The Garden Route and Cape Town

An Interval of Luxury

Thursday 29 September

It’s hard to believe we’re leaving Africa today. We’ve been here two and a half months and covered about two thousand miles overland through six countries. Part of me feels like I’ve begun to get the hang of Africa, and India will be a whole new ballgame. But we gave Africa a fine last hurrah.

The last ten days have been a deliciously pleasant interval, although kind of a brain bender to surround ourselves with the familiar privileges of a private car for a North-American-style road trip and then the incredibly refreshing delights of a private apartment for almost a whole week in the cosmopolitan city of Cape Town where we felt very much at home.

From Bloemfontein we had booked tickets on a big, cushy tourist bus (ask Kepler to sing the praises of the Intercape bus line - it’s like a deluxe Greyhound) for an overnight ride to Gqeberha (recently renamed from Port Elizabeth, to reflect its Xhosa heritage) where we’d reserved a rental car over a year ago at a phenomenal covid-era promotional price. A man we met at Baines Baobabs a few weeks earlier in Botswana hailed from “PE” and had shared an alarming anecdote about turning on the taps at home to find no water coming out due to the intense drought conditions. What a surprise, then, to find ourselves arriving in PE in the pouring rain! Taking a cue from our friend Terry, we found a fantastic breakfast spot on Google Maps and counted ourselves super lucky to step off an overnight bus and come in out of the downpour to a cozy-chic, rustic-elegant place where even the breakfast menu made it hard to choose. And coffee makes everything okay again.

A quick scan of the forecast suggested things would clear up in time for us to pitch our tent, and after the formalities with the Avis office, we were off to the grocery store in our shiny new Nissan Almera.

We had five days to drive the famous “Garden Route” through some national parks along the coast, with no reservations or specific destinations until Cape Town, seven hundred kilometers away. Chalk it up to fatigue and the magnetism of the coast, especially after two months of desert and mountains, but we had a hard time dragging ourselves much beyond Jeffrey’s Bay that first night. We parked at a famous surf break (Supertubes) and had a late lunch in the car as the rain tapered off while we watched surfers ride incredibly perfect blue curls of ocean. Once the showers ended we stretched our legs with a walk on the beach, letting the sound of the breakers scrub any discontent from our minds. An incredible assortment of shells and coral fragments made for splendid beachcombing and it was easy to come away with pockets full of treasure.

But by then it had already been a long day and before we knew it we were chasing the sunset again, looking for a place to pitch our tent. We were also hoping to put a few more kilometers behind us. We did manage to get about an hour down the road to the town of Storm’s River and a backpacker that the Lonely Planet had recommended with a big blue star. Again the pandemic had intervened for the worse, and while the hostel was happy to welcome us, the digs were not as inviting as one might have hoped. But nobody looks their best at the end of a long, cold, rainy day, anyway, and besides, it was still the end of winter.

We had just enough daylight to set up the tent on a nice, flat grassy lawn, after a warm welcome from a friendly caretaker, despite our having taken him by surprise on a day off. He offered us a “special check-in drink” from some strange, massive, ancient liquor bottle. Of course we declined (!) but the kids were delighted that he offered us cold Cokes instead! RJ then brought out a big propane tank and hitched it up to the gas range for us to cook supper in a funny little semi-outdoor kitchen. The living room, where we were instructed to leave the exterior doors open at all times, was dim and damp with a smooth concrete floor and shabby sofas, but also a piano! Neither of the boys had had the chance to play at all since we left home. Loben gave it a shot and we all thought he sounded terrific, but he found it too far out of tune to enjoy.

Most notably, though, were the concrete walls where former guests had clearly been invited to graffiti on the plaster in indelible marker. Sentiments ranged from the deeply poetic to hilarious drunken scrawls, along with the usual vulgarities. Every inch of the walls and ceilings were covered, suggesting that the place had enjoyed a much more lively flow of tourists than on this particular evening, where we were the sole occupants.

In the morning we could see that the outdoor setup was really very cool, with hammocks, a hot tub and a pool table under a sodden tarp, although it all had the look of a place either past its former glory or badly in need of maintenance, or both. We fixed ourselves a good breakfast on the deck and were grateful for the sun to warm us after the cold, damp night.

We had not been able to find specific information about visiting the national parks of the Garden Route, although all sources agreed that in general these were must-see destinations. One of our hosts finally gave us exactly the advice we were craving when she described a hike one could do nearby with boardwalks and suspension bridges near the ocean’s edge. Spot on!

