Lisbon, Portugal

 ABOUT TO DOCK.  NICE VIEW FROM OUR CABIN, EH?

 A MARBLE STATUE IN THE CASTLE GROUNDS.

THE OLD ELEVATOR, DESIGNED BY EIFFEL, OR ONE OF HIS STUDENTS.

We arrived in Lisbon at noon.  Usually we get into port at dawn, when I’m asleep (DUH!), so it was nice to be outside, enjoying the sights as we entered the mouth of the River Tagus and headed to our dock further upstream.  We could see many of Lisbon’s famous landmarks from the ship, and we passed under the city’s copy of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Everywhere, there were wide boulevards lined with flowering jacarandas which contrasted splendidly with the terracotta roof-tiles.

It’s a huge city, so Robin and I decided to concentrate on two areas near the ship: Baixa - the shopping district with wide pedestrian walkways. And Alfama - the medieval Moorish district consisting of narrow, winding streets and houses decorated with superb tile work.

By the time we’d walked up Rua Augusta to Rossio Square in Baixa, it was lunch time.  We decided to dine at Nicola, the famous art deco cafe on the square.  The food was pretty average but we got to watch the world go by for an hour or two, listen to buskers, and observe how begging works in this part of the world.  For dessert, we grabbed a couple of pasteis de nata from a nearby bakery.  The most delicious custard tarts you’re ever likely to try.  Crisp, light pastry filled with creamy custard that’s been scorched black on top.  They’re butt-ugly to look at, but oh so good.

We needed all the sustenance we could get for our steep walk up the hill to the Castle of St George.  This is well-maintained ruins now (an oxymoron?) and the surrounding area is a shady, peaceful park with stunning views across the city in all directions.  It was easy to spend a few hours up there.

We walked back to the ship through the Alfama district, peeked through peoples’ open door and windows, listened to neighbours shout at each other from balcony to street, avoided scooters, checked out the menus of the tiny bistros and admired the colourful, decorative tiles that cover the front of the buildings.

I’m home in a week, so this might be my last blog.  Our only other port is Le Havre, before the cruise ends, and I’m not planning on doing much there except chowing down on a giant seafood platter.  However, I might surprise you.....

Cadiz, Spain

 Sitting on the sea wall

 View over the rooftops to the ocean beyond

At the central market.  That's one big tuna

The cathedral and square where we drank our cafe con leche

Cadiz has been a commercial port for 3000 years, making it one of the oldest settlements in Europe.  Most passengers on the ship were using this port to access Seville, a two hour drive away, but we decided to spend the day exploring Cadiz.  I’m glad we did as it has so much to offer.

Dad spent his morning doing a coach tour of the surrounding area, including a sherry tasting at an enormous vineyard in Jerez.  Rob, Cam and I just wanted to walk around, and as the ship docked right in the downtown area, we didn’t have to walk far to find a cathedral on a square with a cafe.  Perfect for people-watching while downing a couple of cafe con leches.  

Old Cadiz is an island-like peninsular, so wherever you walk you tend to pop out by the sea.  The buildings leaned in on each other as we walked along incredibly narrow, cobblestone streets.  By chance we stumbled on the central market.  What a find.  Seafood so fresh most of it was still moving.  Lots of camerones on sale.  Wow - they really are TINY shrimp.  We were peckish so we bought some Iberian jamon and pecorino cheese, and a bag of little bread rolls, and stood on the street devouring it all.

There are 129 old watch towers in the city, one of which (Torre Tavira) has a large camera obscura at the top of it.  We stood in a completely darkened room with a white concave horizontal screen. Above, there is a hole through which the outside light enters, with a mirror and magnifying lenses, thus projecting the city as a brilliant moving image.  With me so far?  It was pretty awesome, but I guess you had to be there.  Afterwards we stood on the top of the tower and admired the 360 degree views first-hand.  It is such a beautiful city.  I don’t know how many times I told the guys I was coming back to live there one day (or at least visit for a really long time!). 

A restaurant, El Faro, had been recommended to us by the couple we met at lunch yesterday.  We took many twists and turns and seemed to always come out at Calle Virgen de las Penas.  Or, Street of the Virgin Penis as we came to call it.  Cameron is so immature.  However, we did eventually find the restaurant and got Dad to meet us there.  We had a feast of mixed fried seafood Cadiz-style, and paella, and local rose and ate ‘til we could eat no more.  Of course, after all that food, a walk was in order.  So, at our leisure, we traipsed back to our original cathedral and square (there are many squares with churches), and sat down for our apres-lunch coffee.  We were entertained by a teenage boy showing off to his mates.  He pretended to be a torreador (bullfighting is still very popular in Andalusia, although I thought it had been banned in Spain?) and he was really very good, so maybe he’d done some training.  All the kids sat on the cathedral steps and cheered him on.  We were all laughing.

We walked some more and finally made it back to the ship just before sailing.  Definitely my favourite port so far.

Casablanca, Morocco

 Cam checking out the tagines of mutton and couscous bubbling away on hot coals.  Fast food Moroccan-style!

 Sweet mint tea at local cafe.  The old medina, where we shopped, reflected in the window.

The very beautiful old law courts.  Fantastic mosaics and intricate plaster work.

Casablanca is Africa’s second biggest city after Cairo. It certainly has a big commercial buzz - modern buildings, with lots of construction and road works going on.  The port is vast.  And for a Muslim country it has quite a Western feel to it, despite the many minarets that can be glimpsed between buildings.  Street corners have vendors selling freshly squeezed orange juice, the sharp aroma refreshing on the city streets.  The outdoor cafes remind me of Paris, except only men seem to use them here.  They sit in long rows along the footpaths sipping espresso shots, or sweet mint tea.  We took a tea break at a very big cafe on Mohammed V Square.  There would’ve been thirty men, and not a single female (except me).

