Cape Town : October 2008

Ashi is eighteen months old, and the first criterion in choosing a destination for our annual vacation is to minimize transfers. I Google Scandinavian Cruise, and find one ship with sailing dates, ports of call and expenses seemingly suitable. But as always, I propose, The Husband disposes. His research shows there was a virus outbreak on that ship a decade ago, and this means that that ship is not for Ashi.

Meanwhile Tatjana visits for a Sunday lunch and brings a South Africa travel guide as gift. She knows we had planned to go in 2006 before we discovered Ashi was on the way. The Husband has been blowing up money on cameras and filters and lenses and Manfrotto-something-or the-other (investing, he says) for years, and South Africa seems to be a good place to practice his art.

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The Cape Town airport is efficient and under renovation, though with Ashi we wish there was an aerobridge. We get her stroller back at the baggage carousel, and once in it, she looks around interestedly while her father rents a car and a SIM card. Soon she is strapped in her booster seat and we’re on our way to a South African holiday, armed with the usual potty seat, bottle sterilizer and  a small pressure cooker to make her khichdi. We are staying in Strand, a small beach town near Somerset West, forty kilometers from Cape Town. The Strand Pavillion, an RCI Golden Crown property doesn’t disappoint, with great views of the beach and the bay from the room, a well equipped kitchenette and ample parking.

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We drive from Strand to Stellenbosch along the wine route. There are a hundred private cellars on the route we are told, and it is possible to taste and buy wines at all of them. The drive lends itself to exclamations of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at several turns with rolling mountains, a deep blue sky and many different shades of green in the landscape. Some of the famous estates recommended to us are Morgenhof, Delheim, Hartenberg, Neethlingshof and Simonsig. But the GPS on The Husband’s N95 has not worked, and we willingly lose ourselves on the scenic drive. Finally, we choose an estate to stop – Uitkyk. Actually we mean to stop at Kanonkop – a canon standing on the road leading to the estate off the motorway seems interesting and their Pinotage has been recommended strongly. But we are confused by the electrified fence around the property and, fearing for our lives, go to the adjacent estate instead. At Uitkyk, for twenty five rands we sample five wines from a selection. We choose Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Carlonet, Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio. I find the Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Carlonet all a little too spicy, but love the Pinot Grigio, slightly fruity but very light and crisp. The Husband is driving so he just takes a sip or two of each, but he pronounces the Chardonnay worthy of purchase. We leave with three bottles and numerous pictures of a fabulous estate owned, no doubt, by a billionaire.

On our way back we drive around Stellenbosch a bit. It is an obviously wealthy town with lovely Cape Dutch architecture --- every house on Dorp Street is a masterpiece. Stellenbosch is the oldest city in South Africa after Cape Town. It’s a bright day and students of the University are out on the streets, enjoying the sun. It’s the first University in the world to have set up an Afrikaans language school of higher learning.

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Having been exposed in India to regular media coverage of South Africa’s dramatic politics, I am pleasantly surprised to find, at least on first impression, a developed country with well-preserved natural beauty, Georgian houses and European-level civic amenities and systems. The other misconception that I carried - of South Africa having been a British colony – stands quickly corrected. In reality, the Dutch started to settle here first – Boer is Dutch for farmer. Then came the British, and they started their own settlements. Both the European settlers used African and imported Asian labour. With the discovery of diamonds and gold industrialization was rapid, and there was much to fight over --- the two powers went to war. A unified South Africa, as we know it today, emerged, but the spoils of war were divided among the Europeans --- the Africans were politically marginalized. Dutch influence is evident in architecture, food and language. Afrikaans is of Dutch origin and is spoken by most whites and coloured people. Indeed, Afrikaaner is the term often used for the white South African.

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Back home in India, Ashi has a penguin stuffed toy. We can now show her the real thing, in natural habitat. On Boulder’s Beach on False Bay, beyond Muizenberg and Simon’s Town, among large granite rocks, is a breeding colony of penguins. The beach itself is fairly secluded and the waters are warm, and swimming with penguins can be an unforgettable experience. For those who prefer to remain dry,  there is long viewing ramp along the beach. The penguins are smaller than I expected – the tallest is no more than a foot and a half tall. They are also remarkably fearless. Ashi leans out, her arms stretched out to the penguins. They bray loudly, but the girl doesn’t blink. “Ana, ana,” she calls them. When it is time to go back, she refuses to leave.

The drive to Boulder’s beach has taken us towards the southern tip of the Cape Peninsula. We have driven past interesting towns of Muizenberg and Simon’s Town. Agatha Christie, Rudyard Kipling and Cecil Rhodes bought houses here. Numerous Victorian buildings line the main street. Kalk Bay is lined with arty cafes and antique and curio shops. The beach huts at Muizenberg are colourful and brightly painted, though I discover later that this has nothing to do with South Africa’s sobriquet of “the rainbow nation.” It’s quite the opposite in fact – almost the entire False Bay coast was designated “for whites only” under the Group Areas Act in the 1960s. I discover more about this later.