Tsitsikamma, or “Place of Much Water,” took our breath away. At the entrance gate we paid our big park fees for the day (though not as big as what we’d experienced in Zambia) and drove the last few kilometers down to the coast where, out from the forest, popped a view of massive breakers pounding the shore and the greeny-blue Indian Ocean churning beyond. Captivated, we knew we’d hit a bullseye. We had to push back against a little disappointment, though, when we saw that there was an expansive campground right at the water’s edge. That was where we’d needed to be the night before! But you can never be there any sooner than now…

We spent the next couple of hours hiking the trail our host had recommended and were glad that we did, as we clambered up and over steep sea bluffs and crossed a roaring river mouth on a series of three sturdy pedestrian-scale suspension bridges. Back at the trailhead, picnic tables offered a happy spot for lunch beside the surf. We couldn’t resist the lure of the oceanfront camping, and phoned up to the main office to see if they had room for us for the night. What luck! After lunch we drove the miniature distance to our next campsite and set up for the night, exchanging high fives at our good fortune. Sunshine felt great after the previous day’s rain.

The afternoon left plenty of time for the other amazing hike we had heard about. Boardwalks and stairs climbed along the shoreline for three and a half kilometers and in places the trail broke out along the bouldery edge. One spot about halfway opened into a deep sea cave that we couldn’t resist exploring, all the way back into a deep chasm in the earth as the daylight faded to darkness and our anxiety grew. We were grateful to satisfy our curiosity by reaching the terminus with a few photons remaining! Back on the ocean’s edge again, we continued until a promising roaring grew in the distance, and around a corner stronger still, until we came around one last bend to see the most spectacular cascade of tumbling water, down into a glorious pool that spilled sleek over a stone edge into the crashing surf beyond. We sat long enough to eat a few oranges, enjoying the best of South Africa’s citrus season, and turned back for home. Back to the car just in time for sunset and a quick dinner of ramen noodles and eggs. Early to bed with the noise of the waves.

The boys have a knack for finding the best places to play wherever we camp, and in this place there was perfect sand and pebbles for building roads and a small city down at the water’s edge. Unfortunately when we went down to visit the city the next morning, some hungry seagulls took advantage of our absence to steal four luscious breakfast buns that we’d been looking forward to. Once we recovered our cool we caught up on math and journals and then drove down the coast to our next park. Along the way we stopped in the town of Knysna, about which we’d read much happy press, and it was very scenic, located as it was on an island in a picturesque lagoon. The dense proportion of wealth there made us a little uncomfortable, although we did take advantage of an incredible artisan bakery to buy a fantastic loaf of bread and some tasty flat whites. A nicely shaded picnic table in the town square offered a perfect lunch spot, and a short drive carried us to the next installment of the very spread-out Garden Route National Park: the Wilderness section, deep in the primordial forest and set back from the shore.

It had been hard to choose a hike at Wilderness, but we settled on the shortest drive and hoped to get the most bang for our buck with another set of boardwalks to a waterfall. We chose a spot to park our car along a pretty, if nondescript, section of a lazy river at the Ebb and Flow Rest Camp, tossed a couple water bottles and oranges into the daypack and set out. About halfway along the trail, we found the pontoon crossing we’d read about. We climbed aboard for a fun little ride across the Touw river by means of a horizontal pulley that moved a simple raft with old plastic 50-gallon drums for floats. The boys got their exercise yanking the ropes to haul us to the opposite shore! From there, the longest series of boardwalks I think we had ever walked brought us a few kilometers in to a pair of cascades, one above the other, where we would have loved to swim if the day had been warmer. But the afternoon was cooling fast towards evening, so again we stayed only long enough to peel a couple of oranges and then turned tail for home. And I catch myself saying that all the time: “it’s at home,” or “when we get home,” meaning “back at the tent,” or wherever we’ve been staying.

It really feels like we’re in the groove now. Like we know what we need to do and we’ve found routines that work, although the circumstances change day to day and week to week. It feels good: we have our energy, in the sense that we don’t feel tired all the time, and of course we still have our moods, but we would back in Massachusetts anyway.

Camping at Ebb and Flow was amusing because there was no picnic table. There haven’t been any in most other places either, but somehow we noticed it more there, and it felt simple as a shrug to just sit on the grass by our car and cook and eat supper right there. Good enough. We were glad for the four small foam seat pads we’ve been carrying.

We did find a picnic table over at the reception area after we drove out in the morning, and took advantage of that ideal post-breakfast window to do schoolwork, and also found a great opportunity to teach with an informational kiosk the park service had set up nearby with great lessons about geology, ocean currents and bird life. And then onwards!

Craving more time with the ocean, we took a long beach walk the next morning, more gorgeous greeny-blue waves pounding the reddish-tan sands, before we turned north for a detour through the “Little Karoo” on Route 62. As we’d read, the scenery did not disappoint. Folded rock layers pressed upwards into forbidding high ridges, and the mountainsides were all yellow with spring blooms. The road wound and curved around the ridges and we just kept saying “wow!” Waterfalls leapt out here and there, and a convenient rest area offered fantastic views for our lunch. We camped that night at Montagu Caravan Park, which looked prim and stuffy and manicured, with RVs packed in close, but it turned out to be very cozy and welcoming, and the boys took full advantage of the heated, indoor swimming pool. Yesss! A little light rain the next morning didn’t delay our early departure, but the locked gate did (!) until we could find someone to open it for us.

