The Not So Secret Garden

East of Cape Town, the stretch of coastline between Mossel Bay and Port Elizabeth is seen by some as a backpacker's paradise. A combination of hikeable parks, surfer-happy beaches and an efficient network of quality hostels make South Africa's 200k Garden Route a hotspot for beach bums, adrenaline junkies and nature lovers alike. This is where the bungee jumping, whitewater tubing and wave-riding top the to-do lists – though you certainly won't get funny looks for opting to spend the day on the patio, beer in hand. The cherry on top may well be the popular BazBus service – a daily hop-on/hop-off shuttle (with an unlimited time-frame as long as you're moving in one direction) that makes transportation a bit of a non-issue. Naturally, we moved west to east and hit some popular spots as well as some a little off the beaten path.

Our first destination was Knysna (NIZE-nuh), which is situated at the far-end of a sprawling lagoon, flanked at its entrance by two stone outcroppings known as 'the Heads'. Believing they were only accessible by car or pricey paddlewheeler, we didn't arrange to see them, but a wander to the touristy waterfront area turned into a lengthy trek and we did manage to reach this dramatic rocky gateway on foot.

The lagoon itself is pretty, though overdevelopment tarnishes the landscape some. The summer homes that crowd the shore (and the likely-mistitled Leisure Island) are also a threat to the Knysna seahorse, who makes its home in the lagoon's sea grassy shallows. There were two live specimens on display at a deli in the waterfront area, much to Alanna's delight. They are bizarre and fascinating creatures.

On the stroll home we detoured into the town's industrial district to pay a visit to Mitchell's Brewery, South Africa's largest (and possibly sole) independent brewer, hoping for a tour. It proved a little pricey – especially since we'd splurged for a scenic lunch at The Heads an hour earlier – so Scott bought a few bottles instead and settled for a poolside tasting. A couple of the beers held shades of homebrew, but it was a refreshing change from the status quo.

From Knysna, we headed to Nature's Valley, which, judging by the view from our room, is an accurate (though bland) name for the area.

While this isn't where the granola bars come from, Wild Spirit Lodge certainly did cater to the granola-eating, djembe-tapping crowd. Fresh off the hostel party circuit, the serenity and old-world hospitality were a welcome change, as were the comprehensive recycling and composting facilities.

The main draw of the area is its well-maintained network of trails through the indigenous forests of Tsitsikamma National Park. Our longest hike led us along a river and across a beach to a(nother) lagoon -- sandy, crystal-clear and full of splashing local children.

After a quick swim, we resumed our hike, forging onwards along a dried-up riverbed in a steep jungle valley. Alanna put on a brave face clearing spiderwebs, while Scott sang the Indiana Jones theme. The trail out of the valley was a grueling stepped climb under the hot mid-afternoon sun, with spectacular views we were too winded to fully appreciate.

While many hostels offer a nightly home-cooked meal for guests (at varying costs) we usually prefer to self-cater. At Wild Spirit, however, we opted to join in for their wholesome and generously portioned vegetarian curry dinner, which did not disappoint. It also gave us the opportunity to chat with some of the other guests – both locals and foreigners – discussions which, wherever we go, inevitably turn to crime, safety, and the realities of South African life. We would assume that most locals would have grown weary of such topics by now, however, the few we've spoken to have been more than willing to provide an insider's perspective on the issue. At Wild Spirit, we talked to a Capetonian currently working as a civilian pilot in Afghanistan, who had a unique perspective on the dangers of working in the Middle East (one stray bullet through his fuselage in 10 months) versus those of living in his home country (where his family, friends and co-workers fell victim to numerous break-ins and assaults over the same period).

After three great nights at Wild Spirit we hopped back on the BazBus (but not before receiving hugs from staff!) and rode to Storm's River, a mere twenty minutes along the highway. Most people we met on the Garden Route had given themselves six or seven days from end to end, whereas we had two weeks and could afford such dilly-dallying. On the way our driver slowed as we passed over the Bloukrans River bridge, site of the bungee jump, so we could have a look at the drop – all 216 meters of it - advertised as the highest in the world. There was much nervous giddying among those who'd signed up for the jump.

Storm's River Village, a single fresh-paved road with a few scattered stores at the end, seems to exist mainly for the sake of tourists and the many 'extreme' outdoor activities they're willing to pay money for. Bungees, bikes, quads, innertubes, abseiling (rapelling), and zip-lines through treetops and across waterfalls were the attractions advertised on the walls and flyer-stands at our hostel. These were all well outside our daily budget, so we again did what we're best at – we hiked to a body of water via a forest. Still within the bounds of Tsitsikamma NP, we touched down at the mouth of Storm's River, where waves against raw rock sent juts of froth hundreds of feet into the air.

