too many goodbyes

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hello hello hello!



Well I’m in love, Head over heels.

If it caught my eye in Jo’Burg, revealed its beauty in the Drakensberg and Transkei, showed its wild side in Coffee bay, its sophistication in PE, its lust on the garden route, its stunning fusion of cultures at every stage and all of the above in cape town -South Africa has stolen my heart and danced my soul all the way to the stars, in a mere 3 months.

I’d joyously relive every kilometre of bumpy road and every night of fractured sleep in a tent that transformed from a sauna to an igloo in an instant a million times over if I knew CT was at the end of the road. From the first time I saw the city lights from way up in the mountains of the wine region, like diamonds strewn across black silk, CT has had be biting my bottom lip to hide my childish glee ever since.

I guess I should pick up where I left off and bring you guys up to speed with the goings on of a lost boy in his new favourite city.
We were in Muiezenberg, across the peninsula from CT, I’d headed out to surf CT’s most famous waves. The surf was great, The hostel however was run by a born again Christian, which wouldn’t be a problem at all if she didn’t insist on thanking god for every single thing that happened ever. Funnily enough though, when the wind pulled my surf board out of my arms, crashing it into the bakkie and putting a great big ding in the nose, she didn’t blame Jesus for that one, she blamed me. Forgiveness cost me 100 bucks! Ha!
Relentless nods to Jesus aside, the hostel was nice enough and I was offered a job too! Free accommodation and a cash wage to look after the place 5 days a week. I’d have snapped her hand off if I hadn’t booked the bus into Namibia.
Back in Cape Town, the next couple of days were overcast by Rebecca’s looming departure, an unmentioned inevitability that we’d avoided confronting until booking the taxi. The only adventure of any significance was back up table mountain, with a recently repaired camera and Rebecca. We stayed until the sun fell from the sky, almost a symbolic gesture of its setting on Rebecca’s trip.

Can you imagine how bad it would look if I said ‘I dropped Rebecca at the airport then went out to a bikini show in a club...?’
That’s exactly what I did!
I got back to the hostel about ten, I’d said I’d meet an American couple I’d gotten to know but they were nowhere to be found. I found a spot in the lounge and watched Cameron Diaz embarrass herself and destroy any reputation she ever had in the god awful ‘the sweetest thing.’ A guy from York was in the lounge too and we struck up conversation between laughs and cringes. When a guy announced it was his last night in CT and he was going to a bikini show to party we made our excuses and stayed put. When a couple of Finnish girls did the same, we again stayed put. When we got our third invite just after midnight, we reluctantly agreed and headed out to Chrome Nightclub, for a bikini show.
Inside, we became a group of about 12 travellers who were all staying in the same hostel. We partied until the club closed at four, found ourselves sharing a sheisha in the back court yard of a tiny bar until six and then sat up on the balcony until the sun peeked over the skyline and forced our tired eyes closed sometime after seven. It was an amazing night, I’d met some awesome people and somehow acquired an Italian accent and a habbit of expressing my happiness by touching my fingertips to my lips and both blowing and throwing a kiss, I blame the Finnish, and the beer. Ha!

Sat in the lounge the next morning after not nearly enough sleep my phone rang. Though I wouldn’t learn her name for an embarrassingly long time after this call, this was the first time I’d speak to Saskia.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey is this Pete?’
‘Yeah...’
‘I saw your poster for the Vortex festival ‘

I’d made a poster in an effort to find a lift to the Easter Weekend Trance Party, it read ‘ANYONE HEADING TO VORTEX WITH ROOM IN THE CAR FOR A FRIENDLY ENGLISH GUY? CALL PETE! THANKS!’

‘Oh, Hey! Great! ’
Saskia laughed at my excitement, obviously easily detectable down the phone. She explained that she couldn’t offer a lift but was looking for one too. I pretty much liked her from then onwards - the way she’d teased me over my excitement made me laugh. We agreed to team up to double our chances of finding a lift.

