed by two steep headlands which reach out around a small island set in a freshwater lagoon. It’s a beautiful setting, and we drove out to one of the cliffs on the headland and watched the sunset. We then took a drive down to the beach at the foot of the cliffs to get a closer look at the waves crashing in against the rocky shore, and a good dose of some fresh, bracing sea air. That helped us work up a healthy appetite, and we drove back into town to sample some of the local speciality – it just happened to be Knysna Oyster Festival, and though lacking in a bit of atmosphere, it was abundant with some delicious seafood. Our favourite spot was 35° South (our latitude at that point) which was a buzzing deli-restaurant on the lagoonfront.

Earlier that day, we had done a township tour with a difference in the hills surrounding Knysna. The Knysna townships are home to South Africa’s largest Rastafarian community. Our guide was the dreadlocked Brother Zeb. We decided to take a taxi to the township as we weren’t sure it was a good idea to park our car out there with all our belongings. The truth is the car would probably have been grand, but on a trip like this, unnecessary risks bring unwanted problems, so we exercised caution. Brother Zeb told Brother Tony and Sister Ninfa about the community in Judah Square, their rituals, and their religion. I enjoyed Brother Zeb’s stories of the Rastas “dubbing to the reggae music coming across the airwaves”, the fact that he finished almost all his sentences with “Yes-I! Brother Tony” or “Jah Rastafari I-n-I”, as well as the more serious discussions about community life and the Rastafari religion. Rastafarianism is in fact based on Christianity, and Brother Zeb and Mama Bee quoted verses from the Psalms as reliably as they quoted Bob Marley. The difference is that Rastas believe that Christ has come again, in the form of Emperor Haile Selassie, the previous ruler of Ethiopia, which is seen as Zion, the Promised Land. The fact that the Messiah is an African also underlines their belief in Black Emancipation.

The Transkei

Regarding Black Emancipation, our journey through the Transkei was memorable in that it brought us to the homeland of Nelson Rohilahla Mandela, the great Madiba. On our way through the provincial capital Mthatha, we saw a sign for the Nelson Mandela museum. We always try to reach our destinations before nightfall, and stopping at the museum would put this in jeopardy, but I persuaded Ninfa that we had to take this opportunity. We parked on a double-yellow line right outside the front door, and tipped one of the locals to look after the car. On every street and in every car-park, there’s someone whose self-appointed job is to direct cars in and out of spaces, and supposedly to look after it or buy you a parking ticket if they see the police coming – the people are a South African institution. Regarding the museum – it does not disappoint. There are great exhibits which focus on Mandela from his birth, to his career, his involvement in the ANC Youth League, his rise to the leadership of the ANC, his persecution, imprisonment, and subsequent liberation, his presidency and his current HIV/Aids campaign. I loved it! My favourite was perhaps the huge photo Mandela on his Inauguration Day as South African President, with Thabo Mbeki by his side, and the emotion visible in their eyes, as they had finally reached that moment when they had won their greatest victory.

Feeling good, but in a rush, after leaving the museum, we continued on through the Eastern Cape. What a land this is. The national road is at its worst in the region, and it climbs and descends unrelentingly through the deep valleys and steep winding hills. You descend one hill, and climbing the next you’re in 3rd and sometimes 2nd gear trying to get the car up the steep ascent. And the views over the land are amazing. We were in a rush so we didn’t have time for photos, but I won’t forget the scenery any time soon. The region is evidently poorer, almost entirely black, as it was this area which was set aside as the Homeland region during Apartheid. Throughout the journey, we had to slow down for goats on the road, and stray cows appearing from behind the shacks. Although we did not stay for long in the Eastern Cape, we did stay in a beautiful seaside village called Cintsa on the Wild Coast, where even a warthog crossed the road in front of us.

KwaZulu-Natal

And finally we reached KwaZulu Natal, and Durban. Spain were playing Germany in the World Cup semi-final here and Spain ran out deserved winners by 1 goal to nil. We were getting used to watching Spain win 1-0 at this stage, but they refused to score any more goals than necessary. Durban, which is supposed to have summer all year round, was grey and dull when we were there. Also, it seemed to have a little more of an edge to it than any city we had been to in South Africa, and we saw a few scams which we had read about in our guidebook. Durban has South Africa’s largest population of Indian-descendants, and is famous for its curries, and bunny-chows. A bunny chow is basically a curry served in half a loaf of hollowed out bread – a messy affair. I had already ordered my curry by the time I realised it, but I’m afraid Durban curries aren’t a patch on the real thing over in India.