Continuing our drive southwards to the tip of Cape Peninsula, we enter the Table Mountain National Park, for a visit to the Cape of Good Hope. I correct another long-held misconception – the Cape of Good Hope is not the southern-most point of Africa, nor is it the meeting point of the Atlantic and Indian oceans. The Cape Peninsula hangs like a comma on the map just above Cape Agulhas, the “real” cape where Africa actually comes to a full-stop. But the Cape of Good Hope is indeed situated at the junction of two contrasting water-masses – the cold Benguela current on the west coast and the warm Agulhas current on the east coast. The cliffs at the southern point tower more than two hundred meters above the sea. There are two well-defined promontories – the Cape Point with its lighthouse and a funicular to reach it, and the Cape of Good Hope, with its geographically hard-to-define and v-e-r-y touristy proclamation of being the most southwestern point of the African continent.

The national park around the Cape of Good Hope is an entire floral kingdom in itself, one of six in the world. Fynbos, or “fine bush” plants include proteas, a word familiar to us from cricket. There are several varieties of proteas found in this national park. When flowering, proteas attract sunbirds and sugarbirds, but otherwise, because of the coarse, scrubby nature of fynbos vegetation, bush birds tend to be scarce. There is a wealth, instead, of small animals such as dassies, mongoose, lizards, snakes and tortoises. We especially look out for baboons, that, we are warned, are dangerous and attracted by food --- not too different from the monkeys in Delhi parks, I’d say! We are finally rewarded to see one scampering across the road.

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All Indians who have watched a telecast of a cricket match played in Cape Town are familiar with the backdrop of Table Mountain looming large above the city. It rises more than a kilometer above Cape Town, and is visible from almost everywhere in the city. We have decided to drive down to the point where a cable car will take us to the top – but the thought of driving inside a city without the GPS is stressing the Husband out. I don’t miss the opportunity to tell him that his fancy gadgets, despite gobbling up a lot of our money, fail when we need them most, and, that, like normal people, we should rent a GPS device. Pushed to the wall and under extreme pressure, the N95 performs. Miraculously, it picks up the GPS signal and starts giving directions. Voila! It is a bright, sunny day, and once there, we realize tourists are out in droves to go to the Table-top. There is a long queue to go up, and both of us use the time to clear mails on our respective blackberries. At the ticket window, as he is taking out money, he asks hopefully, “One-way for you?”

The cable car takes in about sixty people in one go. The floor rotates a full circle, so no matter where you’re standing, you get a full view of the city and the ocean stretching beyond, as well as of the mountain top. Don’t look down if you don’t have a head for heights – the cable car is not for the weak of heart. Along the way we also see some hikers making their way to the top. The trek is extremely treacherous in parts and several people have lost their lives, enough to merit an on-call helicopter rescue service, which we have the misfortune of witnessing in action. “Hope the guy makes it,” we pray silently. From the top, we have spectacular panoramas of the ocean and the peninsula below, as well as the other formations flanking the flat-topped massif – Signal Hill, Lion’s Head and Devil’s Peak. The restaurant on the top has a wide selection of salads, steaks, burgers and drinks but as is usual for such places, the food is of indifferent quality. Almost all walks are stroller-friendly. We look out for dassies and baboons. What is stunning for us, and somewhat reminiscent of the Delhi Ridge, is that this large tract of wilderness sits plum in the middle of a bustling city and commitment to conservation seems fierce.

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We love Hermanus so much we go there two times and stay long each time. We drive down the R44, a motorway with views of the mountains plunging straight into the ocean, creating an interesting coastline. At Hermanus, the Cliff Path goes all around Walker Bay, and there are several sighting points. We are lucky – September and October are the best months for viewing whales. We are able to spot as many as fifteen large whales on day two, and the Husband manages to get some shots of lobtailing and spyhopping. We sight a few whales breaching, but the Husband is unable to get good pictures and blames it on his equipment – he claims he needs vibration reduction on his long lens (there goes more money). We have not heard of a place that offers better land-based whale-watching. Later, Sajid at the DVD rental shop across the Strand Pavillion tells us that his cousins who are visiting from the UK have discovered on Google (again!) a micro-flight that allows you to fly really low over the bay, as close as five meters above the whales. We get momentarily excited but agree later that we probably would not have gone for it, even if we had known about it in time.

Hermanus has an official Whale Crier! His job is to wander around the coast and blow his kelp horn when he spots a whale, to alert visitors. The town itself is charming, but we don’t stray from the coast. Several sentences in our conversation start with “When we are here the next time.”

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Each time we drive down to Cape Town from Strand, we see very large slums around an area sign-posted as Khayelitsha, near the airport. While slums are no novelty to an Indian, we begin to notice that these are predominantly Black settlements. I decide to look it up in my guide and I am intrigued to read about the Group Areas Act. My interest leads us to the District Six Museum on Buitenkant Street. Here is what I learn.