It turned out that I’d seen, but not met her before. She’d been passed out on the lounge sofa’s one morning, having pushed two of them together to make a fort. She knew how to party and she knew how to make a fort. Ideal! Her big brown eyes seemed to establish an instant honesty between us and her colourful dress sense and collection of what would later become known as ‘MC Hammer pants’ seemed to project a contagious happiness. As I’d get to know her a little over the next week, she would fascinate me with her belief in energies, astromony, healings and spirituality. To find such a friend having just found myself alone for the first time was great. Having Rebecca travelling has provided a kind of social comfort zone, that I’d suddenly found myself without. Being the quiet type, it could have been a daunting task to find my feet again. Instead, I’d landed feet first as soon as I’d gotten out of the taxi.

It was Friday morning, though the party didn’t officially start until Saturday night we decided it would be best if we could get there that night and start the party early. We set off in search of a ride, no one else had called from the poster in the couple of days it had been up in 3 hostels. I’d not foreseen a problem finding a lift, CT had a reputation for amazing trance parties, I assumed I’d find lots of people going. That, however, was not the case. With the help of some guys in a clothes store, the reception crew at Carnival Court backpackers, the social networking marvel that is Facebook and a whole heap of phonecalls, we managed to find a shuttle that would leave early Saturday, so spent the night in the bar at Carnival Court listening to some live Jazz. I spent most of the night chatting with a Columbian guy here on business. His business was Cocaine, it turned out, but he was great company and seemed to be having the night off work, thankfully.
Saturday rolled around and we found the shuttle. We’d agreed to meet at 10am, TIA and all that... it was nearer eleven. This country is great for that! On the Shuttle we met Thomas - a trance loving stoner way into his forties - the curtain of thin hair hanging from the bottom of his skull, just clinging on from ear to ear an indicator of his refusal to age gracefully. There was Robert, a man who would later disappear from the face of the earth whilst ‘nipping to the loo’ and falcor (or valcor) a dreadlocked party guy who we would lose in the crowd of 7000.
Myself, Saskia, Robert and Thomas set up camp together. The music started at 5pm on Saturday and didn’t relent for a single second until 5pm Monday. Or at least that was the plan. It did go a little pear shaped. Saturday was amazing, we partied until 8am before we somehow managed to find our tents and get a little sleep before the sun made it over the mountains.
The festival took place on a beautiful farm about 85km north of CT, on a farm deep in the wine lands. The site was nestled inside a horseshoe of mountains and there was a huge freshwater dam a ten minute walk away. It was stunning.
That Dam provided some much needed respite on Sunday morning. The beats never stopped though. We floated in the Dam for a couple of hours, hoping osmosis would rehydrated our horrifically abused bodies.
Sunday night started much like Saturday, partying with the most amazing group of people. Trance parties attract the best crowd, everyone has the same mindset, the same vibe flows through everyone. Everyone you meet becomes a friend, every time you catch an eye on the dance floor you are met with at least a smile, often a hug, always a shared sense of being at the best place in the world - at the greatest moment of all time.

It was nearly six when my exhausted, undernourished and very inebriated body gave up the will to party and headed to bed. On the way a guy ran past me with a fire extinguisher in each hand, I looked through him to his destination and spied a whisper of smoke rising from a orange glow in the distance. In that moment I’d associated that guy with dealing with that small fire. I carried on in the same direction - I needed my tent. Just before I ducked into my tent I looked up far enough from my feet to acknowledge the fire once more, it had grown. I’d maybe been walking for 2 minutes, the fire was now pretty substantial. I was bizarrely nonchalant about it, I was so so so tired all i wanted was my bed. The guys camping opposite were still sat outside their tents when I passed them.
‘did you guys check the fire?’ I asked, merely making small talk as I staggered by.
‘What fire?’
I pointed at the orange glow that now lit the sky for 200 metres, 3 minutes ago it had looked like a fire in a bin. The guys disappeared to check it out, I continued to my bed, still convinced the fire was not a problem that would concern me.

