When I spoke with Kieron Audain, the student and author who contacted me from Durban, he asked if we’d be visiting the Drakensberg. I had no idea what he was talking about. All we had been thinking about for Durban was a visit to Shakaland, a tour of the city and Umhlanga Rocks, and finding some good Indian restaurants. It was going to be a leisurely two days.
But when I Googled it, I knew we’d have to go.
At more than 11,000 ft., the Drakensberg Mountains is the highest range in Southern Africa. It is also home to Tugela Falls, the second highest waterfall in the world and the location where several hundred rock paintings done by the Bushmen, the indigenous people of Southern Africa, can be seen.
I was even more excited when I saw the Sani Pass, the dirt road that zigzags 9,400 feet up the Drakensberg Mountain and connects the Kingdom of Lesotho to the province of KwaZulu Natal.
We wanted to do all three: visit Tugela Falls, see the Bushman’s paintings and venture up the Sani Pass but dropped Tugela Falls when we realized we’d have to climb a chain ladder to get to parts of it. In addition, there really wouldn’t be enough time.
So following our visit to Shakaland and our overnight stay in Ballito, we checked in to the Sani Pass Hotel located at the foot of the Drakensberg Mountains just before lunch to begin our drive up the Pass.
Sani Pass Hotel
I just love these thatched roofs.
After checking in, we began the climb up the rugged Sani Pass, a kind of no-man’s land between the South African and Lesotho border control posts.
Leaving South Africa
The nearly 14 mile road up the Sani Pass is so dangerous, only 4-wheel drive vehicles (or 4-legged animals) are allowed.
4-wheel drive vehicle needed
But the views are spectacular.
Sani Pass road
In the early 1800s, King Moshoeshoe and his followers settled in this remote area to form what is now the Kingdom of Lesotho rather than being co-opted by King Shaka Zulu.
View of the mountainThis is a remote area
There’s no way to drive straight up.
Zigzagging up the mountain
The best way to climb the mountain.
Sani Pass SwitchbackSnow on the MountainYes, that’s where we just came from
While we waited for lunch, we visited the Sani Top Chalet.
Sani Top ChaletSani Top WelcomeSandra
Yes, we actually travelled 9,400 feet up the Drakensberg Mountain to have lunch at the Highest Pub in Africa.
My lunchThis bread was delicious!
I had heard so much about gluhwein, the wine, rum and sugar mixture served warm at the pub, I had to try it. I guess it’s better on a really cold day.
Sani Pass GluhweinFlying with the birds
Since the Sani Pass route is so dangerous and is unlit, it is closed at 4:00 p.m. daily. Shortly after lunch, we began the drive back down.
Under the setting sun, the mountain is breathtakingly beautiful.
In the shadowsIt would be suicidal to drive here at nightDrakensberg rocksMore stunning viewsFire on the mountain
During winter, the vegetation becomes brown and dry. Burning off the dry grass to promote new growth.
Smoke on the mountain
Before we arrived at the South African border control, we ran into a few people climbing the mountain on horses and donkeys.
4-wheel drive or donkey?
Before the road was cut, this was the only way up the Pass. Residents would travel down to Good Hope, a now defunct trading post at the foot of the mountain, to trade blankets for supplies.
I’m a free style dancer. I’ve been dancing all my life but no one’s ever taught me to dance. I dance by myself to the music I feel and abandon my body to the rhythm.
I’m not bragging. I know I can dance and I dance very well. When I go to parties or clubs, I hardly sit down – I’ve been known to dance all night!
The one thing I hate most is having someone teach me a dance move and then expect me to follow after one demonstration. It is then that my normally fluid body becomes heavy, my feet become uncoordinated. They never seem to connect to what I see. (Don’t even add a mirror to that equation – because it’s then that I am the most awkward.)
Zulu dance at Shakaland
So as I sat enjoying the Zulu (mostly) men doing their powerful stick dance, I was content and focused on watching and photographing their moves.
Inside the hut
That is until Smagna, our Zulu tour guide, called for a male and female volunteer to join the dance from the small group of visitors at the evening’s festivities.