The people are incredibly friendly.  They spoke to us wherever we went, even if just to say hello, but many wanted to know where we were from.  Some just said, “We hope you enjoy your stay in Morocco.”  We went shopping in the ancient medina, wandering through the ever narrowing alleys of the souk, and at no time felt threatened or hassled to buy goods.  We caught a glimpse of men at prayer in a small mosque; saw the locals eating lunch in eateries with rooms so tiny they only held three rickety tables; watched people washing their feet in an exquisitely tiled fountain.  And always we were greeted with a friendly “hello” or “welcome”.  I bought a leather pouf which was so cheap I ended up buying another, because I couldn’t be bothered waiting for the guy to come back with my change.

Lunch was fun.  The Hyatt Hotel recommended Restaurant Imilchil for an authentic Moroccan dining experience.  It took some finding as it was a non-descript, unimpressive looking place down a grotty side-street.  However, the interior was every bit as amazing as the old law courts.  We sat in a dark, many-cushioned nook and ate off a large brass tray set into the table.  Our starter was a thick soup of lentils and chickpeas with chunks of lamb and finely chopped green herbs.  The main course, of course, was lamb tagines served with stewed prunes, almonds and fluffy couscous, all washed down with a Moroccan rose, and finished with mint tea.  We ran into a couple from the ship there.  They had been to this restaurant two years ago and couldn’t wait to revisit.  I didn’t blame them.

We did have time for a bit of sight-seeing.  Namely the Mahakma Law Courts which should really be a palace they are that beautiful.  Large open spaces, marble pillars, walls covered in mosaics and intricate plaster-work, carved cedar ceilings, and a huge internal courtyard filled with orange trees and roses.

Now, I’m not one for churches or mosques, but the Hassan II Mosque, completed in 1993, is a wonder to behold.  It took 8 years to build I believe, and I’m not surprised when you see the detail involved.  The minaret is the largest in the world, the mosque is the third largest in the world.  We didn’t have time to go inside, but we easily spent 20 minutes admiring the exterior.

I’m sorry not to be seeing more of this country, but I know I’ll be back.

The world tallest minaret (650ft) at the Hassan II Mosque

Tenerife, Canary Islands

 I did like this statue in the small harbour at Puerto de la Cruz

This building was on the Plaza Espana where we ate lunch.  It had a garden growing over it!

Tenerife didn’t really inspire me to write, but I don’t want to let my fans down.  All three of you.

We docked in the capital, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, on a cool and overcast morning.  So far, not so good. Then onto a coach for the drive over some mountains through La Laguna and the Orotava Valley to Puerto de la Cruz, a very touristy, coastal town on the other side of the island.  The rainy side apparently.  Here we visited the orchid gardens of Sitio Litre, a private house with a public garden.  Lots of familiar plants from home, including two very large feijoa trees.  The highlight of this garden was the 600 year old dragon tree that sat in a corner of the courtyard.  There was a small cafe at one end, so we drank bad coffee, ate stale cake, and relished the quietness and prettiness of our surroundings.  Agatha Christie spent a few months staying at this property where she was inspired to write “The Mysterious Mr Quin”.  Anyone got that book languishing in their library?  I’d like to read it.

We had an hour to stroll along the town boardwalk.  Choppy sea broke onto giant volcanic rocks and stony, black sand beaches.  Some punters were determined to make the most of their resort holiday. They perched uncomfortably in togs, on their towels, white skin appearing even whiter in the drizzle.  They had to be British!

By afternoon we were back at Santa Cruz, in sunshine, sitting outside a restaurant on the main square.  We had just ordered beer when who should wander past, suitcase in tow, but Cam on his way to check onto the ship.  Amazing.  He plonked himself down and joined us for lunch.  In my case, that would be grilled squid, fresh and tasty cucumber and tomato, and the island specialty - papas canarias.  These are jersey benne style potatoes, boiled in very salty water, served at room temperature with what I think was a red pepper dip, and a green herb dip.  Not too sure but it was simple and delicious.  

We had a chuckle when Cameron told us that the word “camerones” which you see on all the menus, translates to “little shrimp”, and was the main reason all the girls laughed at him in Spain when he used to introduce himself. He changed his name to Peter.

It was Saturday morning so the city was closed up and quiet, although there were lots of families out and about.  Nearly every girl between 10 and 18 wore short, short, shorts and very long, straight hair.  Practically a uniform.

All in all, a nice day.  Always good to stretch one’s legs and eat food other than on the ship, and of course great to have Cam with us now.

At sea, Atlantic Ocean

 Game cards. Check. Bloody Marys. Check. Dauber. Check.  Let's play BINGO!

The excitement continues.

A word on Bingo.  I love it.  I take back every nasty thing I said about it. Could it be because I’ve now won THREE days in a row, four times in total?  My winnings are now around the US$500 mark.  I have enemies left, right and centre.  Each time I win, a man sitting on the other side of the room does the throat slitting gesture, continuously, until he’s certain I’ve seen him.  Others look at me like I’m something unpleasant under their shoe. However, some people are coming to me for tips on how to win.  Like skill has anything to do with it.  I tell them it’s the two-for-one Bloody Marys.  One woman, the former principal, agrees as she slugs another one back.  She’s won a few times herself.

So my friends, try it...you might like it!

Mindelo, Cape Verde Islands

 ENJOYING A WINE BY THE LAGOON, CATFISH BAY

 IN THE FISH MARKET.  SPOT THE KITTEN.