Not a minute later the guys returned, screaming and yelling, they were freaking out and it woke Robert, Thomas and Saskia. They too began to worry. Our neighbours had freaked, abandoned their things - tents possessions and patio furniture and fled. My camping buddies dragged me up, we found the time to throw our possessions in our bags but left our tents and ran. When we emerged from the little cul-de-sac we inhabited we saw the magnitude of the fire and about 5000 people going wild. There was one road out of the farm and everyone with a car was aiming for it, causing a horrific bottleneck jam that not only trapped everyone in, but kept the fire brigade out too. We were in the slightly unnerving situation of not having a car in which to flee. The fire was growing at a ridiculous rate, it was on its way to cross the only road out of the farm too. For some reason, I still was not phased at all, just exhausted. Standing watching the destruction as the car ripped its way through cars and woodland was mesmerising. We felt powerless to help, though it was the organisation and instinctiveness of the crowd that did suppress the flames and prevent a bigger disaster.
We headed back to the dance floor. Unbelievably, the music was still playing and there were still a few unaware people dancing. That’s the last thing I remember. I pulled my sleeping bag out of my bag, crawled in and passed out on the dancefloor for an hour. The sun woke me, the fire had gone, the music had stopped, the crowds had fled.
My first thought was that it was Saskias’ birthday. I sat up to wish her a happy birthday and survey the destruction the fire had caused. The smoke was still rising from the wrecks of cars and black tree stumps with no branches interrupted the orange skyline. I fell back asleep.
When I did manage to find my feet on Monday the party was over. Thomas and Rob were keen to call the shuttle and get away, there were still a couple of hundred people left and some had parked their cars on the dance floor and were dancing to their own music systems. We stayed, the atmosphere was still great. No one had been hurt in the fire, people sat on the dancefloor in huge groups talking about how it may have started. Somehow, it all got blamed on a butternut - a story fabricated by a South African guy that would keep us laughing for days. I’m laughing as I type this!
We made it until midday before the shuttle was called. Saskia and Myself toyed with the idea of staying and worrying about a lift later, but eventually took the easy option and hopped in for the ride.

We decided to keep the party going in CT, we lost Thomas but Robert seemed keen to come along. We got him all the way to the hostel before he went to the loo and never came back! He vanished into thin air, leaving his possessions and without a hint of a goodbye! Ha!
That left just two of us to head out to Raffiki’s Bar. After 2 days with only smoothies for nourishment, everything on the menu looked amazing, we over-ordered and couldn’t eat nearly all of it. Was still Saskia’s birthday so I got the bill and we finally gave in to exhaustion and headed to bed.

Tuesday arrived all too soon, we bummed around long street for a while before deciding we were in need of something healthy and heading in search of a salad. Somehow we ended up eating Ostrich and Warthog.
I’d Planned a roadtrip, though I found myself procrastinating until late in the afternoon. Blue mountain, the hostel I was living in had become so homely. I’d gotten to know the staff, the long stay guests and I was content letting the day pass in the good company I found myself in. Eventually, at nearly four, I went in search of a car. By five, after a little dispute over my age (I may be 22 but there is no way I was paying the young drivers fee,) I was handed the keys to a little Opel Corsa. Not a minute later I was talking my way out of a parking ticket.
I’d pulled out of the garage and parked on the side of the road. I’d maybe driven 12 metres. What I didn’t know until then was that in SA it’s illegal to park on the right side of the road. i.e. you park on the side of the road that you drive on. I’d just pulled across the road into the only free parking space, right in front of a parking warden. Poo. I did eventually manage to talk my way out of it by pleading a humble stupidity.
I threw my things in the boot, said my goodbyes and set off into the sunset. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was heading. There had been a little nagging from my id since i’d planned the roadtrip... Jefferys bay... Jefferys bay... It was 900km of the N2 away. My superego couldn’t think of a worse idea. I hit the N2, George had been the original plan, so I was going the right way for either.

George flew by about 10pm. My id had won, which is probably a rare event. J’Bay Baby! I’m not one for not achieving the goals I reach in my head so I guess I always knew I’d cruise through George without hesitating.
I arrived in J’Bay about 1am, too late to find a bed. I parked in front of kitchen windows, rolled the seat back and settled in for the night.

Up at sunrise, I managed to sneak into a backpackers to grab a shower, then I went surf board shopping! I checked all the stores before I finally settled on a 6’1 Rebel pro board. It was shorter and lighter than anything I have ever ridden before. I checked the waves, Kitchen window was flat and Supertubes were huge. I tucked the board into the passenger seat from which it would keep me company for the next few days, taking priority over any hitchhikers - all of whom were relegated to the back seat.

