Tour of the Cape

The pleasant coastal town of Fish Hoek

Success at last with the rail tickets to Jo’burg! An early morning trip, surprisingly stress free bought us to the ticket office and our tickets. Hooray. This made the tour ahead that much more relaxed as, had we missed our tickets, we may have had to fly – or so we thought – incorrectly as it turns out.

We did the Cape Wine tour and southern Cape. What a beautiful country South Africa is, with landscapes which seem to change every few minutes, from wild costs to pleasant suburbs, all within a few minutes drive of each other. Our tour bus even met a baboon sitting, its red arse aloft, in the road.

We went through a country park, drove on to a rather nice seafood restaurant on the beachfront just outside Simons Town, and then on Stellensbosch and the winery. I thought the winery was a gorgeous building – there was a full scale wedding going on as we did our cheese and wine taste, and the guests had mainly come from England. Stellensbosch itself is the oldest town in SA, and looks a bit like a slightly more relaxed version of the back roads of Ealing. A great place to live as a Cape Town commuter I’m sure, providing you can afford it.

As we trundled our way from the southern cape coast on to the winery, our knowledgeable guide pointed out that we were passing the Cape Flats Township. “This”, she said “is where about 1.5 million people live”. I asked her to repeat it. I hadn’t mis-heard. About one third to one half (depending on who you believe) all Cape Town’s residents live here. And the place was, in appearance, rather like Langa. Only on a much larger scale. All in all, a worthwhile tour, simply the reason that it took outside the tourist zone in and around Long Street.

That evening, we had a wander round the Waterfront shopping centre. It was pretty much any other large and prestigious shopping centre. I must admit to quite enjoying going to foreign shopping centres which I suppose makes me a suburban fart. Some pretty decent tourist tat shops though, most of which only window shopped at. Please note NHS, asthma inhalers are only £1.40 here – and no prescription. I only wish buying straightforward meds was as easy here. I bought six of the buggers.

We dined in an Italian restaurant by the water’s edge – it was unremarkable, though it did serve gnocchi, something which seems, unfairly, to have gone out of fashion at UK Italian eateries.

This rather nice shot (not mine sadly) is of the

Waterfront shopping area.
We had another gander round the Waterfront, but at this point we were fairly tired, and at 11 returned to the Grand Daddy. A pretty successful day’s touring.

Robben Island tomorrow.

South Africa holiday: Township tour of Cape Town

An early start on Monday took us to the township of Langa (supposedly meaning “sunshine” in Xhosa). Our driver, a dweller of said township, took us on an experience I’ll not forget. Firstly, we travelled to church. This was full to capacity (with about 600 in the congregation as a conservative estimate). Some of our party were fairly moved by the service, though I had mixed feelings and was fairly untouched – it seemed like the kind of service I grew up with, although services at Holy Trinity in South Kensington were all in English. I found the sudden swap-over from English to Xhosa and back again for no apparent reason detracted from the message, which was kind of garbled and too much like hard sell for my taste. Oh well, horses for courses. The church was absolutely windswept as was the township itself, with 40 mile an hour westerlies blasting through.

Driving around the first part of the township, I was surprised at how orderly it was, with some concrete houses laid out in rows.

Next, we travelled to a shabeen, an informal pub. Informal just means that there is no licence, and therefore the government restricts its serving hours until the late afternoon.

Served here was some of the most disgusting beer I’ve tasted. Made of sorghum, this stuff is made en masse – fermentation time is a worryingly short three days - and served straight from the keg or barrel or whatever it is. The taste is weak yet sour, and quite unique, with a thick layer of foam on the top. The shabeen itself was buzzing with flies. One of the reasons these pubs are more heavily regulated is that there are no loos at all, prompting the question, where on earth do you go for leak? This lack of a satisfactory answer may account for some of the insect activity I suppose. I think this is the kind of place hardcore drinkers gravitate to. A very interesting experience indeed.

When the idea that people should be entitled to have any kind of fun outweighs the perceived need to raise taxes from alcohol sales, our pointless government, having successfully closed the last proper non corpo-pub, will force ordinary people to drink in places like this, as government approved beer will be over a tenner per pint as necking more than one of them will of course, encourage rampant terrorism and anyway, consuming more than one tenth of a unit will also be regarded by them and their media sheep as binge drinking. Bring on the sorghum.

On to the hostel: an especially grim place in the township which has got to be the most hemmed in place containing humankind beyond a prison I’ve been to. Some pretty nice people spoke to us there. I felt justifiably privileged living in my small house on the east side of London compared to these people. Hell, I am indeed.