After he picked the male from the ‘male’ side of the hut and looked in our direction, I knew. He walked right over, stood in front of me and stretched out his hand.
It wasn’t a very complicated dance routine. We did a few practice moves -step, step, step, STOMP! Step, STOMP! (I can do that!) – then the drummers began beating their drums furiously. Try as I might, I could not follow what the dancers were doing or remember what I had learnt.
I’ll try anything once
When it was over, I thought, thank God, my humiliation is complete. I’ll never see any of these people again, I said aloud as I consoled myself.
But as I write this, I know, somewhere in Germany or the UK or France or some other country, some individual is sharing their photos of their visit to Shakaland and saying, I have proof: some black people can’t dance!
I thought Shakaland would have been touristy and kitschy – it wasn’t.
Located in a beautiful and tranquil area of rolling hills overlooking the Phobane Lake, Shakaland is an authentic Zulu kraal with beehive thatched huts built on the set where the movie, Shaka Zulu was filmed, the same land on which the Zulus fought many battles.
That movie was, I believe, my first introduction to King Shaka, one of Africa’s famous warrior kings and the man credited with uniting the various Nguni people into one large, proud and powerful Zulu nation whose influence can be felt today.
I didn’t watch the movie but the name stuck in my memory.
King Shaka of the Zulus, was born in 1787 and ruled for 10 years. During that time, he established himself as a military genius and a statesman.
EntranceShakalandShakaland BuildingOverlooking the lakeOne of the beehive thatched hutsReplica of a Zulu kraal
Smagna, our guide, explaining the workings of the kraal. The women’s huts were always on the left, the men on the right so that they could protect the women and children from intruders. For that same reason, men would always walk ahead of the women.
Single Zulu women
Single Zulu women wearing short beaded skirts. Older women wear clothes that cover their bodies.
Almost everyone we spoke to before we left the U.S. said we’d love Durban, although they didn’t say why exactly. The largest city in KwaZulu Natal, Durban is also an important manufacturing hub and port. It boasts a sub-tropical climate and some of South Africa’s best beaches.
I didn’t know much about the city when I decided to plan that leg of our trip. And apart from a visit to Shakaland, a Zulu homestead near Durban, the only things we wanted to do was watch the whales, get some good Indian food and enjoy the city.
Alison, Marcia, Sandra, Tanya and Judith (stooping)
Then I received an email out of the blue from an author in Durban who suggested his book for my book club. When I told him of our plans to visit Durban, he suggested quite strongly that we had to visit ‘Drakensberg.’ When I asked what that was, he said he had no idea (he had just moved to Durban from the UK), that I should search online. Once I did, it added a whole new dimension to our trip.
Through a friend, we found a travel agency, Compassline Africa, that took care of the details and Tanya, Alison and Don from Compassline met us on arrival at Durban’s Shaka Zulu International Airport.
Don would be our driver for our three days in Durban and not too long after we arrived, we had loaded up the car and were on our way to our first stop, Shakaland.
Don Botterill was a combination tour guide, driver, loveable uncle and a proud South African who was enthusiastic about showing and sharing his beautiful country with us.
We were driving along to Shakaland when he received a phone call. Instead of saying, hello, he asked, How’s your granny? We looked at each other and burst into a fit of laughter.
Once we heard that, we knew we were in for a treat with Don. And boy, did he deliver!
We saved our last full day in Cape Town for our trip to the winelands.
Our first stop was at KWV Wines, a 90 year old brandy and wine emporium located in Paarl, one of the three popular wine regions – Stellenbosch and Franschhoek being the other two. We did a tour of the cellars followed by a wine tasting, then a brandy and chocolate tasting. I don’t like chocolate so that pairing was lost on me but Sandra and Judith enjoyed it. Overall, we had a blast at KWV (I’m sure Manfred is still talking about us.) and came away with several bottles of wines and brandies.
Wine country
Lunch was a relaxing affair at the Seidelberg Wine Estate, a winery, restaurant, glass studio also in the Paarl region.
A Musing Elephant and I exchanged a few comments about a recent post on her blog. When she mentioned that one of favorite places in Jamaica is Pelican Bar, I felt I had “met” a kindred spirit. Pelican Bar is one of my favorite places as well.