The plan was to drive to Addo national Park, which lay about 200km beyond PE. The plan wasn’t to buy a surfboard, but I talked myself into it pretty easily.

Addo was beautiful, a self drive safari is completely different to being driven around by a guide. I managed to spot all sorts of animals, including a zebra that put his head right inside my passenger window, hundreds of little bush pigs, a whole pack of mongoose crossing the road, ostrich, all the usual boks and buks, the elephants that the park is famed for and finally, just before I headed for the exit gates, wild dog sipping from a watering hole. They are so endangered and I was stoked to see them, I’d seen them in captivity in East London, but a sighting in the wild was such a blessing.
I hit the N2 again, southbound this time and drove through the stunning Knysna and Wilderness before arriving in George about 10pm in search of a bed. There was only one backpackers and all the lights were off. I rang the bell just as the owner was heading to bed, the dorms were full but he offered me the sofa for the night, which I gladly accepted. After a night bent around the inside of a Corsa a sofa seemed like luxury. It was, however, the windows didn’t close and every inch of skin that I left uncovered by duvet was attacked by mosquitoes. I woke up looking a little like a Jackson Pollock, having scratched the itchy bites during my sleep.
I spent the morning driving through the beautiful Outeniqua mountains, from George to Oudtshoorn - A word I cannot pronounce at all. There had been two passes to choose from as I left George, the tar road or the Montagu pass, a dusty, windy and slightly scary looking road that snaked over the mountain. I, of course, chose the scary looking one and loved every second of throwing a rental around the tight bends that hung from the edge of the magnificent mountains. The greatest danger was being so in awe of the beauty of the surroundings that it was difficult to keep an eye on the road.
I was en route to the Cango caves, a huge network of caves that were millions of years old.
I arrived just as an adventure tour of the caves was about to start, a more gruelling variant of the standard tour of the first few rooms. I accepted without really acknowledging, pleased at my coincidentally good timing. It wasn’t until the cashier had handed me my ticket I thought to enquire what exactly an ‘adventure’ tour offered. ‘Ah...’ the cashier said through a wide grin ‘...you’ll see soon enough.’
The caves were amazing, millions and millions of years of stalagmites and stalactites forming fascinating shapes and shadows on every inch of the walls and celings. As we got deeper the corridors became thinner, steeper and wetter, eventually delivering us to the ‘adventure’ part of the tour - 4 unimaginably small passages. There’s a great story the locals love to tell about an American getting stuck in one of these holes. The guides had warned her as politely as possible that she wouldn’t fit through the gaps, to which she took offence and after a huge rant, pushed her way to the front of the crowd and promptly wedged herself in the hole. She was stuck for hours! Ha! After crawling around in spaces there wasn’t room to inhale, wiggling like a salmon swimming upstream, we all managed to sneak ourselves through the most impossible of spaces and back into the blinding sunlight of midday. I headed out to a waterfall I’d seen the signs for on the way and had a swim in the clear water. The drive back took me into late afternoon. The plan was to head all the way to Cape Aghulas, the southernmost tip of Africa, but as with most plans, it worked out a little differently. I ended up finding a an absolute gem of a surfing bay, Victoria bay, so I sat on the beach and watched the head high right hand barrels peel across the water. It was a little late to find a wetsuit so I decided to spend the night nearby and was up early to the next morning to christen my new board.
The swell was huge! I was terrified paddling out, underfoot was rocky and the waves aimed straight at a collection of boulders that shattered their path in a whirl of white water. I struggled with the short board, clearly deluded by my own sense of ability. I tried and tried, failing and failing over and over. The board was so light and twitchy as it accelerated down the face of the waves. I never managed to stand on it. It’s made the board almost like a trophy now, a prize to aspire to, but with a lot of practice before I get there!
From the waves I jumped back into the car, and back onto the N2, southbound, toying with the idea of visiting Cape Aghulas or skipping it in search of some more manageable waves. When I saw the turnoff I took it without hesitating, I remember Ewan and Charlie visiting the southernmost tip of Africa on Long Way Down. If it’s worth Ewan McGregor and Charley Boreman paying a visit, I figured I should fit it in.
The road was the first on which I had gotten lost, in a town which had no signposts at all and a dizzying network of robots, stop signs and roundabouts. I found myself going out the way I had come in but not at all conscious of such a dramatic change in direction. Pointed in the right direction by the locals, I eventually found the very bottom of Africa, the meeting place of the Atlantic and Indian Ocean. It was, honestly, underwhelming - to say the least! A lump of concrete with opposing arrows identifying the two oceans was all there was to see. The only satisfaction came from the solitude I found myself in, for those few minutes I was further south than anyone else in Africa, a small prize for a bloody long drive.
I turned my back to the oceans and sat for a little moment of contemplation, this would be the furthest south I would be, everything from here (apart from a huge trek south in Mozambique) would be heading north, slowly working my way through the thousands of kilometres towards home. Though I’m only just beginning this journey, I’ve reached the point at which I am furthest from home, and turned around - in a bizarre sense - homeward bound.

