Because Jack decided to die, we couldn’t do anything on Monday except wait for Moosa to get me so that I could fetch the car. They made fun of my hard luck finding a nice South African (read: colored) girl, and made more fun of Quynh’s “poor taste” in finding an Afrikaner guy. Also, hookups are called “contacts” here. Which gives a whole new meaning to my cell phone contact list.
Once Jack was back (the Cam belt snapped so they replaced it), we decided that we would take day excursions to places that we still wanted to go to before we leave.
Tuesday- Hermanus, land of the whales. Situated an hour’s drive west, Hermanus is the site of the annual Whale Festival and is apparently the world’s best land spot to watch whales…when they’re there. And since Quynh lives in a suburb outside of Chicago, she’s really excited to see whales because she’s never seen them before.
Before we left, we talked relationships with our secretary Magda.
We left at 11 to try and make it to Hermanus while it was still nice (26 C for a winter day is bonkers). We decided to take the coastal route so that we could travel along the sea for a bit before turning onto the road for Hermanus.
After briefly getting lost somewhere along the beaches in Strand, we figured out where the beach route was (hint: find the beach, then drive on the road next to it). Glorious. GLORIOUS. The sea looks pearly blue as you drive along the mountains (yes that’s right, not only are there beaches, but also stunning mountain ridges). We kept pulling over every few kilometers to take pictures of us doing various things and getting slightly different views of the coast (mountains moving about 2 yards to the right in every different spot). At one point, we pulled over and found that we had stumbled upon a pack of baboons chilling in the grass, little baby baboons falling over one another and big papa baboons looking menacing. As tempting as it was to get out, we didn’t want to risk having a baboon jump into the car (though I’m not sure if it is illegal to transport baboons here. If a squirrel jumped into my car in New Haven, it wouldn’t be illegal. Unless I gave it rabies or strapped a laser onto its head and then released it in, say, West Haven).
And the beauty continued. Deep valleys lying between two peaks, filled with rocks and overhangs painted to resemble alligators and dinosaurs. Flowers, crops, and even more vineyards lining the sides of the roads. The occasional resort hotel, appealing to those who love living in the middle of nowhere for a few days. I imagine if I lived in Arizona or California, these trips wouldn’t be nearly as exhilarating or exciting. But since Virginia Beach’s highest point is a landfill covered with sod and turned into the city’s largest playground, affectionately named Mount Trashmore (to the beach kids- remember the April Fools Day when they said the mountain was going to explode because the trash had decomposed and the chemicals were creating pressure under the surface?), I’m constantly in awe.
We finally drive into Hermanus around 1:30 or 2 and get a meal. The tourism center tells us that the best plan of action is to go along the “cliff walk path” and just hope for whales. The path winds along the coast and passes many rock formations, including a really impressive one called “the amphitheater”, which looks exactly like a Greek theater. Aristophanes would have been impressed.
Hermanus also has a quirky thing called the whale crier. When I first heard this term, I imagined the old fisherman guy who is on the front of a Fish Sticks box living in a small hut on the beach. The whale crier is a person you can call up and ask if there have been any whales sighted so that you don’t waste your time driving to Hermanus, which really doesn’t have a lot of other things going for it aside from seafood and nice views while you eat said seafood. Coincidentally, the whale crier’s whale radar broke the day before, so she could not tell us if there were actually any whales around.
Unfortunately, we never saw any whales. Lots of beautiful blue ocean, but no whales. We did however have dinner at a “tapas” restaurant, at which I made the incredibly unwise decision to eat an entire bowl of chicken livers by myself. This a day after my host mom packed me a bowl of tomato stewed ox tripe, complete with little ox hairs floating in my rice. Usually I like tripe, but usually the tripe is cut into little pieces rather than something resembling a tongue.
The next day, we decided to hike up Lion’s Head after work. From Cape Town, there are 3 major mountains you can see- Devil’s Peak, a jagged looking mountain that supposedly isn’t easy to climb; Table Mountain, a long, flat range that I hiked up before; and Lion’s Head, named because it looks like a reclining lion. Really, if you’ve ever seen Aladdin, it looks like the lion’s head that forms in the sands of Agrabah that bring you to Jafar’s lair.
By the time we drove up towards Lion’s Head, it had started getting cloudy on the mountainside. Emily had told us the trail should take about 45 minutes to get up, which seemed sensible until the super-steep section that comprises the second half of hiking. The trail didn’t seem to exist in these parts, instead yielding to huge slabs and boulders that you had no choice but to climb. At one point, the trail forks and you either choose the recommended route around the mountain or the expedited route up the mountains. Of course I choose the more dangerous route.
This route involves chains, because the only other way to do it would be to have equipment. There are occasional footholds and handholds hammered into the mountain, but otherwise you are hoisting yourself with a chain up a sheer wall. Which was a lot more fun than it sounds.
After more climbing up jagged precipices and sharp ledges, we made it to the top of Lion’s Head in about an hour. Whereas earlier in the hike we were able to see the bays and the city and everything, at the top we were surrounded by clouds. And more clouds.
On the hike down, we passed by a bunch of kids wearing American college sweatshirts who ended up being people doing a semester abroad/exchange program through UCT. It was just funny to see an inventory of universities coming towards us, including one girl who gladly shouted “Yale sucks” upon seeing my own sweatshirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment