Cape Town and Table Mountain

After a quiet few days in Stellenbosch I decided to do the tourist thing in Cape Town.

I’ve been given a car to use for my time in the Western Cape, a godsend. While I could be in the heart of the city at a backpackers, staying in sleepy Stellenbosch has been good for the soul. I've been living in the chaos of my aunt and her family, which has been a joy, even with the 7am wake-up calls by my ten-year old cousin.

But enough, to the city! I take the N2, purely because my innate sense of direction led me to the wrong turn-off. It still goes to the CBD, but it passes the township of Khayelitsha. It's the first slum I've seen in Cape Town, and it strikes me that nothing appears to have changed since I last saw it ten years prior. Sheets of ruthlessly attached corrugated iron still form the bulk of the dwellings in this dusty area. Tall pylons have been erected with floodlights atop to illuminate the township by night. As a white person I know I'm not welcome, so while curiosity wants to drag me through its streets, self-preservation keeps me at arm’s length.

The tourist office offers 'township tours', where I can experience the real township culture. It seems repellent, to reduce a poverty-stricken area into a tourist destination. "Now look at these people, hut dwellers -- the real thing, but keep your distance, half of them probably have Aids! Now to your left you'll see glorious Table Mountain...." It sounds callous, I know. There might even be more to the story, but doesn't anybody else feel, well, like it’s a little repugnant?

Hypocritically, I'm seized with the need to take a photo, so with one hand on the steering wheel I fish my camera from my bag. With my eyes glancing in front for the traffic, and to the left at the township, I wait for a gap in the median barrier, to freeze the moment in pixels. Only later I discover I managed to snap a crisp photo of my passenger door.

Off then through the maze of streets to the waterfront, then off through the maze of shops to the Robben Island ferry. I've been told a visit to the facility is a must for any visitor. It was declared a world heritage site in 1999, and ex-convicts now operate the tour, explaining their experience of apartheid and prison life. The boat leaves on the hour, but due to its popularity the waiting list is several days. I scrape a booking for the following week and leave a tad dejected.

So I negotiate the insane Cape Town traffic and park in the CBD. By some miracle I park in a building containing a travel doctor. In my wisdom, three days before I left New Zealand, it occurred to me to check into the doctor for shots. She almost had a fit when I told her I was intending to visit Zambia, screaming something about yellow fever and excruciating death. The nurse she sent me to filled both my arms with enough drugs to kill a herd of buffalo and in this stupor, I was sat down for a full hour to explain the many, many ways in which I will die in Africa. I promised to buy the shopping list of medications she gave me. To be fair, I got malaria tablets and something antiseptic to wash my hands with. As I die of Ruptured Brain Fever or something equally unpleasant-sounding, I'll be sure to tell her I was sorry.

The travel doctor in Cape Town laughed at me when I asked her about yellow fever. Maybe they're made of different stuff here. To contradict my death-obsessed doctor in Wellington, this one assured me that malaria was the highest risk I'd be facing. It was a little too easy, so I promised myself a second opinion later.

There's a castle somewhere in the city. It's called the 'Castle of Good Hope'. Quite why, I don't really understand. To me the concept of a castle means fearing for safety, if-shit-hits-fan-I'll-be-in-here. It's large enough so that even someone like me can find it, so with this intellectual motivation I decide to pay it a visit.

Of course, my bumbling predictability takes me the indirect route, and I end up walking the streets and end up inside the railway station. I've been told this is a popular area for muggings, so I hold my bag tight and although I'm a few skin tones paler than any person inside, I make look like I belong. Crime in South Africa is massive, and has very little indication of reducing. 2003/4 stats reveal that 2,800 murders and 6,300 rapes occurred that year. Half a million South Africans are the victim of crime each year. Aside from the 36,000 assaults with intent to commit harm, and 52,000 'regular' assaults, the most alarming statistic for me was the one with the vague description "all theft not mentioned elsewhere." Since 1994, it has risen from 58,000 to 121,000 incidents, a staggering amount by any standard. The only two crimes that show any decrease are theft from work premises, and theft from cars. I've been told this is due to ADT, a security company so proficient that they've been employed to look after the police.

In the station I stumble upon the Greyhound bus company and spend a little time looking at options for travelling north. It's all pretty cheap (less than NZ$100 to travel from Cape Town to Johannesburg). I've been looking for the bloody castle for over an hour now, so while I'm chatting to the booking agent, I swallow my pride and ask for directions.

Eventually I make it, and find that it's worth the visit. Built in the late 17^th century using Dutch design, it has five star-shaped ramparts, with a generous courtyard and manor in the centre. Everything is painted in a dull yellow, I was informed, because it doesn't retain heat and reduces the glare from the sun. After walking round the ramparts and through the cobblestone path between buildings, I take a seat at the cafe to rest my legs.

An elderly lady strikes up conversation with me. It turns out she's from Zimbabwe and is spending a little in the Cape, away from the insanity of Harare. She tells me that it's now a bombshell of a place. Most of the shops have empty shelves. Power doesn't work for days at a time, and those who require it now use generators. I ask about petrol, having heard that the World Bank won't help Zimbabwe with buying gas. It's in short supply, but she tells me a thriving black market exists in the country which fills enough engines to make vital services run. Most of the country hates Mugabe, but are too passive to stage a coup. She speaks fondly of the Shona, the largest tribe in the area, "a gentle people," she tells me, and wishes that they could group together knock Mugabe out of power. Apparently his party is in the minority, but like many similar situations, he still manages to dictate a nation into ruin. You can't help but feel for the people in this country. It is one of the poorest nations in the world now, having suffered for almost three decades under Mugabe's rule.

Leaving the castle, and becoming predictably lost, I find my way inside the Slave Lodge Museum. It's almost closing time, but the receptionist lets me in anyway. As the name suggests, the building used to be the slave house of Cape Town, so it's with no lack of irony that it is now an exhibit to showcase the plight of slaves in the Cape. I've spent most of my years in University learning about textual analysis, so while I pass through the exhibits with empathy, I can't but help feel as though I'm being given a politicised version of events. I'm not justifying centuries of abuse, but I feel like I was only told a part of a story.

Nevertheless, I leave the museum enlightened, but tired. I make my way to the Cape Sun lobby, and relax for an hour with a beer before renegotiating the traffic back to Stellenbosch and a good night's rest.

The next day I do little, choosing to rest myself for my Table Mountain experience. The following day, however, I'm up bright and early and travel back to Cape Town to climb Table Mountain. I take the popular Platteklip Gorge route (a two hour ascent, guaranteed sore legs), then spend the day walking on top of the mountain gazing at the views below. Words don't do justice to the mountain, so photos can be found on my flickr site.

I have one more week of the Western Cape, and plenty to do in that time. Then I head north to Pietersburg, Pretoria, and finally to the climax of my trip, Harare.