One thing I remember from our time in Durban is a conversation I had with a Zimbabwean who was working as an engineer in South Africa, but staying in the same accommodation as us. He spoke about what it means for South Africa to host the World Cup. He compared it to looking at the sun, as something forever visible but forever out of reach, and that one day you could hold it in your hands, and that this day had come for Africa. I couldn’t believe that he had described it so poetically, but for me it was the perfect description of how Africa has seen this occasion to host the World Cup.

Our next post will bring you news of our trip through the scenic Drakensberg Mountains, a day at the Apartheid Museum, a night out at the World Cup Final in Soccer City, as well as some last minute business in South Africa. Thanks for reading!

Third post from Cape Town, and the last. We squeezed in a lot to our last night and morning in Cape Town. After returning late from Robben Island, we headed straight out to dinner with our new friends, Kim and Dumi, who we had met while tasting wine a few days previously in Franschhoek. Kim had offered to choose the restaurant and asked if we had any preferences. Ninfa had one basic requirement – African, African, African. Kim and Dumi didn’t disappoint and we met in Marco’s African restaurant just off Buitengracht St, nearby the colourful district of Bo Kaap.

At dinner, we went for the traditional African specialities. Ninfa had a chakalaka salad made of diced onions, tomatoes and spicy peppers, while I opted for the Impala steak which tastes like steak, but a little milder flavour and very tender, which was absolutely delicious. Kim opted for liver, and confirmed her position as the sole person at the table who thinks liver is a delicacy and not a throwaway. Dumi chose the wine, a rich red from the Hartenburg estate and we had no trouble getting through two of those. The restaurant has a band and dancers perform throughout the night, and young and old, black and white, were grooving at their tables all during the meal. The band was made up of marimba, percussion and steel drums, and the three dancers were moving as if their whole bodies were made of elastic. At the end of the meal, myself and Dumi got up to show the ladies that what they can do, the boys can do … not quite as well. But it was a lot of fun. We hit it off brilliantly with Kim and Dumi, and we were really sorry we would not have the chance to hang out with them more and get to know them better.

The next morning, we drove down for a quick look at some of the trendy shops on Long St. Long St is full of boutiques, fashion stores and cool cafes, and shows a trendy and hip capital which is not scared to walk on the wild side. I bought a new baseball cap, and a pair of cheap shades, as I had left my beloved black and yellow Wayfarers somewhere in Bloemfontein. One of the hardest things when you’re travelling is retaining all your possessions. Being in a different place everyday, and rarely sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row provides all too much opportunity for parting company with your sunglasses, driving licence, torch, travel towel … As well as that, it gives you the feeling of what it must be like to be a fugitive on the run, not that we’ve done anything bad … yet! So far, Ninfa hasn’t lost anything, but this is pure coincidence.

Our last stop in Cape Town was to Bo Kaap, which we had seen in loads of postcards and guide books. Bo Kaap is home to Cape Town’s Muslim population. Its steep streets are lined with the brightly-coloured facades of residential housing. The colours are gorgeous, and shine brightly in the clear sunlight, and we coud have spent hours there taking photos, but the clock was ticking and we had to get on the road to Struisbaai, and Cape Agulhas, Africa’s southern-most point. So we bid farewell to colourful Bo Kaap, to cool Cape Town, to new friends, but taking with us some excellent memories that we’ll keep for a long time.

The day after the Spain vs Portugal game in Cape Town was beautiful, so we couldn’t believe it when the staff told us that all the ferries to Robben Island were cancelled due to rough seas. We were about to get annoyed when they told us that they couldn’t rebook us for the next day, as it was already full. Robben Island was one of the things we were anticipating the most in Cape Town, so to be told we would not be able to visit it was a huge disappointment. We explained that the next day was our last day, and the agent eventually agreed to book us on one of the tours – relief, if the weather improved.

If the weather wasn’t good enough to sail in, it was ideal for another of Cape Town’s highlights – Table Mountain. Table Mountain rises 1,086m above sea level. By the time we had reorganised our Robben Island tour, we arrived just in time to get one of the last cable cars to the top at around 5pm. The cable car has a rotating floor so everybody on board gets a 360 degree view as we climb up. As you rise, you see Table Bay open out below you, and just near the top the cable car rises above the ridge that joins Lion’s Head to Table Mountain, and the whole of False Bay opens out on the other side, to the oohs and ahhs of everyone on board. It gets cold on top of Table Mountain, and it wasn’t a good idea to be wearing shorts anymore, but we still enjoyed watching the sun set over Cape Town, looking out over the city to Signal Hill, Lion’s Head and further offshore, the elusive Robben Island.

Cape Town has a number of highly recommended restaurants, but that night we took it easy back at the apartment we were renting. It was such a novelty to be able to stay at home and cook that we couldn’t resist staying in. We’ve been on the road for three months, and it’s the first time we’ve been in a proper kitchen since we left.