Next was the healer (dubbed by me the witch doctor). Not sure if witchery goes on here, but the NHS its not. Practical healing involves animal parts so we’re not talking homeopathic remedies, despite the presence of lots of herbs.

Finally, a drive taking us past an unincorporated part of the township that comprised the kind of shack with neither electricity nor running water I’d thought would occupy the whole township. This was as desolate a place as can be. The next day we heard that around 400 of these shacks were burnt down that evening. It didn’t even make the national news as this kind of thing happens so often. Thank goodness no-one was killed or seriously injured. Unbelievable.

In the afternoon we sat in our hotel bar and drunk South African champagne. We then ate a rather lovely meal in an African restaurant. I don’t really buy into the brow-bearing “guilty am I” response to the townships. I was far too young to have been able to influence things during apartheid, and there is bugger all I can do about what has been left behind. But the sheer fucking irony of pouring wine down my throat, and having the cash to do so without thinking about it too much was not lost on me. Consider this: The average domestic help in Cape Town earns R80-90 per day. A bottle of mineral water in our restaurant was R15.00 (about £1.00 at the time of writing).

I have nothing but sheer admiration for those living in the townships (half of Cape Town’s population). They have remained patient far longer than any decent human being could expect.

Langa Township’s unincorporated area.

Top of the Table - and another lower one

The cable car spins round on its way up to the top of Table Mountain. The view from the top is quite stunning

After another fruitless trip to buy our tickets for the train to Johannesburg, we decided to head off to the Waterfront and take a tour bus around the city. The highlight of the day was definitely heading on the cable car to the top of Table Mountain.

What a stunning place, 1 kilometer above the city spread before us below. For anyone visiting CT, this is a must-do and I can not recommend it enough. It was relief to be away from the heat of town trolling round town on the open topper actually, and even more of a relief as the temps dropped by at least 10 degrees on top of the mountain.

A leisurely trip along the coast through some of the most expensive beach front housing on earth and one of the more exclusive resorts (so exclusive we skipped them) took us back to the Waterfront and back to our hotel for a well deserved food stop at the local Pick 'n' Pay - we were running low on soft drinks and choc and supermarkets apparently close on Sunday (this wasn't actually the case but we weren't to know).

After an hour or so reading in the hotel we headed to a restaurant called Mama Africa's, as recommended in our tourist guide, and if the amount of tourists crammed there is to go by,. Most of the other guides too.

I think I would have enjoyed this place more had we not been completely spoilt by Nona’s the night before. There was nothing wrong with at all. The cocktails, which were high quality and generous in size, were £2.00 a pop, so the relatively disappointment we experienced with the food was partly made by the liquid refreshment. But the service became ridiculously slow as the evening progressed (45 minutes between main course and dessert), the desert itself, a malva pudding, which in my case was super-bland and the music, which was deafening - and we were tabled about as far away from the band as could be. I'm not too snobby about being a tourist - I am one - but I felt this was far to "corporate tourist mill Africa" for my liking. I had a pretty nice Cape Malay curry which was both spicy and sweet and apparently, according to our friends in Pretoria I spoke to about it later, seemed quite like the real deal.

We had an early start on Sunday, so by 2230 we were back at the hotel and I read Christopher Fowler's marvelously easy to absorb autobiog, Paperboy, while Mrs DD slept like a wee child.

Andy Taylor - a sad farewell

Andy's singing persona, Jimmy Johnny, bellows down the mic at a friend's barbie. It is a contentious topic as to whether he could actually sing though. Hmm, naysayer me.

My friend Andy Taylor died last month and his funeral took place last week, on Thursday, in Eltham.

He was a big man indeed in the disabled community. His company, Access Made Easy, has a record which I doubt any other private sector employer can match - 60 percent of his employees were disabled: I am one of them, albeit on an ad hoc basis.

I met him at the age of 18, 20 years ago now, while still at university, on the premise of meeting his then-girlfriend, Laura, whom I knew from school. Although Laura and I remained friends until a few years back, knowing Andy was like having a wiser, more knowing and definitely more motivated elder brother. For the next 20 years or so, we played music together, drank beer together, talked rubbish together and even tried to save the world in the way ten beers allows you think you are able to.

We recognised instantly our similar class and family backgrounds, we have a few sisters each and both of us had a broad taste in music - I spent many an evening over his various flats in Deptford going through his vast CD collection, eating food from the Good Friends and later The Orient, and sleeping on a succession of sofas in various states of rot. His kitchen ceiling once collapsed spontaneously while he was standing under it. I'm glad his accommodation improved soon after, though his temporary sleeping arrangement never improved much.

