#2 - Cape Town
FOR AS LONG AS PEOPLE HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT THEIR JOURNEYS, THEY HAVE BEEN TELLING TALES OF THE STRANGE AND THE WONDROUS, OF THE TEDIOUS AND THE ANNOYING, OF THE SIGNS OF PAST GRANDEUR, OF THE PETTY NUISANCES OF TRAVEL, OF THEIR ENCOUNTERS WITH DANGER, OF THEIR ROMANCES WITH STRANGERS, OF THEIR MOMENTS OF DOUBT AT HAVING VENTURED FROM HOME, OF THEIR DISTASTE FOR THE NASTY FOOD AND THE REPELLENT NATIVES. THE NAMES OF PLACES CHANGE, THE CONVEYANCES BECOME FASTER, THE DURATION OF THE JOURNEY GROWS BRIEFER -- BUT THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED TRAVEL WRITERS KNOW THAT THE STORIES THEY TELL FOLLOW THE SAME PATTERNS AS DID THE STORIES HEARD OR READ CENTURIES BEFORE, THE STORIES THAT MADE THEM LEAVE HOME IN THE FIRST PLACE.
-- Nicholas Howe, "Book Passages" The New Republic, August 6, 2001
As I watched my breakfast float away into the frigid dark blue waters of the Atlantic I heard our guide proudly shout out in his thick Afrikaans’s accent “There she is! A 3-˝ meter beauty!”
What he was referring to was a Great White. I had paid 1000 Rand (US $125) for a one-day trip to Gansbaai to visit ‘Shark Alley’, reputably the best place to view Carcharodon carcharias. A hefty price to pay to become part of the food chain if anything was to go wrong.
We had been aboard the 10-meter vessel for over 2.5 hours suffering the onslaught of 3-4 meter swell (10-14 feet), god-awful stench of 20,000 Sea Lions’ poop and pungent poor-quality South African cigarettes. I had been trying to become one with my inner-fisherman but I failed miserably. I added my own chum to the water. In the excitement, none of my adventuresome colleagues witnessed my lack of seamanship. Minutes later, the guide handed me a wet suit and I was told to get ready to jump into the circular steel cage that was 2.5m tall and 1m in diameter. I quickly stripped down, grabbed my disposable underwater camera and jumped into the freezing 16˚ Celsius (59˚ F) water. My last thoughts as the gasp reflex took the better of me was “Good thing Jews do not have open casket funerals”.
For the better part of an hour, we took turns as the 3.5-meter shark, and then a second 4-meter monster, circled the steel cage with grace and dignity. There were times when they swam so close that you could rub their bellies. There were 6 of us diving into the cage and we paired up and took 10-minute rotations - plenty of time in the bitterly cold water. Every time the shark was close, the guide would shout ‘To the Riiiight’ or ‘On yur Leeeeft’… DIVE!’. You would take a deep breath sink to the bottom of the cage and shoot off as many pictures as possible before the meat eating monster was out of sight. With 7.5 meters of sharks swimming around us, the experience was beyond exhilarating. As we were in the van heading back on the two hour trip back to Cape Town, we were fortunate to see over 10 Southern Right Whales swimming in the gorgeous Walker Bay where they come every winter to mate.
So that was yesterday’s adventure… and every day since I left New York has yet to have a dull moment After an overnight flight to London on July 20, I arrived into Heathrow where I anticipated our allies would accept a Yankee with open arms. I was mistaken. I ended up in the line with the immigration officer who truly enjoyed his job, particularly at 7am. The conversation went something like this:
“How long will you be in England?”
“Sir, I will be leaving this evening on a flight to Cape Town”
“When will you be returning from South Africa?”
“I will be returning in 5 months”
“Five months?”
“Yes Sir, I am travelling overland to Istanbul”
“You are WHAT?” eyes blinking in disbelief.
“I am travelling through Africa, catching a flight in Victoria Falls to Cairo and continuing north to Turkey.”
“May I see your airplane tickets?”
I kindly handed over my tickets and quickly pointed out my visas for Zambia and Zimbabwe. He scanned them over, took one last look at me in bewilderment as if to say: “You are one crazy S.O.B” and stamped my passport with a loud thud as if proud to be the first of what was sure to be a long line of immigration officials to give me a hard time.
From there, I hopped on the Underground to visit the main sites of London in 6 hours on foot with only 3 hours of sleep. My first stop was The British Museum where the reality of the trip began to sink in as I saw myself staring at the Rosetta Stone. From the museum, I was off on a brisk walking tour of Covenant Gardens, Leicester Sq, Piccadilly Sq, Trafalgar Sq., Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abby, Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park. Heading back to Heathrow I was far from happy to find out that the previous day’s British Air strike had complicated matters. After suspending check-in for all British Airways flights, my luck prevailed and I boarded the plane to take off only 4 hours late.
Eleven hours later the plane descended from 30,000 feet into the stunning city of Cape Town. A good friend of a former colleague graciously picked me up at the airport and we headed back to his flat in the city. After a brief 2-hour nap, I woke up, and Jan acting as my tour guide gave me an introductory 3-hour driving tour of the city. As we drove from his apartment, one of the three circular, 15-story apartment buildings that sit high up at the foot of Table Mountain, the natural beauty of the city began to set in. My first impression was “As if one rim of the Grand Canyon came to Northern Californian coast. Sprinkle in a dash of Rio de Janeiro’s bays and coves and you have majestic Cape Town”. After driving around the City Bowl, affluent suburbs of Camps Bay and Clifton Park and gasping at the 12 Apostles (a chain of 12 mountains that comes to a screeching halt at the Atlantic Ocean), I fell soundly asleep.
