Though the cycle touring portion of this adventure was over, my stay in South Africa was far from over. I still wanted to do a few more club rides with the WPPPA, climb Table Mountain and take a scuba diving trip near Camp’s Bay. I also felt that I needed to get to know Jana’s family a little better. Jimmy in particular is a notorious practical joker yet none of it had at this point been directed at me. This could only mean that they didn’t feel comfortable enough with me to tease me.

Sunday, 22^nd February

Being the day of the Bay City Tour, we awoke at 5 o’clock in the morning, piled the bikes into the combi and were at the starting point in Camp’s Bay just before sunrise. This promised to be one of the prettiest rides around Cape Town. From Camp’s Bay we would be riding south along the coast road up to Llandudno, over Suikerbossie for a fast screaming descent into Hout Bay. From there, we’d take Chapman’s Peak Drive over Chapman’s Peak into Noordhoek. This is easily the prettiest road I’ve ever ridden on with the road sandwiched between the rugged, steep mountains on one side and the deep blue ocean on the other. A surprise awaits the cyclist around every switchback, be it a lovely view of the ocean or a wind gust strong enough to blow you right into the side of the mountain. The road is narrow and winding, but a gutsy cyclist can descend almost the whole thing without brakes by using both lanes of the road and looking "far enough ahead" for oncoming traffic. From Noordhoek we would climb the west side of Ou Kaapse Weg to the Silvermine Nature Reserve. From the top one gets a spectacular view of False Bay and Muizenberg below. Another screaming descent, of the east side of Ou Kaapse Weg, through Tokai, and we’ll be in Constantia. From there we’ll climb up to Constantia Neck and descend down the other side into Hout Bay. From Hout Bay we’ll go back up Suikerbossie to Llandudno and finally back to Camp’s Bay.

The distance covered was 69 km, which I completed in 2 hrs and 42 minutes. A quick peek at the route map later showed that we’d climbed a total of 3000 ft. Not a bad time, in retrospect.

The rest of that glorious Sunday afternoon was spent vegetating. I played rugby with Mark but badly twisted my finger mishandling an easy catch. Judges gave me a 6.0 for the catch, but benched me for artistic impression. Later, we switch to a less violent game involving two opponents each wielding a compressed air powered pellet gun, a bag of plastic pellets and a pair of goggles. Bruising is possible, running is required and wide smiles and lots of sweat guaranteed.

Monday, 23^rd February

Took the train into town for another non-strenuous day of walking. My first stop was the Sanlam Golden Acre, a huge three-story shopping complex the lowest level of which is in the underground section between the train station and the Sanlam Center on the other side of Strand Street.

I then walked towards the Bo Kaap and visited the Bo Kaap museum, a museum of the Cape Moslem experience. I learned that the term Cape Malay is a misnomer. Present day Cape Moslems are descendents of slaves brought from southern India and Indonesia by agents of the Dutch East India Company in the 1700s. None actually came from Malaysia. The Bo Kaap boasts several small mosques from which the muezzins sing their prayers 5 times a day, the songs echoing through the narrow cobblestoned streets, temporarily drowning out the bustle of downtown Cape Town just below.

The rest of the day was spent at the fleamarket at the Church Market Square ogling and buying several pieces of African art to take back with me. I bought a couple of painted carved masks, several carved ebony "skeletons" and a few more soapstone carvings. One of my favorites is an abstract of two people dancing while holding hands.

I watched several tourists fascinated by their complete lack of awareness of their surroundings and inability to blend in. Their body language screamed "tourist" and I became profoundly aware of my personal transformation over the last 5 weeks.

Tuesday, 24^th February

Angela’s geography class was scheduled to go on a class field trip to the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. Angela had invited me, and I gladly accepted since I hadn’t been to The Point yet and I wanted to go. Besides, playing the experienced American to a bunch of high school matric girls had a certain appeal in itself.

The bus ride down was pleasant enough and I spoke with the three teachers with the group. I was introduced as being from America with no mention that I was related to one of the students. Angela was on the other bus, and though she had introduced me to the group on that bus as her uncle, the group on the bus I was on didn’t know that. To them I was a visiting teacher from the US. Angela later told me that one of her friends had pulled her aside and told her that "that American guy really likes you. He’s always talking to you and hanging around you." Yes, baby.... Your 33-year uncle still has the touch despite his balding head.