LOCALS LEAVING THE MARKET

The fourteen volcanic islands that make up Cape Verde were first settled in 1462 by the Portuguese, who also brought African slaves to work on the plantations.  This intermingling of races produced a unique look to the people of Cape Verde - lighter skin and slightly more European features.  

The architecture, in Mindelo anyway, is distinctly colonial Portuguese.  There are no high-rises and many of the houses are nestled on rocky outcrops that rise above the town.  There is nothing green about the island of Sao Vicente.  Jagged mountains dominate the skyline, accentuating the barrenness of the surrounding countryside.

We arrived on a mild, sunny day.  The heady scent of oleanders permeated the air and I think we all breathed a collective sigh of relief.  We were ready for a change of pace from the relentless clamour, chaos and suffocating heat of mainland Africa.

Another bus tour today. Hard plastic seats and no air-con but everyone was in a good mood.  The African American woman sitting behind me, a former principal with a booming voice, kept saying over and over as the day progressed, “This is a good day, mmmm-hmm.  This is a GOOD day.”  Any second I expected her to start swaying in the seat, fanning herself as a gospel choir burst into song.

We made lots of stops in the town - visiting handicraft centres, art galleries, markets, music stores, statues, cathedrals (this is a Catholic nation) and NO MUSEUMS.  Yay!  I liked the art exhibition we saw of local life, colourfully depicted in a flat, naive style.  And the fish market had just received a huge catch of tuna which had the locals in a flap of activity.  No one seemed to notice the scrawny scrap of a kitten, almost buried in the slit belly of a tuna, frantically chewing away. 

We drove over some mountains to Catfish Bay - a cobblestone road all the way, which made for a bone-jangling trip.  Here on the beach, at the edge of the lagoon, we were entertained with music and dancers whilst eating fish cakes and drinking Cape Verde wine (quite nice actually).

Our tour finished in the morning so Rob and I spent the afternoon walking around town.  The buildings are square boxes painted in pastel colours, with iron railings and pretty shutters.  Shops closed between 1pm and 3pm which forced us to have a long, leisurely lunch.  Wok fried seafood with deliciously fresh vegetables and rice, washed down with the local beer, Strela.

My only souvenir was a cd of music by Cape Verde’s most famous export, the singer Cesaria Evora, “the barefoot diva”, who died last year.  She sang “morna” music, similar in style to the Portuguese “fado”.  Mournful, passionate songs that deserve your full attention.

Dakar, Senegal

A child in the Wolof village of Niayes

The salt works by the Pink Lake

A woman selling jewelry at the Fulani village

You’ve probably noticed I talk about the smell of a place a lot.  I guess being far out at sea most days means we lose the smell of the land, and so become hyper-sensitive to it each time we come into port.  Dakar was no different. It was like an old Chinese curio shop - musty, with an underlying aroma of burning incense.

Dad and I were heading out with a group to the Pink Lake of Retba, about an hour’s drive away.  Once again we had a police escort.  I think this is more to bypass the horrendous traffic than for protection.  Whatever, I’m getting used to the special treatment.

Dakar is the most westerly point in Africa and commands the shipping lanes between Western Europe and Brazil and South Africa.  We were told it was lush and green, but as we drove into the countryside it was anything but.  Arid wasteland covered in half-built houses (no mortgages here - you build as you can afford and it might take 10 years) were separated by the occasional dust-covered mango plantations.  Litter and graffiti were rife.  Any vacant lot contained cattle and horses, grazing on hay if they were lucky.  The horses were used to pull basic, flat-bed carts, and these were abundant.  Back to basics - no scooters here.  We were told the cash crop in this country is peanuts, and the food crop is millet.  The people cook with imported vegetable oil though, as the peanut oil is too expensive.

We stopped near the Pink Lake (Lac Rose) at a Wolof village called Niayes.  This is a village that the founder of the Dakar Rally took under his wing and donated money to so they could have a medical centre (if you could call it that).  The whole place was was pretty depressing - a ramshackle collection of buildings lining a sandy road with makeshift shops, and a press of people selling and buying dried fish, fruit and veg, and anything else from bras to brooms. The Senegalese are much darker than those in the other countries we visited.  Their features almost indistinguishable as they merge into shadow. They have a high fertility rate and our guide told us there are a lot of kids.  He has two wives and ten children...so far.

We were soon at the Pink Lake and were loaded onto army trucks converted into open-air, safari vehicles.  A herd of camels grazed in the shade nearby.  Because of a recent sand storm all colour was muted, including the lake unfortunately, so what we got was flat beige tinged slightly pink.  The drive along the shoreline was interesting.  Cattle wandered under the guidance of child herders, and eventually we came to the salt works where harvesters labour to extract salt from the briny water. (One woman thought they were fishermen.  Another thought they were scuba divers. Seriously!)  Nothing lives in this lake except the algae that attaches itself to the salt crystals and gives the water its pink hue.

The prize-giving for the Dakar Car Rally used to be held at the Pink Lake but now the Rally, still called Dakar, is held in Argentina after four French tourists were killed in neighbouring Mauritania.

Senegal is made up of three main ethnic groups: Wolof, Fulani and Serer.  On the other side of the lake was a small Fulani village.  They welcomed us with drums and dancing and allowed us to explore their homes.  These consisted of concrete bunkers dotted amongst sand dunes, with no furniture except a basic bed for the adults. There is a common cook house, and a well at the centre of the community.

Our tour ended with a wild ride over the dunes to the Atlantic Ocean.  The beach, covered in rubbish, stretched forever and the surf was relentless.  We drove along it for a few kilometres, right into the water, which gave us all a thrill.

A small market had been set up right beside the ship so my day finished bartering for souvenirs.  Not a pleasant experience.  The traders grasp your arm and stand over you, or bar your way, until they finish telling you how fabulous and cheap their products are. They would always be asking Robin for more money, and I would patiently tell them that I was the boss, and Robin was my bodyguard.  That always got huge guffaws. They did take a few steps back though....  I’m pleased with my purchases. When I get home the house will look less like a Chinese Emporium and more like an African Market.

Accra, Ghana

 KWAME NKRUMAH

COFFIN MAKING

It didn’t take us long to figure out Ghana was far more prosperous than Benin and Togo.  We had air-con in the coaches for a starter.  Also, on our hour’s drive from the port of Tema, to the capital of Accra, there were large subdivisions of very nice middle-class houses, European car dealerships (I saw more Audi Q7s on the road than on an average day in Ponsonby), and large modern buildings. I’m sure it helps that Ghana has the single biggest gold mine in the world, and is the largest producer of cocoa.  They also have diamonds and oil.  

Probably my most lasting memory of Ghana though, will be the number of peddlers selling things in the middle of the road and motorway.  No wonder traffic was always at a crawl.  Each seller had a specific product. Here is a sample of their wares, and this is no exaggeration: Scrabble; dog collars and leads (haven’t seen a dog since we got to West Africa.  Go to a fetish market and you’ll figure out why); garish religious paintings; bread; newspapers; condoms; lint rollers; tea towels; tissues; sleeping bags; peanuts; suit carriers; full length dress mirrors - in the middle of the road!!; tv aerials; computer software.  And all I wanted was a hot coffee. 

We visited the tomb of Kwame Nkrumah, the man credited with achieving Ghana independence from the British in 1957.  He was overthrown in a military coup in 1966.

We were then dropped off at the Movenpick Hotel for 3 hours where we could pursue our own interests.  Dad, Robin and my interests were of course food and alcohol, so we didn’t need to go far.  The hotel was pretty flash, and like the Taj Mahal Palace hotel, sweetly scented and wonderfully cool.  We started with the best coffee since Singapore, and a slice of cheesecake.  Let’s call that morning tea.  Dad and Robin then had a beer break at the pool bar while I swooned over the fantastic colourful and patterned Ghanian cotton cloth for sale in one of the boutiques.  I did make some purchases, and even bought Robin a shirt - not too loud. We then followed up with a buffet lunch in their popular dining room and more beer to wash it down with.  Amazing how 3 hours can fly by.

No visit to a city is complete without a museum visit (we are finding out).  This is how Accra’s museum was described to us in print: “...one of Africa’s finest. It displays a wealth of historical and artistic treasures with skill and sophistication” (and no air-con).  Let me say, it was a step-up from Togo’s museum in that it had an extra room and fan, and the toilets had lights. Our visit there was limited to 10 minutes.  Why they had to make it so long I don’t know.

We had a police escort back to Tema, along the coastal road, which was lucky as the cars barely moved in either direction.  We mostly traveled down the centre line as cars moved off the road to make way for us.  Our final stop (excuse the pun) was the coffin making shop.  All sorts of coffins were on display, from giant Coke bottles to giant sea creatures, even a giant hammer.  Dad thought he’d have the giant calculator.  You can probably guess what I’d go for although they didn’t have any in stock...

Three sea days now, until we get to Senegal, so you might not hear from me for a few days.

Lome, Togo

 The kids are delightful and very friendly

Down at the fishing port. That woman is carrying apples on her head, and a baby on her back.

Togo is like Benin but without the glitz, glamour, class and sophistication.  Unlike Benin, we did not have a police escort (sorely missed as we sat in many traffic jams today), but we did have security on board.  It was hard to take her seriously though. She looked more like protection for the villain in an old James Bond movie - tall, in a tight-fitting tan pant suit, high-heels and an afro.  When our guide told us what her job was it was on the tip of my tongue to say, “Surely you jest!”.  But I didn’t.  She was the one with the gun. In her handbag.

The hustle and bustle of this city is something else. Scooters carrying up to 4 people whipped between the trucks and buses.  And so many people walking.  The women have the most perfect posture, probably from carrying huge loads on their heads.  This can consist of laundry, hot food, loaves of bread, fruit and veg, and even long tree trunks. Or else they have a baby tied onto their back in a sarong.  Sometimes they carry both.  We have it easy.

We went to an artisan centre to see craftspeople at work.  Carving, weaving, shoe-making, beadwork.  And then of course, the museum.  We’re talking NATIONAL museum.  A room, with a fan, and a couple of cabinets with carvings and musical instruments.  And inexplicably, an old wooden bed-frame with a life size paper-mache horse propped up in it.  We weren’t allowed to take photos here.  Maybe they’re afraid we’ll go home and copy their great ideas. Without a doubt, the fan was the most popular exhibit.

With no air-con again today, it was a relief to get dropped at a beach for a few minutes to watch the fishermen hauling their nets in through the surf.  There’d be as many as 15 men working the one net, heaving the rope, and chanting a song.  Kind of like a chain-gang.  And later we were shown the local fishing port which I found fascinating.  There was so much going on - with brightly painted boats coming and going, nets being mended, wares being sold, fish being handled.

Our most disturbing stop of the day was the Fetish Market where the locals go to buy remedies for their maladies.  I’ve never seen such a variety of dead animals and birds in one location.  The smell was something else.  Displayed outside on big tables were dead owls, falcons and parrots.  Skulls of hippo, monkey and baboon. Whole withered heads of cats and other small animals.  Skins of leopard, porcupine and antelope. Teeth of warthog and others. It was pretty overwhelming.  And there were far more species there than I’ve mentioned.  One guy wanted to take me out the back of his stall to show me his voodoo amulets (that’s not a euphemism) but I was afraid I’d never be seen again. It doesn’t get much more macabre than that place.