On the morning of our last day in Cape Town, the weather was again beautiful. We made our now daily trip to the V&A Waterfront to see if the boat was running to Robben Island, and jackpot! Shortly after the boat left, we realised why it had been cancelled the two previous days. On a calm day like today, the swell of the sea in Table Bay is huge. No wonder the Cape of Good Hope has caused so many shipwrecks in the past. Across the bay we saw anchored cargo ships drop halfway out of sight as the waves rolled them and us around.

From the port in Robben Island, we were picked up by bus and given a tour of the island. Our first stop was to the solitary confinement section which had previously housed Robert Sobukwe. Robert Sobukwe was the leader of the Pan African Congress in the 1960′s-1970′s. He had a reputation for charisma and being a wonderful communicator, and was seen as such a threat by the Apartheid government that they passed a “Sobukwe Law” which allowed for the indefinite detention of political suspects without trial. After a PAC policy of burning their “Dom-passes” (literally “stupid-pass” that all non-whites were obliged to carry), Sobukwe was arrested and placed in solitary confinement for over 4 years during which time he was not permitted to speak or be spoken to. The strategy was to destroy that which was strongest in Sobukwe, and it worked. At the end of his time on Robben Island, Sobukwe was a sick man, psychologically drained and lacking the ability to speak properly as his vocal chords had decayed due to lack of use. Of all that I heard and saw in our tour of Robben Island, this angered and saddened me most.

Further along the island, we saw the lime pit where the prisoners were brought to slave as manual labour, using basic tools and sometimes only their bare hands to quarry the lime from the ground and break it. There was no use for the lime being quarried; it was simply a meaningless exercise, and a weapon in the hands of the Apartheid regime designed to break the prisoners both physically and mentally. To add to this, he prisoners were denied any protective equipment which severely damaged their health. In fact, the toxicity of the lime almost blinded Nelson Mandela, but in an operation to save his sight, his tear ducts were ruined, and as a result he is unable to shed a tear. There is a small cave in the quarry which became known as the University of Robben Island, as it was the only place where the prisoners could gather, and there they educated each other in topics ranging from the most basic literacy skills to some of the most advanced theories in politics and history.

From here we went to the prison buildings. There, we were greeted by a former prisoner of Robben Island. Our guide, whose name I forget, was emprisoned there for five years in the 1980′s, and gave us accounts of his daily life in Robben Island. He told us of the physical and verbal abuse the prisoners suffered as well as the harsh living conditions. He then guided us around the prison, and to B-Section, which was the area which housed the most “dangerous” political prisoners, including Mandela. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the football pitch where the prisoners played matches. The prisoners set up the Makana Football Association, and ran a league which helped maintain morale and foster understanding between the rival anti-apartheid political parties. Jacob Zuma, the current South African president was a referee, but so far in this World Cup, he’s remained in the stands – will he referee the World Cup Final perhaps?

We were then led through to the B-Section cells, and the cell itself which housed Nelson Mandela for 18 years from 1964-1982. It’s a very poignant moment, and again makes you marvel at his strength and that of his fellow prisoners in overcoming this terrible hardship and to never have lost hope.

All the staff live on Robben Island, and there is a primary school for the young children. Our guide, the former prisoner, told us that he lives on the island, as do some of the former prison guards. He told us that not all prison guards were the same, and that some of them had treated the prisoners humanely. I still could not fathom the possibility of living side by side with my former captor, but this is exactly the challenge that South Africans have been able to overcome so successfully since the fall of Apartheid. Our guide did confide that on some days Robben Island is the last place he wants to be, and he feels he cannot face the prison, but that he is driven by the goal of showing the world what must be avoided, and to live as an example of reconciliation and not revenge.

If I could complain about anything about the tour, it would be the fact that it was too crowded. Even our guide told us that due to the previous days’ cancellation and the high demand, the groups contained twice the number of people that they would normally have. As a result it was a little rushed, especially when viewing the cells. Another thing was the delay getting back to the mainland. For some reason the boatmen had gone on strike for part of the day, resulting in over an hour delay to our return trip, and two hours for the tour before us. But in the end, these were small nuisances in comparison to the wonderful experience we had been able to witness.

On the boat back, we were able to appreciate beautiful views of Cape Town, nestling in the outstretched arms of Table Mountain which sweep down to the sea. The contrast of the natural beauty of Table Bay, compared to the human tragedy and subsequent triumph on Robben Island, underlined Cape Town as an amazing city with two treasures which reward all the senses.