Our second day we hiked into Plaatbos Nature Reserve and swam in the river. We'd seen posters advertising blackwater tubing, and now we knew the reason – because of tannins in the earth, the river was tinted a deep red-brown, and when swimming you couldn't see your feet.

While we enjoyed the natural beauty and the ease of travel along the Garden Route, at times the jewel of South Africa seemed a little too shiny, pre-packaged and tourist-geared. While a few areas we visited appeared unspoilt by tourism, many locations seemed to have been tarnished by overdevelopment and commercialization. The upside to this influx in tourists is that many locals are able to earn their livelihood on our dollar – hawking local crafts, acting as guides and providing other valuable services. However if it's fantastic scenery and culture you're after, leave the Garden Route to the surfers and skydivers and find your own piece of paradise further east along the Wild Coast – which is where we headed next.

Whites and Wines

Most of what I saw in Cape Town fell into two categories: that which seemed genuinely 'African' and that which did not. Riding the southern suburbs train while a woman preached gospel and blind children begged for spare change? African. Being served souped-up veggie burgers on Long Street by a troupe of trendy white waitresses? Not. In the end, I found more things fell into the 'not' category than the African one. Waterfront mansions, French cuisine, Lady Gaga blaring from everyone's speakers – I left Cape Town wondering if I was even in Africa at all.

And then we arrived in Stellenbosch, and everything we found un-African about Cape Town suddenly seemed to epitomize Africa in comparison.

To sum up Stellenbosch in three words: everyone is white. To sum it up differently, this was where apartheid (pronounced apart-hate, not apart-hide) was conceived and it shows.

The second of the European settlements in South Africa (following Cape Town), Stellenbosch's streetscape is lined with three-century old oak trees and white-washed Cape Dutch architecture, giving the town a distinctly European feel. Add to that the fact that nearly everyone is jabbering in a hybrid of German, Dutch, French and English (Afrikaans is the only European language to ever evolve outside of Europe) and you're left feeling like April 1994 never even happened. As a fellow-hosteler commented, "It's the white man's dream of Africa.” In fact, the only blacks we saw during our stay were in coveralls, digging a ditch on the outskirts of town.

A rather boring picture of U-Stell

This was perhaps exaggerated by the fact that our hostel sat on the University of Stellenbosch campus -- allegedly Afrikanerdom's most prestigious educational institution -- and that our visit coincided with something along the lines of Frosh week. From our assessment, no one in the town is over the age of twenty-four. All the girls are thin and tan and wear exposed neon bras. All the boys are jocks who wear trucker hats and seemingly have an aversion to footwear. And they all drive shiny Volkswagens and drink copious amounts of Castle beer – often simultaneously. It's a pretty town overrun with fresh-from-the-nest youth, where you can hardly hear yourself think over the beat of the electronica emanating from 'Academia', U-Stell's student housing complex.

Despite the Orange County/Euro-rave vibe, it was easy to have a quiet, relaxed and thoroughly enjoyable stay in Stellenbosch. After all, it is the heart of the Winelands, making it easy to escape to the serenity of one of the two hundred plus wine estates for a relaxed outdoor tasting of some of the region's excellent wines in the shade of vine-covered pergolas.

Lacking private transport of our own, we opted to do a tour of the Winelands (including Stellenbosch, Paarl and Franschoek) and for R300 (about $45) we were shuttled around to five wineries and were given the opportunity to taste more than twenty different wines (by the afternoon, we were feeling the effects of the high South African alcohol content, so we had to pass on a few of them). We first went on a tour of the vineyard and learned all about the wine-making process, and were then briefed on how to properly taste the wines (nose, taste, finish – that's about all I can remember). After that, it was time to start drinking.

At the Boschendal Estate

The first wine we tried was a sparkling wine made using the traditional Champagne method. When the French found out that South Africans were producing 'Champagne' and calling it so, they objected and demanded that it be re-named to reflect its origins. The wine-makers came up with an alternative name, and in South Africa, this prestigious category became known as Kaapse Vonkel (Cape Sparkle). Having tasted Simonsig's Kaapse Vonkel, I can say that it's better than most authentic Champagnes I have tried – bearing in mind that I know absolutely nothing about wine and have never purchased a bottle costing more than $20.

