South Africa, Eastern Cape

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While every town has its nearby township where the locals live, apparently quite happily, in the most primitive conditions, so every backpackers hostel has it township tour.

We have avoided these so far, hoping for the chance to meet local people in a natural setting rather than paying out 25 quid to be guided around their homesteads.

We got the chance in Storms River where the local shebeen, or township tavern, was only 200 metres from the hostel, whose manager was a regular.

The shebeen consisted of a rectangular brieze- block room large enough to accommodate a pool table and some distressed wooden benches and tables. There was a choice of five bottled beers all at about half the price charged in pubs in towns. Hip-hop beats thumped out of the jukebox as an old man stalked the ashtrays for incompletely smoked butts.

The pool table was resolutely winner-stays-on, which means a cheap night out for the most talented players as challengers pay. I had a couple of games in which I was easily dismissed. On my third game I won on the black and then held the table for the next 5 games through a series of flukes and audacious pots, retiring mildly euphoric and a little bit amazed at closing time. The next night a lot more locals turned out but by then my magic touch had deserted me.

Jeffreys Bay is internationally famous as the best surfing beach in South Africa. During the season the waves become enormous and create cylinders, which the top surfers race through. The season is in June/July and we were there in March so the waves were no more impressive than anywhere else.

What we didn't know was that J-Bay (as its known) also has a reputation as a top beach for shell collecting, and Linda discovered some fine examples. There is also a shell museum housing shells from around the world and telling us more than we'd ever need to know about them.


Port Elizabeth is the largest town and capital of the Eastern Cape.

This was the first town where we didn't come across many white people when mooching around and consequently it felt more like the beginning of the “real” Africa.

We hired a car for the day to go to Addo Elephant Park and did indeed have a close encounter with a rather large elephant (“quick, wind up your window” said Linda. “No”, I said, “let it sniff us if it wants to”). We saw about 80 roaming elephants altogether as well as buffalo, zebras, jackals, warthogs, ostriches, meercats and various types of antelopes. Oh, and millions of dung beetles, though strangely none of them were actually rolling dung like they are supposed to.

Whilst we were in the restaurant someone took the opportunity to reverse into the side of the hire car leaving a nasty set of scratches. Mr Alomo was less concerned than I. “That's what the insurance is for!”

We took a side trip from East London to Hogsback, a small town in the Amatola mountains. The town is overlooked by a mountain whose stony shape above the tree line looks like the spine of a hairy pig, hence the name.

The indigenous forests around the town are divided by well-established trails which all lead to various waterfalls. The waterfalls were all gushing quite nicely as there had been so much rain recently (we had about 12cm overnight while we were in East London). Vervet monkeys trooped through the tree canopy overhead and we saw some rare parrots, of which there are only 300 left in the wild.

As it is now autumn in South Africa, the nights are drawing in and it was cold enough to keep us awake so, though the area was quite magical, our stay was not long.


Buccaneers at Cinsa is a backpackers of some renown. It was easy to see why.

Rather than a single building or a collection of huts, it consists of a series of buildings spread down a hillside overlooking a river running into the sea. (One thing I never expected about South Africa is how many rivers there are. Driving along the coastal road you pass over loads of spectacular rivers edging their way towards the sea).

I had heard that the place rocks into the small hours and had consequently asked for a room away from the bar. We were given a room in a 3-bedroom bungalow with kitchen-diner, lounge and hammock. This felt like luxury, particularly while the other rooms were unoccupied, and we took the opportunity to go fully self-catering for a whole week.

One day on the beach we came across a really weird fish that had been washed up. It was round, hard, and spiny, with no obvious means of locomotion. It was still alive and stared at us balefully but we couldn't get it past the surf into the sea, and couldn't see how it could swim away if we did.

We extended our stay at Buccaneers a couple of times and were still loathe to leave after the week even though there was nothing to do except sit on the beach and go to the shop (unless you “joined in”. of course).

Traveling from Cinsa to Umtata we entered the Transkei, one of the homelands created by the Apartheid government.

Millions of blacks surplus to the requirements of the white economy were shunted into some of the more desolate areas of South Africa and told “this is your country now. Stay out of ours”.

Of course, this led to huge amounts of suffering and resentment, and considerably upped the stakes in the fight against apartheid.

Nelson Mandelas house is right next to the main road. It is bigger than average, but still modest for the “man of the century”.

The back roads through the Transkei to Coffee Bay are outstandingly beautiful.

The people live in round mud huts called rondavels, usually painted the same shade of green and roofed either with thatch or corrugated iron. Some are surrounded by a corral, or kraal, but more often animals roam freely. The rondavals are dotted throughout the landscape and it is clear to see that there are homes for far more people than could be supported by local agriculture.

The backpackers hostel in Coffee Bay had a drum making and playing theme. Each evening there was an activity.

On the first night a clutch of pubescent Xhosa maidens shimmied to the beat in their skirts and beads.

The next night was a full moon and there was a traditional dance to celebrate it. The dancers appeared to work themselves into a trance state as they wailed and shuffled to the drums. They were clearly oblivious to their audience as they conducted the entire performance with their backs to the assembled crowd. This was not to their advantage when the collection plate went around.

On the third night there were free drum lessons where about 13 of us pummeled the skins until our hands hurt.

During the day we did a strenuous hike along the coastline to a geological feature called Hole-in-the-wall and made friends with an Australian business magnate (you meet all sorts when traveling) and got the all-important invitation.

At Port St. Johns we stayed at two different backpackers hostels.

The first was set over a quality beach and we joined in with hikes to a forest waterfall and to another distant beach where we had a braai (barbeque) and played Frisbee.

I was learning the drums from the in-house all round cool guy but Linda thought the room a bit grim and there were no shops nearby, so we then moved closer to the town.

Port St Johns is an interesting and friendly town, set at the end of a ravine. To get to the beach you have to pay a man to row you across the wide brown river that borders the town on two sides. It's one of those places where the days just slip by.

The only public access internet is across the corridor from our room, but at £6 per hour it's not busy. I have negotiated a discount due to the time I spend online, but it still adds up.

Yesterday the town hosted a jazz festival, headlined by Hugh Masekela. It made me realise how long he has been around as most of his songs were clearly influenced by the struggle against apartheid which ended just over 10 years ago.

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Photos

Addo Elephant Park
Rare wild dog