Our exchanges took me back to my first trip to the bar and the memories I have which serve me now on this cold day in the north east.
Pelican Bar is located on a sand bank about a quarter of a mile off the south western coast of Jamaica between Black River and Treasure Beach.
As Floyd, the owner, tells it, the idea for the bar came to him in a dream. He built it, and they’ve been coming.
Pelican Bar has been named one of the sexiest swim-up bars and has a fan page on Facebook.
Yes, this is the only way to get there
The only way to get there is by boat so don’t think of going if you’re afraid of the water or if the sea is rough.
When I read my blogging buddy Tony’s post about his visit to New York, I asked if he’d been to Coney Island, one of coolest places around. Since he missed it, I thought I’d share some of my photos.
Coney Island Fireworks
I love going to Coney Island, especially in the summer when there are fireworks displays at 9:00 p.m. every Friday night. Once or twice a month, a few friends and I go out there for dinner, walk the boardwalk and wait for the show to begin. It never disappoints.
What is it about seeing the ultimate – highest, longest, deepest, farthest, etc. – that makes some people giddy?
When we decided to add Cape Point and the Cape of Good Hope to our list, I was excited. In fact, I was more excited about that than anything else. Well, almost. I was really, very excited about having a drink in the highest pub in Africa – but that’s for a later post.
So after lunch at Simon’s Town and penguin watching at Boulders Beach, we were on our way to the Cape of Good Hope, the most south western point of the continent. Why is it called Good Hope anyway? That’s not a very common expression. Hope equals good, right? There isn’t such a thing as bad hope.
Did a drunken sailor come up with that name? As it turns out, a king, John II of Portugal did when he changed the name from Cape of Storms.
And why was a Portuguese king naming territory in South Africa? Well, it was simple really. The Portuguese were interested in establishing trade relations with countries in the Far East and the Cape offered an easier way for them to get there.
I’d been hearing about the Cape of Good Hope since high school and always wondered what it was like for sailors who had to sail around it (and Cape Horn – the southern tip of South America). How did they survive days at sea without hallucinating about land? Driving around Hwange National Park looking for game, there were many times when I was sure I saw buildings in the distance – but they were only in my mind.
Thanks to Ian Reinders, our tour guide in Cape Town, we kept to our schedule, somewhat. Ian had our whole day laid out for us. Early start down the coast, lunch in Simon’s Town, see the penguins and head to Cape Point.
But you know about the best laid plans, right? When they coined that phrase, they had us – three women with very Jamaican sensibilities — in mind. I mean, we are on holiday, yah? So no need to rush, man!
And there was something to see around almost every bend. Ian was a good sport, though, he’d nudge, he’d cajole but there were three of us against one of him – no contest. It was hardest for him to get us away from vendors. Especially Judith, the shopper, who in true Libra fashion, would get so dazzled by everything she saw, could not make up her mind about anything.
We arrived in Simon’s Town just at the time we would have had lunch – if we had kept our original schedule. A quaint town, it reminded me of English seaside towns I’ve seen in pictures. The buildings look like those I used to see lining the square in small towns in Jamaica when I was growing up. (That one in the middle reminds me of the old Doric Theatre in my town.)
After being on a schedule for more than a week, we had welcomed a free day to do whatever we wanted in a leisurely way. The good thing about being on a schedule is that we got things done. The bad thing is that once we get off the schedule we became so lax about time, we almost got nothing done.
Today was no different. We slept late, hung around the apartment until near lunchtime then we spent more time than we should have in the African store. Only our stomachs forced us to leave – and caused us to change plans: now it was lunch at Mama Africa, then shopping at Green Market Square after.
Mama Africa, Cape Town
Seeing the sign to Mama Africa made us feel like we had discovered an oasis in the desert. We quickened our steps and arrived to its door before we realized it wasn’t open. We could taste our disappointment. Luckily, Cape to Cuba, another restaurant was opened so we went there instead.