Interesting fact: Togo was Britain’s first victory of World War I.  It took only 12 days to defeat the 500 Germans who lived here.

A stand at the Fetish Market

Hauling in the nets

Benin

 HE COULD'VE ASKED BEFORE RUBBING HIS SNAKES AGAINST ME.

A TYPICAL STREET SCENE

Benin, like Mumbai last month, left my senses clanging.  We had a full day tour, and traveled in a convoy of three buses with an armed police escort driving in front with its siren blaring.  We also had armed police on our buses and we stopped for nothing.  Not lights, scooters or people.  Hair-raising, but at least it guaranteed a breeze through the windows, as there was no air-con.  Our driver used his horn liberally, as did those in vehicles around us, and between that, the heat, and the choking dust and truck fumes, our nerves started to fray a little. No matter, there was so much of interest to distract us.

There must be fifty scooters to every car here which explains why you could buy petrol from stalls every 200m along the road.  The petrol was contained in large glass jars and syphoned into the gas tanks as needed.  That was another smell in the air - gasoline.  The main form of transport for the locals are the taxi scooters (also known as “take-me-quicks”) and are identified by the drivers who wear yellow shirts. There were a lot of them.

The streets are lined with open stalls selling all manner of things.  Most commonly petrol, and hubcaps (which was strange as there weren’t that many cars).  Also mangos, pawpaw and bananas.  There were ancient Singer sewing machines set up so you could get a quick mend of your patterned pyjamas if needed.  The men here certainly like their patterned pyjamas, which I suppose are about the coolest, and coolest, things to wear. Even the baby boys wear them.  The men here are not bothered about urinating in public.  I’ve never seen so many peni in one day, or ever.  They don’t even try to hide it.  Our drivers were no exception. When our buses stopped at the sacred forest, they all jumped off and had a group pee in front of us.

We visited the town of Ouidah, supposedly the cradle of Voodoo religion (apparently nothing to be afraid of, folks).  We went to the sacred forest of Kpasse which had at its centre a magnificent 400 year old tree (the spirit of 14thC Chief Kpasse), and on to the Voodoo Temple of Snakes.  Here I not only held a python, but I went in the python pit - a small temple full of snakes.  While I was in there calmly taking photos of snakes at my feet, Robin pointed out that they were on the ledges around my head.  Neato.

Benin was the centre of the slavery trade for 400 years and we saw some of this history in an old Portuguese fort which serves as the Ouidah Museum.

We ate lunch at an open air restaurant on a huge ocean beach that reminded me of Whiritoa, the way the beach fell away and massive waves thumped in.  When we got back on the bus the temperature inside it read 50C.  I can’t even tell you how much we were sweating.  Suffice to say I drank 3 litres of water and only used the bathroom twice all day.

Our final, and my most favourite stop, was the stilt village of Ganvie built way out in the centre of Lake Nokue.  Hundreds of years ago the Tofino chief saved his people from slavery by telling them to build their huts over the water.  Neighbouring tribes who profited from the slave trade left them alone as they believed the lake to be infested with water demons.

We explored the canal ways of this village in long, flat-bottomed boats.  Out here the elderly women are topless, and believe me, if anyone should be wearing tops, it’s them.  The canals are filled with canoes, lots with children casting nets out, or carrying fruit or other produce to be sold.  There is a floating market, and a floating communal laundry.  The houses are loosely made from bamboo and it’s easy to see inside, and how simply these people live.  In the wider canals, makeshift sails are made from sarongs. I’m sure sailing makes a welcome relief from the paddles that are normally used.

We got back to the ship an hour after we were meant to have sailed.  Lucky they waited for us.  Air-con and a shower have never been so welcome!

ONE OF THE CANALS AT THE GANVIE STILT VILLAGE

At sea, Bight of Benin

PIRATE DRILL. ONLY THE CREW WEAR LIFEJACKETS. IS THERE SOMETHING THEY'RE NOT TELLING US?

We crossed the Equator today, at precisely 7:40am.  The captain actually did a countdown from ten.  It was like being on the space shuttle, but with less astronauts, and more passengers.  Apparently the Bight of Benin has become something of a pirate area. Nothing on the scale of what is encountered off Somalia though.

I did my Spin class as usual this morning.  There are three of us regulars.  The other two women are Canadians, both in their sixties.  One of them competes in ironman competitions.  We are totally in awe of her, including our instructor.  If you put wings on her bike it would take off, she pedals that fast.  Today we had an extra woman in the class.  She was African American, in her sixties too, and very elegant.  She had never done a spin class before and spent most of the class seated, as she found the standing climbs too hard.  At the end of the class our instructor asked her how she was feeling.  Now, most people would find that saying “okay” would suffice.  However, she replied with, “Well, my vajayjay isn’t feeling too great”.  Spin class gold, my friends.  I nearly fell off the bike laughing.

We had Bingo again today.  However, there was only one outlet selling cards, instead of the usual two.  Well, you should’ve heard the moaning about that.  You’d think the buffet had been five minutes late opening.  The Bingo MC, who has a wicked sense of humour, said, “Seems there are a few grumpy women today.  Probably your blood sugar levels are low because you haven’t eaten for 45 minutes.”  Funny because it’s probably true.

At sea, Atlantic Ocean

 WELWITCHIA TREE.  THIS SPECIMAN IS THOUGHT TO BE 600 YEARS OLD.

IT ONLY GROWS IN NAMIBIA AND ANGOLA.