“Today when I look at Robben Island, I see it as a celebration of the struggle and a symbol of the finest qualities of the human spirit, rather than as a monument to the brutal tyranny and oppression of apartheid. It is true that Robben Island was once a place of darkness, but out of that darkness has come a wonderful brightness, a light so powerful that it could not be hidden behind prison walls…“ – Nelson Mandela

Cape Town lies on a peninsula of land which the Portuguese originally named the “Cape of Storms” in the 15th century, but subsequently changed it to the “Cabo da Boa Esperanca”, or the Cape of Good Hope, at their optimism of opening a trade route to the east. Bartolomeo Dias and Vasco da Gama were the first to succeed in traversing this treachorous stretch of sea, but it was the Dutch who established the port of Cape Town. Under the dramatic shadow of Table Mountain, it grew in importance as a last stopping point before the eastern destinations, and a staging point to await the favourable conditions to successfully pass by the south-western tip of Africa and beyond.

Although we did not welcome the fact, it was perhaps fitting therefore that our first day in Cape Town should greet us no more with the resplendent winter sunshine of the previous weeks, but rather a gusting, stormy morning, living up to its original name. From our accommodation on the steep foothills of windswept Table Mountain, we headed straight to the port and one of Cape Town’s most famous landmarks, the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront. We had booked to take a tour to Robben Island, the infamous long-term prison home of Nelson Mandela and many other political prisoners during the dark years of Apartheid. When we arrived, there was a crowd of people queueing to rearrange their tours as all boats had been cancelled due to the rough seas. We had no choice but to follow their example, and rebooked for the following day.

We quickly changed our plans therefore, and decided to stick to terra firma and explore the Cape by car, heading just south of Cape Town to Simon’s Bay, where once the British had established their colonial naval base. The area retains much of its colonial buildings and is a pleasant drive despite retaining much of the British weather also. We continued to Fishhoek which was recommended to us by a Swiss fan at our last World Cup game in Bloemfontein. Fishhoek has a little port with a number of restaurants near the Harbour House. We ran from the car and got soaked in the process, but regained our spirits over generous portions of battered hake, calamari, prawns and chips, helped down by a couple of bottles of dry cider – delicious!

We sheltered for a while more, hoping for some better weather to blow in, but to no avail. Nonetheless, we continued further along the coast to Boulder Beach, which is renowned for its penguin colony. Of all the colonies in Africa, the penguins are undoubtedly the most peaceful, but even they were put off by the bad weather, sheltering and shivering in the bushes along the beach. They’re really cute, and we found it hard to resist the temptation to reach out and bring a few home with us in the car.

We drove on further south, along winding coastal roads, alternating between long sandy beaches, and steep cliffs plunging down into the waves crashing against their rocky feet. All along the road there are signs warning people not to feed the baboons, as they can become aggressive, but they appeared anything but as they strolled across the streets in the sleepy seaside villages. We decided not to enter to drive to the tip of Cape Point as it was 75R each to enter, and it was such a bad day we were only going to watch from the car anyway, but as a result we missed out on some famous photo shots at the Cape Point. Instead we rounded the Cape and drove north back to Cape Town along a spectacular mountain pass called Chapman’s Peak which hugged the side of the cliffs around Hout’s Bay. We also passed through Camps Bay and Clifton, Cape Town’s chic suburbs which lies on the southern side of Table Mountain, and took a quick drive past the new stadium to which we were returning later that night for the round of 16 match between Spain and Portugal. Each of the suburbs were more beautiful than the previous, and all within a short drive to the big city of Cape Town. In fact, despite being a big city, Cape Town itself has a permanent feel of spaciousness and a relaxed pace, which make you feel immediately at home, and made us want to put down our backpacks and settle down for a much longer stay.

As far as the World Cup was concerned, Cape Town was rewriting the rulebook as well. Between the FanFest and the stadium, they had drawn a 2.5km Fan Walk which would guide supporters to the stadium, with various local entertainers lining the route. The atmosphere was great with drummers, facepainters, singers and dancers all along the way. It also gave us a chance to see some of the crazy costumes that some of the supporters wear; a group of English fans (wrong match!) won our vote with their zebra suits and fez hats, although we also liked the Spanish fans with their banner “There’s only one Ronaldo, and he’s Brazilian!”

The match itself turned out to be a fairly one-sided affair with Spain dominating possession (as is their habit) and Portugal failing to provide any real clear-cut chances. So next stop for Spain is Johannesburg against Paraguay, but although we have tickets, we won’t be following them the 1,500km there. Yes, Cape Town is a much bigger attraction than a World Cup quarter-final, and that just about says it all. As a result, we’ll take the coastal route all the way from the Western Cape to the Eastern Cape and we’ll rejoin the winners of the quarter-final in the port city of Durban for the semi-final. The stakes are getting higher in the competition, and its continuing to be a fantastic tournament!

More news on Cape Town and the Western Cape in our next post. Ayoba!