Cape to Cuba
Cape to Cuba felt tropical and inviting. Located on the second floor of a three storey building, it opens out to a small balcony with a few tables and chairs. The décor is an interesting mix of Spanish Gothic, beautiful tiles, glass chandeliers, palm trees, murals, the Cuban flag and photos of American celebrities in 1950’s Havana. The wait staff wore Che Guevara’s signature beret and shirts with the Havana Club (Cuban rum) logo. Seeing such an open celebration of Cuba outside of Cuba was surprising until I remembered that the embargo in place against that nation is a U.S.-only construct.
They had probably just opened as, except for a man who was dining alone, we were the only patrons. We selected a table near the balcony and ordered drinks from the bar. While we waited, we checked out the view of Long Street from the balcony.
Long Street, Cape TownLong Street from Cape to Cuba
When our server arrived, Judith and I ordered prawns and rice, Sandra the fish. We watched the bartender mix our drinks as we talked among ourselves. The drinks looked refreshing but when my mojito arrived, it was too tangy so I sent it back and asked him to add more sugar. Judith’s strawberry daiquiri, on the other hand, was perfect.
It seemed like forever before our meals arrived. We joked that the fish was probably still on the plane from Havana. We were dying for some appetizers but had been so focused on the meal that we hadn’t even thought of ordering any so we nursed our drinks hoped our order would come. Every time we noticed someone coming up the stairs, we felt sure it would be our meal, but it wasn’t.
Finally, it arrived but instead of bringing two prawns and a fish, our server brought two fish and a prawn. At first, she insisted the order was correct, then she checked her book and offered a weak apology. The first order had taken so long to arrive, I was tempted to stick with the fish, but it wasn’t what I wanted so I returned it and waited, fingers crossed, for her to bring the other prawn.
Sandra took a taste of the fish and rice and made a face. It was so dry, she asked for butter or gravy to soften it. I know if she hadn’t been so hungry, she would have returned it. We definitely considered it but the prospect of going out and finding another restaurant and starting all over was as appealing as her unsatisfying meal.
We were sure we had been served leftovers from the day before. And when mine arrived, towards the end of Sandra’s and Judith’s meals, it convinced us we were right. Mine was freshly cooked and very tasty. The prawns soft and succulent, the rice smothered in a light sauce. It tasted delicious and it wasn’t because I was hungry. I felt badly that Sandra’s was so inedible – Judith’s was only a little better. Normally, we’d rave about our meal and share but I didn’t have the heart to talk about mine and even though I offered, Sandra was too upset to try anything else. She just wanted to leave.
We complained, of course. The worst part is, no one even offered a dessert or drink to compensate for the lousy meal.
After our server brought our bill, I concluded that she must have been having a bad day — and her luck was not about to change. When I checked, I noticed there was no tax included and pointed it out to her. She insisted it had been but I double-checked and it wasn’t. At that point, I wasn’t about to point out her mistake. We paid the check, sans tip from Sandra, and left.
As we headed back towards the V&A Waterfront, we noticed people going into Mama Africa. Without even a second thought, we followed.
A much bigger restaurant than the one in Victoria Falls but with a different menu and the same African vibe, Mama Africa Cape Town boasts an impressive bar area with an unforgettable painting of a snake wrapped round the edge.
Although there were quite a few empty tables, we decided to sit at the bar. We ordered drinks and appetizers while we chatted with the bartenders. When they found out that we were Jamaicans, one of them offered to take us to Mzoli’s but we weren’t up to it. We had an early start the next day.
I’m not sure how long we were there before the band, Abavuki, took its place and started warming up. A lively group of between nine and eleven musicians, Abavuki plays African Jazz and African and American soul. Their music was so infectious, it made us want to get up and dance and sing along to the American songs we recognized.
At one point, I noticed a nun – a very tall nun – walk through the door but paid no attention. When I returned, the nun was talking to Sandra and Judith – figures, right? Turns out, this was a nun in drag selling tickets for a concert the following day.
Don’t remember how this happened —
No sister of mine!
By the time we left Mama Africa, it was near 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. Green Market Square had long closed and Long Street was turning into the hot spot that it becomes on weekends. We called for a cab and headed for home.
