Christmas in South Africa 8 Plettenburg and Mossel Bay
Looking for whales, Mossel Bay
As we travel along the coast towards Cape Town, we enter the acclaimed “Garden Route” of the Southern Cape. This is one of the lusher and, reputedly, most botanically interesting parts of Africa. Some plants here grow nowhere else in the world. We travel through its green forests and valleys and I am reminded of journeys through the British West Country. It is certainly no more picturesque here. The only differences are that, the sun doesn’t shine all day everyday in Devon, temperatures rarely reach 34 degrees centigrade and there are no signs that warn “Feeding the baboons will incur a fine of 100 rand”. Otherwise it is just the same.
Plettenburg Bay’s up-market ambiance rivals Torquay. We drive through it with scarcely a second glance as our backpackers hostel is 7 kms north. The owners, former hippies, have collected us with characteristically casual timekeeping from the taxi rank. He has a strange accent and a stranger looking beard. We are being kidnapped for all I know. The publicity states that this backpackers is situated “on a pristine farm with white picket fences.” Whoever wrote that must have been on hallucinatory drugs as the farm is dilapidated, the fences falling down and must have been painted before paint was invented. “Visitors may help themselves to the vegetables growing in the garden,” says the sign. In the event, there are only two radishes on the tiny plot. “Have you helped yourselves to the vegetables?” asks the long haired, paunchy lady owner enthusiastically. Georgina, who has tried one of the radishes is able to say “Yes, thankyou.”
The one great advantage of this backpackers is that it has unlimited internet access and not many people around to use it. We forgive it all its other faults for this alone. Besides, we are only staying one night. There is also a television room and a selection of aging videos. The threadbare couches smell of dog but we manage to get through one film without gagging. It is a shame that dog owners grow oblivious to the smell of their own pets. The film is set in Africa and stars Kim Bassinger, who had, apparently, turned from the erotic to more serious (lol) acting. Her talents, it would appear, are more suited to the erotic. The film makes such a big impression I cannot remember the plot. It’s Africa, though. There were elephants and they had big ears (like the male lead).
The other backpackers owner drives us to the minibus taxi the next day. He is formerly from England and very pleasant to talk to. He takes our photograph to go on their website. We smile and try to appear like happy, well satisfied customers. Thinking of their internet connection helps us with this.
We drive through the beautiful lagoon town of Knysna, reminiscent of the English Lake District, and stop at Mossel Bay. We like this small, comfortable seaside resort with many historic buildings. The backpackers is compact and attractive. We just about manage to fit our tent on one side of the small front lawn. Any closer and the bushes would be inside our tent. As it is we can justifiably claim that we have “camped in the bush”. The coastal promenade is just down the road and the school field there has been turned into a camping site for the summer holidays. Tents and caravans are so packed together that people camping in the middle would have to be air lifted in. We come to a large cave overlooking the sea which has been developed into a whale watching platform. We stare out to sea until our eyes become blurred and our heads spin. But there are no whales today. We should have been here last October when the whales were migrating along the coast. Never mind, we see a lot of rock dassies which are a kind of very large, guinea pig. They can be quite tame and approach you for food. Some of them have a mad, rabid look in their eyes. A large one stands in the middle of out path and is reluctant to move. We stare each other out and the mad dassie is the first to blink and slinks into the undergrowth. Further along the cliff path we meet a young couple staring out to sea. After mild interrogation we discover that the girl comes from Walthamstow. We try to resist the cliché, “What a small world,” but it inevitably slips out.
Georgina is keen to swim in the Indian Ocean before it meets the Atlantic just down the coast. The rocks here form a natural swimming pool. Though waves crash into it, it is safe to bathe. There are even chains sunk into the rock for swimmers to cling onto to stop them being swept away by the swell.
natural pool, Mossel Bay
In the evening the High Street is transformed into a large, Christmas market. Strangely enough, this takes place just once a year and always before Christmas. We walk along inspecting the stalls. It could have been Walthamstow market especially after our earlier experience. It sells the same cheap, tawdry trash. There is nothing distinctively local or interesting about it. One novelty is the stall that cuts up potatoes to resemble a twirly thing on a stick, which is deep fried as one long twisted chip. Somehow I manage to resist. Nothing else catches our eye apart from a shop selling palm trees covered with so many fairy lights it illuminates the night sky and must warn shipping for miles around.
Our friendly receptionist’s boyfriend drives a minibus taxi and he will fetch us and take us door to door to Stellenbosch, our next stop. Luxury. The trouble is that all the other passengers are picked up door to door, so we have an extensive tour of the local housing estate, several times, before we are eventually on our way. Will your National Express bus stop and wait while you pop back home for a pair of shoes you’ve forgotten?