The thought of the English weather put me back in the Car, headed along the southern coastline to Cape Point, through Simons Town - stopping to see the Penguins that inhabit the shores there. They were brilliant, I’ve never seen penguins in anywhere other than a zoo, where they never look all that happy. These penguins were fascinating creatures, full of little personalities and cute as a button. Tamed by the stream of tourists, the penguins didn’t seem fazed at all as I sat on the rock beside them to take a few pictures. I’d love a pet penguin.

It was late Friday evening, the car was due back in CT before one on Saturday afternoon. I didn’t fancy another night of the gypsy life I’d acquired so I headed back into the city. After heading up the road to the bottom of Table Mountain to take in the lights of the city I’ve grown so fond of, I parked up outside the hire place and headed back to the backpackers. After 2500km in 3 days, I didn’t want to drive it another inch.
Coming back to Blue Mountain was like coming home, I was greeted with warm hugs and instantly invited across the road to Carnival Court, my other hostel/home. I was shattered but I didn’t take much persuading. Carnival Court was going off!! I’ve been plenty of times and never seen it like it was that night. A rag band were playing in the corner, every inch of the floor was packed with people, the bar staff were stood on the bar - one hand wildly swinging the coloured light bulbs that hung from the celing, the other pouring shooters straight from the bottle into the mouths of anyone who looked up. The atmosphere was amazing, what a welcome home!
The party spilled into the street and onto the next bar when we were kicked out of Carnival Court, then into the lounge of Blue Mountain, it was light when we made it up to bed.

Saturday came around far too quickly, I woke to my last day in CT with a pretty think head. I’d bought a second hand guitar in George for 200 bucks (such a bargain!) and spent the afternoon playing with that before Saskia and I headed out for breakfast. We’d seen a place pretty near to us that served English breakfasts - baked beans and pork sausages included - we were pretty excited! It was already 3 in the afternoon and we were in a bar so we ordered a beer with our breakfast. Not every day that happens! (which is definitely a good thing.)

We spent the night much as we had the one before, some people we had met at the Vortex party had invited us to a trance party. Robert, the guy who had dissapered, reappeared on the balcony where we’d last seen him and he partied with us too. We stayed there until the music stopped then back to Blue Mountain after finding food and saying goodbyes to the beggars and drug dealers on the street that have such familiar faces they are almost friends. When I arrived here I’d make my excuses and walk past these people with my head down and one hand on my wallet, but over the last few weeks I’ve developed a fondness for them. There is 5 or 6 children who I’ve seen every day as I walk Long St. They always greet me with a smile, a hug or a handshake and keep me company as I go about doing my thing. Sometimes I’ll give them money or take them for lunch, other times we just keep each talking until we’ve got to where I’m going. I’m on first name terms with all of them, I love walking into the street and hearing my name. It’s one of the millions of things I love about this city.
It’s Sunday morning right now, I’m hurrying through this to get it up before I leave, I apologise for the lack of any pictures, I don’t have the time right now!
I’m so excited for Namibia, but there’s a pretty big bit of me that is gutted to be leaving CT. I can’t wait to be back.

Lots of love to you guys
I have no idea when I’ll find the internet again, but I’ll be in touch when I do.

xxxxx

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Photos

finding nemo
bubbles bubbles bubbles....