ITS TRUNK GROWS UNDERGROUND, ABOUT A METRE.

 OUR SHIP DOCKED IN LUDERITZ

THE LOOOOOONG HALLWAY OUTSIDE OUR CABIN

Thought I'd put in a few random photos.  We have another sea day tomorrow too.  Mothers Day today, of course.  Celebrated with a champagne brunch on our balcony, followed by Bingo.  Does it get any more exciting?  Well, it did because Dad won! US$100.  That should fund his bingo for the rest of the cruise.  Saw dolphins today, and loads of flying fish.  We have been having the most incredible sunsets too.  That big African sun that you always see in photos.

Walvis Bay, Namibia

NAMIB-NAUKLUFT PARK

ROBIN CLIMBING SAND DUNE #7

We finally seem to have left the fog behind and now I can see the Atlantic waters, the colour of tinned asparagus.  I do miss the deep sapphire of the Indian Ocean.

Yesterday though, we were on land.  Walvis (Whale) Bay was our port, but we spent all day out in the desert.  The Bay itself is vast, and is home to a massive lagoon full of wildlife, mainly birds.  The pelicans are pink, and we had hoped to see flamingoes, but they only come at a certain time of day.  

Our tour group was made up of fifteen 4X4 vehicles, each taking five passengers.  We travelled in a long convoy, and with so many driver/guides we received a lot of conflicting information at each place we visited.  e.g. the flamingoes come at high tide. And, the flamingoes come at low tide.  And depending who told the story, the tide was currently in, or, the tide was currently out.  So I apologise in advance for inaccurate information.

The guide in my vehicle looked like your typical white hunter - tall, tanned, muscled, blonde.  A hunk.  Shame his English was so poor.  A conversation with him was like talking on the phone long distance - there was always a delay as he mentally converted from one language to another.

We left the Bay behind and hit the desert, immediately confronted with the large road sign SAND.  That always cracks me up.  The roads are long, straight and flat.  There are bulldozers out every day putting back the sand around the power poles that the wind in the night has removed.  Same problem with the railway line and shifting sand.

Our first desert stop was at Sand Dune #7 (that’s the one between Dune #6 and Dune #8).  It’s supposedly one of the biggest in the world.  My guide, let’s call him Gunther, said I should take my shoes off if I wanted to climb it.  A.) Was he nuts?  Could he not see how high it was, and B) What about snakes and scorpians and other terrifying desert stuff.  He just laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it.”  In the end, the sand was too hot to walk on (that’s my excuse anyway) so I left it to Robin to attempt the climb in shoes.  The sand is incredibly fine, and comes in through the air vents of the car and settles on your clothing like diamond dust.  I was always brushing it off.

We set off along the inland road that ran parallel to the dunes, that ran parallel to the coast.  This string of dunes starts in South Africa and runs through to Angola.  Eventually we turned further inland and headed for the Namib-Naukluft Park.  An enormous moonscape made almost entirely of sandstone.  It looks impassable but we snaked our way along the dry, sandy riverbeds, stopping every now and again to have the flora (such as it was!) explained to us.  Most fascinating was the welwitchia, a prehistoric tree virtually nothing is known about.  It’s trunk grows underground, and it sprouts only two leaves in its lifetime that shred to look like many leaves.  It has seed cones so it was thought to be related to the pine, but no-one is sure.  It seems more like a palm tree to me.  There is a female and a male that grow side by side, and a little bug that pollinates them. Cool.

By now it was so hot even the car was sweating.  Gunther kept saying every 5 minutes, “It’s hot.”  Duh. Perhaps this was the only English he felt confident saying. We had air con but it was useless against the intensity of the sun.

We were all taken to an oasis for a buffet lunch.  Here a tiny stream trickles through, and plant life flourishes: grass, palms, fruit trees, olives, vegetables.  The area was established in 1840 and used to grow fruit for the ships, to stave off scurvy in the crew.

Our last stop for the day was Swakopmund, an old, colonial, German town, where Brangelina lived for a while, and gave birth to their daughter Shiloh.  It’s on the coast, and the Atlantic crashes in.  We didn’t get a chance to explore it.  Just a quick drive around, with a visit to a rug weaver, a shoe maker (shoes made from kudu and ostrich) and a gem museum/shop.  No purchases.  Our drive back to the ship was along the coast road.  Surf on one side, giant desert dunes on the other - the setting sun casting wonderful shadows on the sand.

Luderitz, Namibia

 SUNRISE OVER THE DUNES

UPSTAIRS IN A HOUSE IN THE GHOST TOWN OF KOLMANSKOP

Our journey from Capetown was almost entirely through a thick sea-fog.  The ship slid along slowly and quietly, foghorn sounding every few minutes.  It was very eery, especially at night.  We slipped out of the fog and into Luderitz as the sun came up over the dunes.  Yes, I really was up that early.  The fog hung low behind us, all the way along the edge of the coast.  Weird.

Luderitz is a small town built on rocks and sand, sustained by fisheries and nearby diamond mines.  The houses are brick and plaster, many painted in jellybean colours which contrasted beautifully with the intense blue sky.  But the second you leave town you’re in the desert, as far as the eye can see.

We took a tour to the ghost town of Kolmanskop, about 15 minutes drive away.  The first road sign we saw said SAND.  Stating the obvious somewhat.  Kolmanskop came about due to the alluvial diamond mining in the area, but was deserted in the 1950s when the diamonds ran out.  The houses are slowly disappearing into the sand.  We were allowed to wander through them but were told to beware of snakes. Terrific.  Some houses had sand halfway up the first floor, but if you could get to the staircase you could climb to the second floor and get some great views through the windows.  Walking around , I searched very diligently for a stray diamond. The sign near the town said DIAMOND THEFT HELPS NO-ONE.  It would’ve helped me, but I had no luck.