We spent most of the day hiking the trails near the point, climbed up to the lighthouse at the point and spent some time on the beach just west of the point. Just prior to leaving we had lunch at Buffels Bay. It was here that fate intervened and I finally came face to face with the criminal element which is so rampant in the new South Africa; I was mugged by a grown baboon. I was sitting on the grass talking to one of the teachers, happily crunching an apple, subconsciously becoming aware of Angela yelling my name. As I turned around I came face to face with a 160-lb adult baboon who was expressing unambiguous interest in my apple. Fight-or-flight adrenaline was coursing as I jumped up. I vaguely remember considering several possible solutions to "this problem", and by the time I was on my feet I’d decided on the most feasible plan. I tossed the apple about 100 ft. in front of me hoping that the baboon would chase after it and leave me alone. Sure enough, Mr. Baboon speed-knuckled over and retrieved the apple but years of close contact with pleasant Cape Point tourists had taught him that where there’s one apple, there’s probably more. Quick as a bullet he was back for seconds and this time he wanted my backpack. I backed away hoping that he would leave my wallet. He pawed through pulling out my banana peels, empty sandwich box and jacket. At this point a reserve ranger chased him onto a rock jetty and I stood in awed disbelief as he delicately ran first out to the end of the rock jetty, jeered at his pursuer who at this point was coming down the jetty after Mr. Baboon, in the equivalent of a New York raspberry, turned around and ran right past the ranger and disappeared into the bushes behind where I was sitting. One might ask at this point whether humans really evolved from baboons or the other way around. This guy’s faster, stronger and obviously just as smart as the average tourist. He gets what he wants without having to work too hard, walks around naked and has opposable thumbs on his feet. I’m jealous!

Wednesday, 25^th February

Today I had planned to go wreck diving near Camp’s Bay with an outfit called the Table Bay Divers. The price for two dives and full gear rental was a quite reasonable R240. I arrived at 8am and waited for about 20 minutes with the other clients until the owners showed up and started the registration process. I chatted with an Israeli gentleman who was an employee of the IMF and was involved with the international economic bailout of the Indonesia government. By 9am we were done and we agreed to meet in Hout Bay at 10am where we would board the boat and go diving. I accepted a ride from a friendly Englishman, Chris, who told one of the organizers that we would be a little late since he had to pick up his wife and baby. The organizer assured Chris that he would wait since both he and I had already paid in full. We arrived in Hout Bay at 10:20am searched for the boat and finally realized that they had in fact left without us. Our diving gear was safely locked in the front seat of the owner’s car so even if Chris and I wanted to strike out on our own, that avenue was now closed to us. Needless to say I was annoyed. Chris was very apologetic for making us late, but the behavior of the organizers was inexcusable particularly since they kept their clients waiting for 20 minutes prior to registration and then didn’t consider extending the same slack to their clients.

We drove back to the Waterfront where again we waited for the representatives of the Table Bay Divers to open shop. We politely explained the situation and I explained that I could not be rescheduled and wanted a refund instead. To his credit, the fellow was genuinely baffled as to why the "leader" of the trip hadn’t waited as he usually does and refunded my money.

I debated with myself as to whether I should go see the aquarium or go see a movie. "Boogie Nights", which I hadn’t seen yet and which was no longer playing in the US, was playing and so I opted for the latter.

When I returned home, a message from Deon was waiting. He was back in town but would be leaving the next morning. I returned his called, and agreed to meet him at his hotel near The Castle. For lack of any other more inspired alternatives, we decided to go see "In and Out" at the Waterfront. The ticket taker remembered me from earlier that afternoon. If I were the type of guy who cheated on his wife, guys like this ticket taker would make life quite challenging. After the movie we had a few drinks at a "Mexican cantina" and talked shop. Despite the numerous and obvious frustrations of working for the government of the new South Africa, with its deeply fractured political scene, Deon epitomizes the cliched "If you ain’t working on the solution, you’re part of the problem." I am impressed with the path he’s chosen and how far he’s gone since our shared "dark days" of high school.