Our Kaapse Vonkel being opened in true Napoleonic fashion, sword-style

Another notable wine we tasted (besides my beloved Gewurtztraminer, which tasted like lychee juice) was South Africa's signature Pinotage variety. Pinotage was bred in 1925 by a professor at Stellebosch University who wanted to combine Hermitage and Pinot Noir grapes to create a grape that both produced good wine and was easy to cultivate in South Africa's warm climate. I wasn't totally sold on it, but since our guide assured us that so much of wine-tasting is subjective, I'm not about to dissuade others from giving it a try. Besides, supposedly it tastes like dark chocolate and blackberries, which sounds just lovely.

Where the magic happens

Feeling rather Okanagan

Also a highlight was the Fairview Estate in Paarl, which not only gave us six wines instead of five, but also threw in a cheese tasting! And really, Scott and I are nothing if not connoisseurs of fine artisinal cheeses. We sampled Gouda and Feta and Brie and Blue and half a dozen others and they were almost all delicious. The three Frenchmen on the tour were inclined to disagree with our glowing reviews, but as I recall they turned up their noses at the Gewurtztraminer as well, so obviously they had no taste.

And that is how we spent our time in Stellenbosch: drinking wine, eating cheese, and marvelling at young white South Africans' horrid taste in music. As for the authentically African stuff? I have a feeling it's coming, and when it does, we'll be glad we've had this time to eat, drink and revel in the comforts of what seems a lot like home -- albeit tempered by a hint of lingering colonialism.

The end

Here be Baboon Feces

Simon's Town

Near the end of our Cape Town stay we popped down to Simon's Town, an hour south of the city by train, for two nights. The single-street harbour town has three claims to fame, most noticeably being home to South Africa's navy– fit, uniformed people often outnumbered pedestrians on the sidewalk. While epaulettes are pretty and all, we visited mainly for the other two: it is the town farthest south along the Cape Peninsula (and therefore closest to the Cape of Good Hope), and habitat to SA's largest and only protected colony of African Penguins.

Boulders Beach, where the penguins be, is an easy walk from town. As with most tourist pulls in the country, the parking lot was fringed with vendors behind overstocked tables of curios and souvenirs, in this case mostly penguin-related. Also present was a talented group of traditional African singers busking to an empty patch of lawn. For R35 ($5) we were permitted access via boardwalk to a raised platform overlooking the small cove the penguins call home.

We'd already seen penguins on Robben Island but these ones were more accustomed to a human presence and we could get much closer. The birds are certainly entertaining in their nonchalant, waddly way – their walk is akin to a man running with his pants down. 'African penguin' is a relatively new name for the species, having replaced 'jackass penguin,' for the mule-like braying sound they make. I'm not sure they've forgiven us yet for that one (though the sour expression they carry makes me think not). Upon arrival the viewing platform was empty, but when we left it was stuffed with tourists, and on our walk home I was happy to see the singers had an audience. We also passed through a graveyard and I found a terrifying bug.

terrifying!

The following morning we'd planned to rent bikes and ride to Cape Point. The two hostel loaners were taken so we had to procure ours from a grizzled Afrikaaner running a small bike-rental outfit from his café. His only patron was his friend, another grizzled Afrikaaner, who introduced himself as an artist, and offered to draw our portraits. A tattoo artist from next door (more leathery rather than grizzled) dropped by to point out Alanna's sunburn and warn us about the intense Cape Town sun. The artist gave me a bikini-woman drawing as a parting gift.

Our bikes were 'CaliforniaBike' brand and lacking front deraillers. The route was beautiful, every bit the raging coastline one would expect at the edge of a continent. There were a significant number of signs warning not to feed the baboons, but for all our looking we did not see a single one on the ride down. A generous amount of droppings though, mostly deposited on the tops of rocks and highway markers like dung-trophies. The ride was 20 kilometers of gradual uphill with occasional steeper sections, and at times very windy. We stopped for lunch at an info center 5 kilometers from the Cape but I think we both knew at that point we wouldn't be riding any farther. Our asses hurt.

The Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve, which we entered (for a fee) a little over halfway through our ride, is apparently home to more plant species than the entire British Isles. If so, most of these species are in bush format, and away from the coastline the landscape is scenic in a subdued, homogenous way. We ate lunch (samosas from the 7-eleven in town) and after admitting to each other we weren't eager on biking to the end, we resolved to instead walk through some dunes to a beach visible in the distance. That was too far as well, unfortunately. We turned around, refilled our waterbottles and began pedaling home. It was a day of unreached destinations.

Cape Point is visible here in the distance.

