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Baz Bus, a minibus company, carries mainly foreign touri the long coastal road from Cape Town to Swaziland’s Mbabane. The best part about the company’s service collects passengers from their hostels and drops them off a hotel of their choice, making travel extremely easy. The service saves me from having to go to the bus terminal and then to get into the town center in the unfamiliar place where I’ve just arrived and to find a hotel at an awkward hour. This is especially beneficial in a place like South Africa, where the racial tension is so strong that it makes one worried for their safety walking the streets.
We pick up passengers from various hotels, the last of which is in the Woodstock district, which allows me to see this part of the city. Nice cafes line the streets in this and all the districts we see, so Cape Town reminds me of San Francisco, a beautiful city I have always liked.
The scenery changes as soon as we leave Cape Town. The whites’ beautiful houses are replaced by the ramshackle wood-and-tin huts where blacks live. These destitute dwellings go on for miles.
This is one of the strange sights I’ve seen in South Africa that I haven’t encountered in the United States or anywhere else. Most houses and even cars have an “Armed Response” sign on them that means “l have a permit to carry a gun for protection,” a measure taken to thwart thieves. Some houses even have electric fences on top of their high walls. The situation must be really dire, so I have to be careful. I anticipate seeing even more extreme sights in Port Elizabeth today, and after a couple of days of this, I really wonder when I’ll get to see the real spirit of Africa instead of this tense facade.
We drop off the first passengers at a hotel in Hermanus, a quaint little place set among vineyards. I’m told that this is the best place for whale watching along the South African coast.
As we drive on, the scene constantly changes. Green is the dominant color. We pass lakes and pine forests that stretch all the way down to the shore, just like in northern Europe. We also pass wheat fields, vineyards, and sheep and ostrich farms.
We stop for a late breakfast at an elegant roadside café, but we’re short of time, so we have to make do with a quick bite of fast food. I see a young blond cyclist at the roadside stop but don’t have time to chat with him. A French lady in our group does speak to him and says that he’s from England and has traveled across the Middle East and Africa all the way here on his bicycle. An incredible adventure. This is really a commendable success
Another French lady a few years older than me sits in front of the minibus with her kids, and she tells me she lives in Durban. She handed me a piece of paper while we stopped at Hermanus, and I see now that it’s some sort of Christian publication. I ask her where she’s going, and we have a lengthy conversation. When we get on the road again, she opens a jar and offers me some black olives, saying, “You must have missed these,” and I had really missed the taste of this tiny black specialty of the Mediterranean. When another passenger gets off, this lady moves to the seat next to me, and we chat about our love of God. She gives me a prayer and asks me to read it every day of my journey. It reads “God, please send your Spirit and your love for Jesus to my heart. Forgive me all my sins and give me your free gift Of everlasting life. Help me to love you and to love others. Amen.”
A Buddhist monk on the Asian leg of my tour told me, “Love is at the core and beginning of everything. We have to accept everyone, whoever they may be, without any prejudice, and love.”
This is the first time since I was in India that I’ve talked topic, and I really like that we share the same views and morls,
We next travel along the Garden Route, the area stretching from Mossel Bay to Knysna along the Indian Ocean coast. Everywhere you look is beautifully manicured, just like a very large garden and each village where we stop at to drop off passengers is also well kept. The wilderness as we make our way down to sea level makes for a particularly gorgeous photo. The Beach House, a hostel located on the last plain before sea level, must of the world’s best views. I would love to stay here but on. Maybe next time.
