Its a hot muggy 4am in Dubai, and a cool clear Johannesburg 8 hours later. I land in a sleepy blur; long arms, long legs, a beaming smile await in the Arrivals lounge – my university friend and I have embarked on the longest road trip of my life; Johannesburg to Cape Town, following the coastline.
Johannesburg – North Drakensberg
Day 1 starts with 9 days on the clock, in a gold VW Polo, with a very hungover co-pilot, and over 2000km to drive. The ground is brown, bone dry, almost apocalyptic. People appear to just exist, if only at a slow pace, their skin cracked like the ground beneath their feet. They’re waiting, sitting, waiting, for what? Desolate with the occasional brown roofed hut breaking up the yellow grass. We drive for miles, miles ahead of us towards the Drakensberg Mountains, so-named because of their dragon-back peaks. Yet they don’t seem to arise; and the apocalypse-bared earth shows no sign of abating.
Our hostel is perched on the edge of a hill, with panoramic views of dry moorland. The cold creeps in early – South African sunsets happen around 5.30 every evening, turning into impossibly long nights. And it is cold. Turns out you can take the girl out of Dubai…
North Drakensberg – Durban
We head deeper and darker into the Drakensberg, on to Cathedral Peak, yet still searching for landscape that resembles actual mountains. And then suddenly they appear, majestic, imposing and exactly like their namesake. Somewhere, in those crevices up high, is the dragon’s head, its fire the beating sun on our backs. We walk, blackened earth crunching underfoot, past dried tree fruits, and following the sound of water. A baboon family are up ahead, and we disturb their weekend amble. The air is so fresh up here, it almost hurts these Dubai-dust clogged lungs. The map says we are walking to find Doreen Falls – how do they name waterfalls? Did Doreen fall? Water like glass pours from a rock face up ahead, ice ice cold. He decides to go for a swim; the echoing shrills tell of this error. We can’t stay here, and with the impending sunset, we push on to Durban. This apocalyptic landscape continues for miles, until the roads begin to drop down into the city, traffic pushing either side, racing towards the shore. The sea! We lock the doors – aware of the Durban crime stories. Tucked into a table overlooking a large aquarium home to three types of shark, we eat the best steak of my life, guzzle South African red wine, and reminisce of university days gone by.
Durban
Day 3 is our beach day. An expanse of dark beige sand, black rock, glistened feet. The sea so clear and inviting, yet hints of dangers lurking deep. We walk. South Sands, Addington, the city’s accumulation of architecture climbs and dips as a backdrop. Walking through town is not quite as peaceful or comfortable – our presence encourages lingering looks, watching, conversations and laughter shared as we pass. We don’t wander for much longer, but catch a cab to the shore, our cab driver astounded that why we would be walking; his accent thick with humour, and to my ears, incomprehensible words. He ventures into the sea, swimming out further before the fear of below kicks in. I walk down the beach alone, sunlight glistens, a gold glow, and grey haze creeps over the city. The people fade away, and I’m on my own, my footsteps washed away at each step. Tonight we drive to the rugby stadium, to watch the Sharks take on, and beat, the Cape Town’s Stormers. The air is electric, the fireworks ablaze, the crowd geared up on giant cups of beer, bags of chips and fresh doughnuts.
Doreen Falls
I have a rule when driving that co-pilots shouldn’t sleep. Today our spedometer says we have reached the 1000km mark, and I break said rule. The landscape takes on a new face to the ones we have seen before. We drive through plantations, banana and coconut palms, the road falling away to rolling terraces either side. The sea becomes more angry, juxtaposed against the peaceful shoreline; we are at the start of the Wild Coast. Trees, rows and rows of trees in perfect alignment run for miles, as the road meanders through timber land. We try to hold onto the evergreen, but as our journey takes us further from the sea, the dry brown ground swallows us up. This is Zulu country, the Transkei, known for its bustling industrial towns, and coloured rondevaals pinpointed along the horizon and hill tops. I was told only to drive through the Transkei during daylight hours, and we head on to Coffee Bay, navigating the pot-holed road back towards the sea. So-named because a ship carrying coffee was wrecked on the rocks and spilled its wares on the village, this place is quaint, quiet and life passes by slowly here. We watch the sunset with beers in hand, high on top of a hill, a pink glow creeping in as dolphins dance on the surface below.