Thursday, 26^th February

I’d planned to climb Table Mountain today and Jana had taken the day off work so she could join me. I welcomed her company and the opportunity to get to know yet another facet of her. We decided on the most direct approach, a straight uphill shot through Plattekloof. Most of the front side of the mountain is a sheer granite face, so although a steep climb, Plattekloof is the only feasible approach which doesn’t require climbing equipment. The trailhead starts about one kilometer west of the lower cable car station. The cable car appeared not to be running that day so the top would be delightfully uncrowded.

The 3000-ft. climb took us a little under an hour and a half. On the way up we passed several groups of hikers. Some of the female members of these groups provided a rather pleasant view when behind looking up. Regrettably, I too soon lost my "views".

The top was spectacular offering marvelous views of the city below and Table Bay in the distance. Lion’s Head seemed so short from up here. A short walk to the east took us to the upper cable car station, where we marveled at the renovations taking place. Lighted and immaculately paved walkways and fenced lookouts had been constructed. I thought it was a little overkill but it certainly fit in with the kind of mentality which would construct huge flood lights to illuminate the mountain face at night. We then walked to the other side of the "table" to McClear’s beacon. By this time, the "table cloth" was beginning to roll in, and afraid of getting disoriented in the clouds and stepping off the edge of the mountain, we decided to descend.

On the way down we met several out of shape hikers who, wanting to see the top but not allowed the luxury of riding the cable car, decided to walk up instead. One elderly English gentlemen told us to "keep and eye on the Londoner coming up behind." He had no sympathy for city dwellers and was annoyed that this particular Londoner had drained all his water only to vomit it back up again.

The descent proved to be more difficult than the ascent. Steep descents tend to be murder on the knees and calves and this one was no exception. I had run out of water at this point, and I fantasized about the stream I remembered seeing on the way up. It tasted heavenly.

On the way back, Jana took me to her favorite gelato place in Sea Point. She and Jimmy would come here after a strenuous bike ride or hike and would challenge each other to the "liter challenge". This involves consuming a whole liter of gelato in one sitting. I wasn’t up to the test and ordered only half a liter. We walked out to the esplanade and sat eating our gelato and chatted while facing the ocean.

On the way back to the car, I decided that the restaurant where we bought the Gelato, San Marcos, would be an ideal venue for dinner the next day. Mark had voted for The Spur, a steak house, but since I was paying I had veto power and nixed any franchise restaurants.

Friday, 27^th February

Today I was committed to doing nothing at all. Angela and Mark would be back from school around noon, so I spent the morning reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

The enemies of the ANC have been making political hay out of the escalating crime rate and the ANC’s apparent inability to do anything about it. Mr. Mandela actually addressed this point in his resignation speech before the ANC party meeting in November Mafeking. He accused a "third force" of conspiring to encourage the perpetration of crime in order to make the country ungovernable and thereby leading to a discrediting of the ANC. While visiting Muslim Judicial Council president Sheikh Nazim Mohamed’s Rondebosch home shortly after it had been fire bombed, Mr. Mandela said that " ... those who challenged recent statistics showing that serious crime had decreased in South Africa, were being disloyal to the government and the country." [Thursday 2/26/98 - Southern Suburbs Tatler] What about individual analysis? Why is it disloyal to question the government? Why is the government so eager to have its citizens believe temporary statistics while at the same time being unable to show a real change in the symptoms which cause and effect real crime rates?

Book stores are full of politically correct books about Mr. Mandela and his huge role in the peaceful and negotiated transfer of power, "feel good books" about the wondrous new South Africa, and the government seems eager to put on its best face in an attempt to convince people that everything is hunky-dory. Well, it ain’t so! Western Cape Province citizens, who by and large voted for the National Party in the ‘93 elections, seem disillusioned with the ANC and its apparent inability to curb serious crime. Admittedly it’s a tough problems and implementing a solution will require radical educational and social changes, but to call critics disloyal seems a bit pollyannaish and simplistic. I have a lot of respect for Mr. Mandela and what he’s done, and his political frustration must be great for him to be lashing out like this at critics.