We made it back down to the coast in time for a late breakfast in an incredible pullout on a cliff high above the Indian Ocean. Still craving more ocean, we had opted for a turn around the Agulhas Peninsula on the scenic road, on our last day before returning to the city. With vibes of northern California, we enjoyed the last twenty-four hours of road-trip fun with a big highlight being what’s billed as the world’s best land-based whale-watching from a long trail that runs along the cliff tops from the busy, attractive, tourist town of Hermanus. It was incredible to stand on the rocky point with loads of other folks just watching as humpback whales breached and flipped their tails just beyond. We camped one last night in another cramped caravan park in Onrus and enjoyed a farewell campfire. Found a perfect spot for a long beach walk and then the short drive back up the coast to return the car in Cape Town.

After a small kerfuffle finding the proper Avis location, we were back on our own feet again and found a rideshare to our hostel. I never managed to get the Uber app to cooperate with our phone, but Bolt, an African version, works just fine. It’s been an amazing source of cheap transportation although we hear that the drivers don’t appreciate the fees that any of the ridesharing apps charge them - in the ballpark of 25 to 28% of their fare! Ouch. We make a point of tipping well, anyway.

The nearly a week that we spent in Cape Town was both tiring and rejuvenating, and such a treat to have our own apartment. We negotiated a sizeable discount on a family suite (with a full kitchen) in another branch of CurioCity, the hostel we had enjoyed so much in Johannesburg. Kepler had enjoyed the luxe ads for the Cape Town location posted in Jo’burg, and advocated for us to stay there. We had assumed it wouldn’t fit the budget, but were amazed when they were willing to work with us on the price. Yesssss! It felt so good to unpack and feel like we could come home.

We spent our days catching up on schoolwork and errands, exploring the city on foot, and working around the twice-daily loadshedding episodes. Still hard to wrap our heads around the fact that this major metropolis (along with everyone else) goes without power for hours at a time every single day. Also that recycling doesn’t happen. At least the boys made good use of some of our plastic containers to upcycle as buildings for matchbox cities.

One highlight was a visit to Robben Island by ferry. Former political prisoners lead tours of the old facility, and it was moving to sit in a concrete room that had been shared by sixty men and listen to his stories about spending eight years of his life - from the age of fifteen - imprisoned there. We all trooped past the cell where Nelson Mandela had spent seventeen of his own twenty-eight year imprisonment: an empty concrete box with blankets for a bed and a pail for a toilet. Hard to imagine. It sounds trite but we could not help but reflect on the triumph of this human spirit that was able to accomplish so much for humankind in the face of such utter degradation, in a place that worked to deliberately and brutally erase all traces of individuality or connection.

We were privileged, then, to refresh our spirits a couple days later with a memorable hike up Table Mountain on the famous Smuts track, which begins in the wonderful Kirstenbosch botanical garden. Arriving in Cape Town you see the huge plateau dominating the skyline, dwarfing the city and commanding a majestic natural presence. I confess I felt a little daunted by how steep it looks! The first hour of the Smuts Track does climb relentlessly, with ladders and chains to help you up, which the boys enjoyed tremendously. Once at the top of Skeleton Gorge (also a name that met with much appreciation from our younger set), the ascent moderates. Sandstone shelves step up the high slopes and spring proteas bloomed in wild variety and abundance. Honestly again it stole our breath, and not just because of the steep trail! The hike didn’t take quite as long as we’d expected, and after a fabulous cable-car descent (worth every penny) we had time to get a ride to the Bo-Kaap neighborhood for a leisurely walk home past the vibrant colored houses there.

The timing of our visit to Cape Town overlapped with celebrations of Heritage Day, officially the 24th of September. All week downtown there were live music performances and we were able to catch several, ranging from a group of elderly men singing in the mambazo style (so beautiful it instantly made me cry) to gumboot dancers and traditional Zulu dancers, xylophone bands, and a popular contemporary singer-songwriter with guitar with whom many people were loudly singing along. We felt so incredibly lucky.

And before we knew it, Wednesday afternoon had arrived and we were packing for the airport. Knives and camping stuff to the checked bags, clothes and games and journals for the carry-ons, and a last walk down the promenade of the Sea Point neighborhood. In our last hour in the city we stumbled into a rich art exhibition in the Hyde Hotel that we’d been told about and only wished we’d had more time to take in the incredible works by contemporary artists, both established and up-and-coming.

We got our rideshare to the airport and had only one (very frustrating) snag with the Indian health services app where we needed to upload our Covid information, but got ourselves to the gate and on to our flight in plenty of time.

And thus closed our African chapter.

More to come from India soon! Already many stories to tell...

But for now we send you our love and warm thoughts. Stories from home always most welcome.

Peace + love,

Edith, Jason, Loben and Kepler