After a false alarm (a grey dog), we finally got our primate on the ride home. We stopped at a man-made swimming lagoon and Alanna was accosted by a solo baboon coming down the trail. We watched for awhile as he sat and munched a plant, alone in the wind.

a man-made swimming area, as coastal currents make open-ocean swimming dangerous.

our monkey

Upon dropping off our bikes the tattoo artist came by again and suggested a tattoo as a souvenir. He and the café-owner came off as a little bored, but pleasant people, and eager patrons of the Simon's Town spirit.

Observatory, observant

Observatory

Our accommodation for most of our time in Cape Town was the suburb of Observatory, fifteen minutes from the city. It's a decidedly bohemian neighborhood and the only place we found in the city where the locals wear shorts. (I feel that most of how I look, being in Africa and all, is pretty much at odds with the locals, so at least in that small regard I was able to fit in.)

Me one hundred percent not fitting in

Backpacking in South Africa is a popular industry, and the network of hostels in the country is astounding – there were at least three in Observatory alone, all within a four-block radius. Yet outside the town's main street we barely saw any young-person travelers like ourselves.

Hostel relaxing

In all our train trips to and from the city and down the peninsula we didn't see a single person who didn't look like they were going to work, and it was strange– I don't know where all the people go (or whether they go anywhere at all).

Observatory train station (the clean end)

The food is splendidly cheap so far. We ate out almost every day in the city, spending (honestly) fast-food prices for high-quality meals. Our most expensive dinner out included an appetizer, two mains, two desserts, bottled water and a bottle of wine for $35 each, including tip. And this was a classy establishment with a clientele twice our age.

Anniversary Dinner...

Bottles of beer are $2.50 max, though there seems to be a bit of monopoly on beer and not much selection from place to place. Many have maize (Africa corn) in them. Eateries and bars, as with most of the neighborhoods we explored, seem to be pretty segregated. Even on Long Street, where things are fairly evenly mixed on the sidewalk, we ended up eating (whether intentional or not) surrounded by all white people most of the time.

One disappointment so far is the juice. The two of us being somewhat of fruit-juice aficionados and considering the tropical climate and all, we were anticipating a high-quality selection– and selection there is, with multiple fridge displays per supermarket displaying various exotic flavours, including papaya, grenadilla and lychee & pear. But most that we've tasted so far are diluted, oversweetened, and mostly grape or apple juice, regardless of the flavour on the label. Even the 'lite' juices are artificially sweetened to the point where they sting one's tongue. Same deal with produce: I'm convinced the people who live here buy their fresh fruits and veggies at some super-secret locals' market and leave the wrinkly stuff for the clueless like ourselves.

Anniversary breakfast (and the only juice photo I have)

So far, Africans are terrific litterers. On our first train-ride home from Cape Town I sat across from a moody guy my age who stuffed a handful of trash out the train window as it sat in the station. I figured him a badass for so boldly neglecting the environment – what with endangered species mere kilometers away – only to observe not two minutes later a clean-cut father essentially teaching his young daughter the same method of disposing of her popsicle wrapper. Not helping the situation are the armies of poor-looking folk hawking soda and mini bags of chips from train-car to train-car. Even since Cape Town, in the mostly-white towns, the attractive whitewashed old Dutch buildings create an illusion of cleanliness while the filthy parks and ditches tell a different story.

Deceiving clean building

Cape Town in Review

Table Mountain, And Cape Town below, as seen from Robben Island

A few days ago we left Cape Town for good after a little over a week of exploring the city and its surroundings. It was a swell time for sure, and I feel we were the busiest we'll be for the majority of the trip—we hit all the major tourist pulls, a few less significant ones, and did a lot of exploring on our own. I can say with confidence we got a fair and comprehensive impression of the city.

Cape Town is nestled rather spectacularly into the base of Table Mountain, an imposing, flat-topped hunk of millenna-old rock (six times the age of the Himalayas, it is believed). South of the city extends the Cape Peninsula, at the end of which sits the most south-western point in Africa, the Cape of Good Hope. (One would think the most southern point in Africa—Cape Agulhas—would be the cause of more excitement, but apparently not.) The city began as a recharging station established by the Dutch East India Trading Company, an institution akin to a pro-slavery, musket-happy Hudson's Bay Company. The DEITC's influence is widespread and profound, including the instantly recognizable Cape Dutch style of architecture, the widely-spoken (though somewhat inelegant) Afrikaans, and the nation's love of all things sausage. The Brits arrived sometime later, spawning a whole other set of descendants who in turn threw their own habits into the cultural mishmash. Not to mention all the indigenous tribes who were obviously here first. And there are also many Muslims. SA has nine official languages, only one of which I can pronounce correctly.