Later that evening we drove to Sea Point and enjoyed dinner at San Marcos. Our waiter was a wonderfully humorous Kaapie and his attention to detail earned him every rand of the tip I was planning to leave him. When without any prompting he handed me the check (how did he know I was paying?) I decided on a personal form of tip delivery I’d always wanted to try but had never had the courage to do. When he came back for the dinner payment, I shook his hand while "palming" him a R100 note. He didn’t appear displeased, and later thanked me and told me I tip like an American.

Saturday, 28^th February

When Jana suggested that we visit Bainskloof I enthusiastically seconded her suggestion. Bainskloof is a lovely spot on the Witrivier off the picturesque, mountainous R303 near Wellington. I remember visiting the magical place as a kid. It’s dominated by deep rock ponds filled with cool, crystal clear water. Tall, well-positioned rocks for diving off of and numerous underwater tunnels make for a kid’s paradise. These days its popularity has risen and the Western Cape authorities have constructed a caravan park and charge entrance fees, but the magic is still there.

My first impression upon arriving was just how much smaller the place has become. I suppose it could have something to do with my perception and that the last time I was here was a long time ago when I was just a short sprout. The "diving rock" is still there and just as I remember, as are the underwater tunnels I remember.

Later, Mark and I climbed up the dominant rock behind where we were camped and admired the 180 degree view of the valley. I sat up there for a long time reveling in the peace and the warm sun.

Sunday, 1^st March

Although this would be my last day in South Africa, and the thought of lolling in bed until late in the afternoon had a certain appeal, I did want to do one last club ride with the gang. Today was the Lions Club of Kirstebosch’s Journey for Sight ride, so we again awoke at 5 o’clock in the morning, piled the bikes into the combi and were at the starting point in Constantia just before sunrise. The route would be similar to that of last week’s Bay City ride, though not as much climbing and would include a descent into Fish Hoek, Kalk Bay and finally Boye’s Drive back to Tokai and Constantia.

I completed the 55km distance in 2 hours and 3 minutes, cursing that I couldn’t break the 2-hour barrier. But I guess with this time I’m well positioned to do a sub-4 hour Argus next year. The Argus, also organized by the WPPPA, is probably the largest organized cycle tour in the world and attracts 30,000 people from all around the world. It covers about 103 kms and involves a lot less climbing than today’s Journey for Sight. I told Jana that I would like to ride in next year’s Argus. The sight of 30,000 riders taking up major city freeways is well worth the cost of an airline ticket.

The rest of day was spent packing my bike back into its box and suffering from a case of travellus interruptus, the depressing affliction affecting travelers who know that an adventure is about to end and they have to return home. The last six weeks had gone by way too quickly and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. As Jana told me, the Africa bug had bitten me hard but I consoled myself with the thought that this was an initial reconnaissance tour and that I would be back for the meat later.

I had previously planned to ship my bike back via surface mail. I was flying via British Airways to London and then via United Airlines to San Francisco and wasn’t sure if airlines would do inter-airline baggage transfer. A quick call to BA however confirmed the opposite. They would be happy to do the appropriate transfers. All I had to do was to notify the agent when I checked in.

Saying goodbye to Mark, Angela, Jana and Jimmy was painful, as all good-byes are. I wish one could dispense with partings but I guess it’s a required event in the continuum between being there and being gone. I consoled myself with the realization that I would be seeing them again next year.

The flight to London seemed to go by quite quickly. I left my seat and sat in the back, in one of the fold down seats right next to a door bulkhead with my head in my arms on top of the protruding bulkhead. I guess I slept for about 6 hours.

The transfer to terminal 3 went faultlessly and I spent to rest of my three-hour layover in a bookstore. The UA flight to San Francisco was about half full giving passengers the opportunity to claim three adjacent seats and take extended naps. I fully participated.

Monday, 2nd March

Arriving in San Francisco was comfortable, like putting on a sweater still warm from the drier. Evidence of the recent floods was present in the muddy, over filled and sometimes flooded reservoirs we flew over. My luggage had arrived. I’m truly impressed with the luggage handling systems of major international airports. The potential for sending pieces to far-flung destinations is there, but mine made it. Despite being transferred from one airline to another, from one busy terminal to another, and having to go through two security scans, mine made it.

My friend Scott was waiting for me at the gate. It was great to see him and good to be home.

Copyright 1998, Radek Aster