It would be wrong to make Andy out to be some kind of latter day saint because he was a welded-to-the-earth human, nothing more. But he was, for sure, a man of action (and a rather able wordmonger too as it happens). He could definitely talk. While wearing a super strong pair of walking shoes too, prepared to travel the extra mile. Lending a hand if that should be required. No slouch, he really did put his money - hard cash too - and his effort, as well as his mouth, into just about everything he was passionate about.

I know that his partner, Amy, his parents, sisters and his numerous friends and work colleagues all feel his loss within our lives.

So I will, with the greatest of pleasure, salute Andy. A well loved and now very much missed colleague, thoughtful friend, great sounding board, shrewd businessman, man of action.

And mostly for me, fantastic mate.

It was a great journey Andy. Just far too short.

Arrival in Cape Town

The exterior of Nyoni's Kraal restaurant, which kept us fed for three nights. This place gets a highly recommended rating and if you go, ask for Deborah the waitress - she's a star and a half.


The South Africa trip started at Heathrow Terminal Five, which I must say was actually a gorgeous looking and importantly, easy to use building and nothing like the squalor I’ve experienced at the other older terminals. The flight was relatively comfortable for an over nighter and we landed in the baking sun of Cape Town at about 9 the next morning.

Our taxi landed us at the Grand Daddy hotel in Long Street. The Daddy Long Legs seems to be a chain comprising a boutique hotel, an “art hotel” and a trailer park filled with genuine 50s Airstreams.

So, after a breakfast of French toast with banana, maple syrup and bacon, and a few hours sleep in our very comfortable room, we were ready to hit the mean streets of Cape Town. Not a very intense day as we tend to spend the first day of any holiday abroad just finding our feet. Today we tried to pick up our rail tickets for the Shosholoza Meyl train, but the ticket office was closed (in rush hour, just when it might be used by people – nice to know the service ethic is as strong here as it is in the UK (sarcastic remark). We wandered around Long Street, and spent our evening at a restaurant I can highly recommend called the Nyoni’s Kraal.

http://www.capetownmagazine.com/todonight/Western-Cape/Local-is-Lekker-at-Nyonis-Kraal-Restaurant-in-Cape-Town~115

Our waitress, Deborah, was a complete mummy, explaining everything we were curious about in a most enthusiastic way. She actually made the place work for us in the big way and we returned twice more. Sure, this might be regarded as unadventurous but when you get African food this good, why spoil your stay by going somewhere else only to be disappointed.

So after our meals of Meat Towers and Pap (pap being mealy maize shaped and fried), and stew with samp (samp being a mixture of mealy maize and beans) we returned to our hotel, tired but stuffed.

A fine start to a wonderful holiday.

The last month - one holiday and a funeral

The swanky yet homely Grand Daddy hotel, Long Street, Cape Town, where my and Mrs Dukc stayed for half our South African adventure

Myself and the wifelet have returned from a rather brilliant holiday in South Africa which took place in what started out to be a rather tumultuous month. I’ll make a separate entry for that event, hopefully later this week, though my bloody diary never fails to fill up - not that I’m hugely complaining, you understand.

This is a summary of events – with more retrospective blogging to come over the next few days Unlike Mrs D, who elected to bring her netbook with her, mine remained in the place where it should while I’m on holiday. Firmly at home.

So...for the first of our two weeks we stayed at the rather splendid Grand Daddy hotel in the centre of Cape Town, a place I’d be more than happy to recommend. We then travelled to our friends in Pretoria via Jo’burg on the Shosholoza Meyl train, whose slogan is “a pleasant experience” and for once, the phrase was not hyperbole, but pretty close to how I’d have described it.

While in Pretoria, we stayed in the rather nice suburb or Constantia Heights with our friends in their rather lovely and jealous-making house. On the Saturday and Sunday we visited a lion breeding centre where we handled lion cubs, and during the following days, we spent long evenings over the bra’ai with plenty of great South African wine and loadsa bottles of Namibian Windhoek beer. Lovely. We also did more prosaic stuff purchasing specs for me (which are of at least equal quality to those I buy in the UK and a third cheaper). We also visited quite a few Pick ‘n’ Pay supermarkets for typical SA food. I think food needs an entry on its own too.

Over the next fortnight I’ll be posting more deails and some pictures too.