Rhodes memorial, overlooking the University of Cape Town

One can't mention South Africa's past without bringing up Cecil John Rhodes, for whom, it seems, white South Africans have a huge éréction. A multi-multi-millionnaire and a righteous imperialist, Cecil seems to have owned most of southern Africa in the late 1800s, even going so far as to name two countries after himself (Northern and Southern Rhodesia, which today make up Zambia and Zimbabwe, respectively). Striking it rich in the Kimberly diamond mines, Rhodes founded DeBeers, which at its peak accounted for 90 per cent of the world's diamond production. At various points in his life, he sat as prime minister of the Cape Colony, founded the University of Cape Town (the oldest in southern Africa) and created the Rhodes Scholar program partnered with Oxford University. You can't go far in Cape Town without seeing a tribute to Cecil and his (now controversial) vision of Africa.

The Bo-Kaap

The downtown core, though not exactly beautiful, has a ragged hustle and bustle that Canadian cities simply don't achieve. We spent a lot of time (and most of our restaurant budget) on Long Street, where upmarket boutiques and eateries mingle with two-century-old mosques and bathhouses, and well-heeled trendsetters mix with shoeless children. Three blocks away sit the rows of squat pastel homes that make up the Bo-Kaap neighbourhood, a tight-knit community descended from Muslim slaves. Beyond that, further down the coast, sit a series of upper-class enclaves where whitewashed beach condos descend sheer cliffs to the windy, white-sand beaches below.


Even if the city buildings aren't pretty (though a few of them are), Cape Town is unabashedly photogenic, thanks to the backdrop of the iconic Table Mountain and the adjoining Devil's Peak and Lion's Head. Given the choice between a strenuous three hour hike up the mountain and a quick and painless ascent in a gondola, we chose the latter.


Once at the 1,000m summit, the Table's surface, though rugged, is just as flat as it appears from below, and host to a variety of flora and fauna. We came across a family of dassies – cousin to the elephant, though really more reminiscent of an oversized guinea pig – and a generous scattering of lizards. And the rocks seem so old! Not a jagged edge in sight, making our Rockies seem infantile.

A dozen or so kilometers from Table Mountain, Robben Island's barren landscape and eerie silence stand in stark contrast to the natural beauty and vibrant goings-on of the city. A leper colony, institution for the mentally handicapped, and most notably a maximum security prison that housed resisters of apartheid, Robben Island lives up to its monicker of 'Exile Island'. Once off the boat, we were given a bus tour of the island by a young man named Kent, who supplied a prodigious amount of information about the island and its former purposes. It is from the sandstone quarry where the likes of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu laboured for years that the Cape Town harbour is most visible. Afterwards we were met by a former inmate, in our case a man named Sparks who'd been convicted of 'recruitment' and 'terrorism' in the 1980's. He gave tour of the prison, including the cell block in which he spent seven years, and told stories of an activist's life behind bars.


He, along with many other ex-political prisoners, has fully reconciled with his captors and those who supported the oppressive regime that put him there in the first place. Rather than viewing the island as a reminder of a dark period in his life and South Africa's history, he sees it as a symbol of the resilience and freedom of his people. On the island we also saw African penguins, which to us are a symbol of awesomeness.

Useful plants garden, Kirstenbosch

Cape Town is the only place on Earth where you can see one UNESCO World Heritage Site from another, the first being Robben Island and the second being Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. Situated on land donated by (you know it) Cecil Rhodes, Kirstenbosch is the first botanical gardens to showcase exclusively indigenous plants.


This is made all the more exceptional knowing the Cape Peninsula and area alone makes up one of seven unique floral kingdoms in the world. (To put this in perspective, another kingdom is the Boreal Kingdom, which consists of all of Canada, Most of Europe, and Russia). The pride and joy of this unique kingdom (and of the Cape Tourism Board) is Fynbos, meaning 'fine bush', a family of plants unique to the Cape and covering much of its land. Species of Fynbos vary from fine groundcover to shoulder-height bushes to the King Protea, which features a stiff, spiny bloom, and is SA's national flower.

Camps Bay beach, Signal Hill in the background

Cape Town defied our expectations of what an African city could be, and more than once we remarked that we could see ourselves living here. Given Cape Town's numerous draws, we were a little surprised by how few tourists we encountered, but less surprised by those we did encounter who were happy to be carted from attraction to attraction, making little effort to get a real sense of the city's rhythm. Perhaps this wariness is to be expected in a city that employs more security guards and public safety officials than bus drivers or mail people. Our experience was profoundly positive and we would recommend Cape Town with confidence.

Written by Scott & Alanna