In 1966, the Minster of Community Development, P.W. Botha (remember Pig Botha? - the same) proclaimed that District Six, in the heart of Cape Town, would henceforth be a white area. This meant that over the next few years, tens of thousands of African and coloured families were forced to relocate to slums in Khayelitsha, so that Europeans could have exclusive use of the vacated prime real estate. An entire community was destroyed. The horror and madness of apartheid become evident in this unique District Six museum that preserves and displays relics of the uprooted community. The walls are covered with heart-wrenching personal accounts of devastation and dislocation. Photographs and articles add to the sense of history.

We know from talking to locals that apartness persists – forbidden by South Africa’s Bill of Rights, but very much alive in reality. “I can never forgive – my parents died in prison. If I took off my shirt I could show you what they did to me. If you ask me, the Afrikaner should just be given small separate state,” says a South African of Indian origin. “I can speak Afrikaans, but hate to speak it – the language of the oppressor. When ANC comes back to power next year, we will ban the teaching of Afrikaans in schools,” says an African. If such opinion is widely held, how has South Africa achieved the miracle of reconciliation among the races, without a massacre or flight of the Whites?

After having meant to for a long time, I finally buy Nelson Mandela’s autobiography. I read two more books – Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton – an exploration of race relations during the apartheid era and Country of My Skull by Antjie Krog. These books begin to answer some of my questions about this very unique and complex country.

The founders of South African democracy, in order to help the races transcend the divisions and strife of the past, decided to bring out in the open, tales of horrific human rights violations. The intention was not vengeance but understanding, not retaliation but reparation. Accordingly, it was provided that amnesty would be granted to human rights violators for violations committed in the pre-democracy era. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission was formed under the leadership of Archbishop Desmond Tutu to recognize the personal accounts of injustice as Truth, and, in doing so, to begin the process of Reconciliation between the oppressor and the oppressed. Krog’s book captures the formation and proceedings of this Commission, and explores the terrible cost of transition from apartheid to democracy – a miraculous achievement of justice without retribution, in the end.

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The Victoria and Alfred Waterfront is a great place to spend a day. To begin with there are fancy malls such as the Victoria Wharf, where shopping is a pleasure. The Clock Tower Centre too has interesting merchandise. Then there are pubs and restaurants from one quay to another, with great views of the waterfront. The Jewel of India restaurant in Victoria Wharf has a particularly good one, so much so that a movie crew has hired the balcony for a shoot. Once they are done, their cameraman willingly shoots our family with our camera at the same location – great pictures for the album.  On the waterfront, there are craft and souvenir shops and street performers. There are numerous up-market hotels that add distinction to the waterfront skyline, and multi-million dollar luxury condominiums where, we are told the super rich Michael Schumacher and Ronaldo have apartments. The Table Mountain provides a dramatic backdrop. We decide to take a ride on a motor boat into the ocean towards Robben Island, mainly for another perspective of the waterfront. The ride is enjoyable and we are able to sight seals and dolphins. Robben Island, or ‘seal island’, apart from being home to many seals and a haven of biodiversity, is also famous for its prison – Nelson Mandela was housed here for several years. Only a limited number of visitors are allowed to disembark at the island each day, and guided tours are given by former prisoners.

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If you visit www.thesoapgirls.co.za, you will read about two immensely talented teenagers who, at fourteen and sixteen, are already on their way to cutting their first album. The two girls are bubbly, chirpy and attractive and have a remarkable talent for – believe it or not – talking together. Ask them if they always talk together, and charmingly, they chirp back in unison, “Most of the time!” They live in Hout Bay, a fishing village and now a tony Cape Town suburb. They make soap at home and sell each cake for twenty rands to raise money for charity. Each sale is made amid much entertainment. As we walk down Mariner’s Wharf at Hout Bay, the pair, dressed attractively in silver and pink, accosts us, and begins to sing a jingle about itself, asking us to buy their soap. Upon quickly learning that we are from India, the girls render a remarkably in-tune and well pronounced chorus of baar baar din ye aaye, finishing with happy birthday to you, delighting the husband as it is indeed his birthday. They follow it up with kajra re and papa kehte hain. They tell us they can say a few words in Tamil, Telugu and Gujrati too and quickly rattle off the words as proof. I can tell that they are star material and that the Husband has become a fan for life.

We celebrate the Husband’s birthday with dinner at the seafood restaurant in Mariner’s Wharf, with good views of the wharf, the bay and the numerous fishing boats. The kipslinger is a fresh local catch and the Husband pronounces it “delightful,” as he does the wine. Perhaps it is the soap girls’ hangover. But my pasta and wine are very good too. The restaurant itself is themed to be a ship and the décor and menu are designed accordingly. All in all, it is a ‘delightful’ birthday.