The next day was spent walking around the City Bowl (city center), organizing future day trips and soaking it all in. Although Cape Town is home to 3.5 million inhabitants, it does not have a large city ‘feel’. Being wintertime, the temperature was in the mid 60’s during the day and much chillier at night (40’s –50’s). The shopping centers are as modern as US malls (there was an IMAX theatre showing Matrix Reloaded), grocery stores charge for plastic bags to encourage people to reuse and recycle, and it appears that everyone walks around with the most fashionable mobile phones. Nevertheless, the beautiful Cape Town described is unfortunately the reality for a small minority. The disparity between rich and poor in South Africa could not have been witnessed more clearly than on a tour of a number of Cape Town’s Townships.
South Africa’s Townships are what Americans refer to as shantytowns. During my travels I have seen countless shantytowns but never had the opportunity to actually visit one.
As our tour guide Brian Smith carefully explained in the beginning of the day, “Unlike other tours you will go on in Cape Town, this is not just a sightseeing tour, this is a learning experience.”
Brian, 53, grew up during the bitter years of Apartheid in District 6 and experienced first hand, forced removal into the Townships on the Cape Flats, a windswept, unfertile and desolate section north of city center. Being ‘Coloured’ (he was of 1/3 Xhosa (African tribe), 1/3 Indian (of the Indian sub-continent) and 1/3 Irish descent) you can only begin to imagine the racism he had to deal with growing up. Due in part to a strong and determined mother, Brian was well educated, articulate and spoke with an interesting South African/Indian accent.
District 6 today is an open grassy plain about 4 sq miles in area that lies in prime real-estate in the city (due to sensitive political issues the area has yet to be developed). Prior to the declaration of Apartheid in 1948, District 6 was a melting pot of communities that was comprised of Blacks, Coloureds, Indians, ex-Mozambique slaves and Lithuanian Jews who lived peacefully together. He showed us where buildings once stood and the 3 mosques and 2 churches that were never destroyed by the bulldozers. St Marks Church in his words was ‘A symbol of resistance and today is also a symbol of triumph’. We visited the District 6 museum and then were off to visit a school in Lungar, a black Township. On our way there I could not help but notice the Ferrari that screamed past.
We met with Morem Jacobs who, born and raised in Lungar, saw her community’s children growing up without an education. Knowing that without an education, they would succumb to the evils of street life so 8 years ago she started a school and today has 8 volunteer teachers working with 640 students. Do the math. The 8 classrooms are made from either steel shacks or shipping containers. They do not have textbooks let alone any source of heating. Despite these conditions, the children are happy and proud to come to school and squeeze into chairs, often sharing a seat with another child. The children’s discipline was remarkable. When Morem would enter the classroom and greet the class with ‘Good morning’ she would receive a simultaneous and emphatic response of ‘Good Morning Teeeecha!’ The school choir even sang for us and it rivalled the best Southern Baptist performance I have heard.
Next, we went to the home of a woman named Vicky, an enterprising individual who lived in the Khayelitsha Township home to over 1.2 million people. About 5 years ago, Vicky decided to open her home to outsiders so they can see for themselves what life is like in the Townships. Today, Vicky’s Bed and Breakfast has visitors from around the world for 20 Rands (US$ 3.5) a night
From Vicky’s B&B we met Rosie, 35, who founded a shelter 13 years ago to feed children in her community. In addition to waking up every morning at 3:45am to pick up bread for the children she must support her own 2 children (14 and 19 years old) as well as educates the community about AIDS. She lost her sister to the disease at 18. AIDS is destroying the youth of Africa as is testament by the thousands of recently dug graves in the Township commentaries. Brian told us that they do not have enough land to bury the dead from AIDS.
Looking back on the Township Tour, you realize that yes, the Townships are dangerous places, but they are also the homes for roughly 65% of South Africa’s population. These people must do whatever they can to survive and do so to help one another in their community. This is what they call the spirit of ‘Ubumtu’, the spirit of humanity. As you can imagine, my past week has been an amazing, exhilarating and an unbelievable learning experience.
Stay tuned for Wanderlust #3 - Garden Route where I visit the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve, Robben Island and tackle the infamous Otter Trail, a 4-day hike through a portion of South Africa’s most beautiful coastline.
IF YOU STICK YOUR NECK OUT WHETHER IT IS BY CLIMBING MOUNTAINS OR SPEAKING UP FOR SOMETHING YOU BELIEVE IN, YOUR ODDS OF WINNING ARE AT LEAST 50-50. IF YOU TAKE RISKS WITH PRECAUTION AND CARE, YOU CAN INCREASE THOSE ODDS SIGNIFICANTLY IN YOUR FAVOR. ON THE OTHER HAND, IF YOU NEVER STICK YOUR NECK OUT, YOUR ODDS OF LOSING ARE PRETTY CLOSE TO 100%.
-- Jim Whittaker, A Life on the Edge
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