Back in Luderitz, Robin and I made our way down to the dock, where there was an oyster farm.  A local had told us they ran a great little bar, and their oysters were fantastic.  It was lunchtime so we thought we’d give it a go.  Those oysters were bloody marvellous.  Shucked in front of us, straight out of the water. A perfect balance of salty creaminess. We had two dozen each, washed down with a chilled South African sav blanc.  Mmmmmm-mm.

Having refueled, we went for a walk around the town.  Once you’re off the main road most of the streets are sandy dirt, and often terminate in a large clump of rock.  We clambered up one of these massive rock forms for great views of the town, harbour and ship.  We visited the museum (even more of a relic than the one in East London), and went inside Goerke House, a stunning example of German colonial architecture.

The ship left Luderitz at 4pm, and within 15 minutes we were back in that bank of fog, horns blasting, temperature plummeting. Just weird.

 VIEW OVER LUDERITIZ, OUR SHIP AT ROBIN'S ELBOW

 IN BACKGROUND, FELSENKRICHE - LUTHERAN CHURCH BUILT 1912

GHOST TOWN OF KOLMANSKOP. TEACHER'S HOUSE AND ARCHITECT'S HOUSE

Capetown, South Africa

BYE-BYE CAPETOWN

I was never that excited about Capetown as a destination.  I thought it was just a city with a big, flat mountain behind it.  We’ve all seen the pictures, right?  But to cruise in there on a perfect, cloudless morning and see that tiny city at the base of that massive mountain.  Breath-taking.

We had three days in port, and of course I was going to be seeing Robin for the first time in weeks.  Dad and I were doing a tour up the mountain, via cable car.  When I saw how steep it was though, I had second thoughts.  And then Robin had to text me and say, “I’m up the mountain.  Will wait here for you!”.  Great, now I had to go up.  In fact, when you’re crammed into that cable car with 64 other people, the floor rotating 360 degrees, and the city and sea spilling out before your eyes, you tend to forget about the deathly drop below you.  And it was so romantic to be meeting Robin at the top.  Except for the fact Dad was there too, bless him.  It was only about 5 degrees up there, so after a quick hot drink we did a brisk hike along the tracks.  I saw the rodent like dakkie? chewing on shrubs.  It’s looks like a rat but is the size of a small dog, so it gave me a fright to come upon it.  Some genius tried to feed it, and it went straight for his finger instead.  Hope he had his rabies shot.

That afternoon I moved over to Robin’s hotel down at the V&A waterfront.  This is the Viaduct-like area where there are hotels, shops, restaurants, bars, museums, and the aquarium.  We found a place, just like Kermadec’s at the Viaduct Basin, for a late afternoon treat of oysters and champagne.  As the sun went down we watched the charter boats coming and going, and listened to African buskers performing around us.  The souvenir shops around that area  are of excellent quality.  Robin’s credit card started to smoke, I bought so much so quickly.  MAF are going to love me when I arrive back in NZ.  Later, we had dinner at a charming, nautical pub on the water.  I ate bobotie, a local dish of curried mince, with a baked egg on top, and sampled the excellent South African chardonnays.

The next day was taken up with checking Robin onto the ship and getting him sorted out.  I went for a solo wander around the V&A area and eventually met up with Robin, Dad, and our ship friends, Karen and Doug.  They had been recommended a restaurant called Sevruga so we had made a plan to dine there together.  It was such a gorgeous evening.  No wind, full moon, candlelight, fine food and wine.  It was sad to say goodbye to Karen and Doug who were leaving the ship to go off on safari.  I blame my new bingo addiction on them!

On our final day in Capetown, Robin and I did a tour out to Stellenbosch, a quaint little university town out in the wine country.  It’s a very picturesque area, with the vineyards sprawling to the foot of the impressive mountain range, and the odd glimpses of wild-life to be seen.  That is, wild-life in captivity.  Like farmers in NZ might have donkeys and llama to entertain the punters.  Of course we visited a vineyard for a wine tasting.  And it was very good too.  We left with their famous pinotage, and some sav blanc in case the Nobilo’s on the ship hadn’t been re-stocked.  We’d drunk a bit of wine, but the drive back to the ship, through mile upon mile of shanty towns, was pretty sobering.  Still so much poverty, within what seems a prosperous city.

I was sorry to leave Capetown.  The city centre had some beautiful buildings.  And I loved the Malay quarter, with it’s bright, lolly-coloured houses and petite mosques.  And the V&A waterfront reminded me so much of home.  Our sailaway at sunset, watching Table Mountain turn pink, will be an enduring memory.

THE CABLE CAR GOES ALL THE WAY UP TO THAT TINY POINT AT THE TOP.  INSANE!!

OSTRICH EGGS EVERYWHERE, BUT NOT USUALLY WITH A CHICK SITTING IN ONE.

East London, South Africa

DODO WITH EGG

Imagine East London as Invercargill with gigantic sand hills butted up against it, and you would have a pretty good picture of what this town is like.  We came into their tiny port and did a pirouette with two tugs attached to either end of us.  I was observing this from the promenade deck when a woman came up to me and pointed into the distance at the sand hills and asked, “Is that snow”.  I thought I misheard her, but she repeated herself and she definitely thought the sand was snow.  I told her it was sand but I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me, despite the fact we were on the coast, and it was 23C.  She muttered that it looked too white for sand, and she walked away with a puzzled look on her face.  You see what I have to deal with?

