The Case of the missing shoes...

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An early start as we had to catch the boat to Robben Island (Prison where Nelson Mandela - amongst others - were kept for over 18 years). The weather matched the mood of the prison - dreary, grey, windy and there was even rain. Not the sort of day one might choose to board a small boat and ride the waves for 30 minutes. We boarded the boat clutching onto the camera bag, the rucksack that has become the third passenger along our voyage and a small bag with spare shoes for me (as Mark insisted I will need my 'crappy' shoes as Robben Island will be muddy - it wasnt'😉.



The first few minutes on the boat were rather pleasant - we watched some fishermen at the dock flinging their latest catch from one to the other in a long line until their lifeless prize is nestled in a crate on the pier (I couldn't hear if they were singing a sea chanty as they were doing so but in my head they were...), a short safty video played on the screens in front of us as the crew walked around chuckling (clearly aware that if we were to get in trouble we would have no chance of making it back alive!) and excitment and anticipation filled the air. The waves were determined to show our humble boat who was in charge out at sea, throwing us into the air before crashing back down to a chrous of nervous 'ahhhs' from the crowed (I gues fear sounds the same in every language).



Soon Mark and I both stopped talking as the turmoil at sea was re-enacted in our stomache's and we spent the rest of the journey clutching desperetly onto our breakfasts wishing we hadn't bothered eating at all... Mark seemed to get used to the turbulence but as I turned a shade of pale green all I wanted was to get off the boat. By the time we reached dry land I was no longer enjoying being alive.



We boarded the bus and proceeded on a 40 minutes drive around the island with a commentry about each part. Words flew past such as 'he was locked here for 6 years and not allowed to talk to anyone', ' leper coloney', 'church' and 'ex guards still living on the island'. But the rest is a blur. I just wanted to be on firm ground. Our tour guide called ahead and asked the clinic to have some anti-sickness drugs ready for me at the 'main prison' as I was refusing to go back on the boat. After a tour and a talk from one of the ex prisoners we returned to the boat. Despite the medication I spend the next half hour vowing never to cross a sea again.



It was only when we got back to dry land that my mind started to clear and I realised I was no longer in posession of the shoes. They were still on the bus on Robben Island. Far be it from me to blame Mark for not taking responsibility while I was unwell...



I would have concluded today's blog here but I know you are all quite worried about what became of the shoes... thankfully they were traced on the bus and arrived back in Cape Town on the next boat.



It's a shame I felt quite so sick as I didn't enjoy our meal at Constantia Uitsig - a beautiful wine estate to the South of Cape Town, but by evening when we went for a Kosher Meal at Avron's place (check out the picture of Mark tucking into a mixed gril) I was feeling a little better and able to enjoy some nice food.



Slaap Lekker

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