I caught the shuttle bus out of town to a large mall, traveling with my friends Karen and Doug.  We had similar goals for the day so we thought we’d stick together.  We changed some money and did some chores at the very large and very empty mall, before trying to find a taxi to take us to the museum.  There were no taxis but there were several vehicles of the type you would find in a scrap yard, with their owners clamouring to take us wherever we wanted.  Against my better judgement we agreed a price and jumped in one of these dodgy looking cars.  The interior looked like a rabid dog had feasted on it for a couple of weeks.  Our cheery African driver proudly told us he owned the car, and after several attempts to get it going, we were off.  I swear we left a bucket-load of rust behind as we rattled off. However, we did make it to the museum in one piece.  Thankfully it was only a few kilometres down the road.  We walked in and were hit by the overpowering smell of mothballs.  Too late if you ask me - every exhibit was sorry-looking and moth-eaten. The place was so decrepit it should have been IN a museum.  But I’m being too harsh.  It was quite charming in its decrepitude and I was delighted to see not only their dodo with egg, but also their kiwi with egg!  A tiny piece of NZ in EL.  Also of note was the only example in the world of the coelacanth, a prehistoric fish dating back 50 million years and thought extinct.  It was caught off East London in the 1930s.  About 10 more have subsequently been caught down the coast of East Africa.  They are very large (about 5ft), and dark blue when alive.  It doesn’t have a skeleton, and leeches litres of oil when dead.  Yuk.  For such a tiny museum it had many things of interest.  The history of the local tribes’ beadwork, and a lot of maritime history. e.g. the cruise ship Oceanus that sank off East London in 1991 in weather conditions similar to what we’d just been through!  We’d been there about an hour when the lights started being turned off.  A hint to leave, and this time we got the museum to call us a real taxi.  Eventually this old Africaaner turns up in a car very similar to the last one we rode in, except this had a taxi sign on top.  He was wiry and grisly and covered in tattoos.  His clothes were faded and full of holes and his car reeked of pipe tobacco.  No meter of course and he said he’d give us the price when we got to the ship, and not before.  Beggars can’t be choosers and we jumped in.  So we’re bumping along, exhaust pipe dragging on the road, and he’s telling us how dangerous East London is and how South Africa has gone downhill since the demise of Aparthied (I think the black Africans might disagree).  And he says, “It’s so stressful living here that I had 3 heart attacks last month.”  I’m thinking, he shouldn’t be driving.  And he says, “I’m not even meant to be driving.” Hell-ooo!  We’re commenting on how little traffic there is for rush hour, and he say, “Oh, no one drives through this part of town.  They’ll kill you for 10 rand, night or day.”  Who is this guy!!!  By some miracle we make it back to the ship alive and here we are, at sea again, with the captain saying we have 50 knot winds and 7 metre swells so batten down the hatches.

This is my last blog for a few days as we arrive Capetown tomorrow and I’ll be catching up with the husband.  Back with ya on the 8th.

Durban, South Africa

These zebra were part of a big herd.  That's a wildebeest behind them.

The night before our arrival in Durban had been stormy enough for the captain to issue a warning late at night advising us to secure heavy and fragile objects, and to refrain from moving around the ship.  50 knot winds and 5 metre swells meant not only were we tossed about, but we travelled on quite a lean.  Bring it, I say!   As a result, Durban loomed up out of the gloom at sunrise, as the storm clouds receded, and a pink sun broke through.  The city has the largest port in the southern hemisphere, with a lot of industry going on within its confines.  In particular, the world’s biggest sugar works.  Continuing on past the port brings you to the city’s Golden Mile - a long stretch (a mile perhaps) of golden, sandy beach with big rollers crashing in, the shore lined with high-rise buildings.

I didn’t get to see much of Durban as I spent most of my time at the Tala Game Reserve, about an hour’s drive from the city.  As we drove out of the city I caught glimpses of magnificent Victorian buildings, such as the old railway station, the post office, and the town hall which was comparable to the Victoria Railway Station in Mumbai.  Most of the buildings however, were non-descript 1970‘s-type blocks.  Durban’s population is only 2% white, and I must say I didn’t see a single white face on the streets.

Durban is in Natal Province, also known as the Garden State due to its greenery.  We traveled through rolling hills to the Tala Valley.  Lots of eucalyptus (introduced from Australia), and aloe vera at a lower level.  The small holdings in the countryside seems to consist either of sugar cane, or poultry farms.  Battery farming on a level that would have the Greenies in fits - maybe that’s why all the farms are fenced with razor wire.

The game reserve was quite beautiful and immaculately presented.  The main lodge and out-buildings were thatch-roofed and set in perfect gardens.  We were presented with pungent coffee, rooibus tea, and cafe-quality berry muffins before being whisked away on our safari vehicles - open air trucks that seated about 20.  I was thrilled with my seat on the outer edge and had great views at all times.  The reserve looked huge, but is small by game reserve standards.  It was hilly, but also had open expanses with long grass, and acacia trees scattered everywhere.  There was a small lake full of hippos, but the pride of the reserve is the seven white rhino.  We were lucky enough to see them all in a cluster right out on an open field.  They were sitting down, but all facing outwards looking for danger.  They didn’t have anything to worry about.  No big cats here, and no elephants (there are none in Natal).  We saw so much game though.  Here is a list: giraffe, impala, kudu, zebra, ostrich, wart hogs, wildebeest, eland, hippo, rhino and gnu.  Each time there was a spotting we would turn the engine off and sit and watch, take photos, generally ooooh and arhhhh.  We got very close to most of it, except the rhino, because, you know - they can kill us.

 GIRAFFE, OBVIOUSLY

IMPALA