My South Africa

My South Africa__________

Bainskloof – Karen – Lionshead – climbing – white shark hunting – r.
bay braaiis – parking practice – music for xmas, ect – party in
Simon's town, wine and climb.

I'm not sure how long it was before I awoke to the fact that South
Africa was a "different" place. You might thing that everywhere is
different, and in ways you would be obviously correct, but often what
strikes me first is how much alike one place is to the next. And the
reason is because of the kindness of people.
For some reason I am always surprised. The common generosity of
people never grows stale, never becomes ordinary or expected. And
yet, for all that, it is so ubiquitous. So often I arrive in a new
place and am immediately met with open arms, brought into friendships
and allowed to share in activities. It is so warm; in fact it is a
primary reason why I travel in the first place.
But even in Kenya, where the coastal people were kind as so many
people I have met before them, I started to get another sense of the
Dark Continent, a slight tinge of potential violence latent in the
tribal culture of the land. Nairobi was a dangerous place on all
accounts. I spent little time there and had no problems.
But the sense of potential violence only magnified on making landfall
in South Africa, a country I admit to knowing very little about before
arriving. Racism, and racial violence; coupled with the Cape of
Storms and horrendous SW'erly gales were all I had heard of. And
these &&&&&& proved well founded. However, as my experience deepened,
the complexities of ALL these national markers came through. Nothing
is ever as simple as it seems.

In Richards Bay, my first port-of-call, we simply didn't leave the
port except to go to the mall, which was all there was in town. We
were told it was dangerous, though there were few blacks around the
port itself. I never much felt threatened, but the town was so dingy
and the population so shockingly overweight that it did little to give
a fair impression of the country. My time however was spent happily
with other cruisers having "braaiis' on the dock and playing music and
eating cheap icecream. I had a grant time. The sail was a slow safe
ride into Durban.
In contrast to Richard's Bay, Durban was a big city, and was truly
dangerous. One did not walk at night. One did not walk with a
backpack or phone even in the day time. It was in Durban where you
could really feel a threat. Conversely, it was also in Durban where I
met great hospitality from locals. Chris Sutton gave the lot of us
any info we needed and shared a good meal with us at his home. He and
Tony Herrick gave the town a warm feel in the midst of rapidly
accumulating horror stories of muggings, stabbing and rapes. I still
never ventured from the port area. No night life. We stayed close to
home.
The passage from Durban to East London was a ball-buster. True South
African sailing. Strong wind, a rough sea. Some of the toughest
conditions I've sailed in. Only a quick stop there, and then on to
Port Elizabeth, which I arrived in 35 kts.
PE was a nicer, cleaner town than Durban, and safer. There still was
dangerous places near the port, so a cab was necessary, but John and I
did a fair bit of walking about the town in the daylight hours. There
was a nice museum and cheap food. It felt a bit like the world we
knew—but after over a month in South Africa, the weight of the
constant threat of violence was just unacceptable. Not worth it. Why
live in fear? After all, I am a tourist—I don't have to come here.
And as much as all the world laments racism, the cause for such
dislike is well established on both sides, white and black. The
native black population has suffered oppression for two-hundred years.
And even now live in poverty in a country that they now control. So
they lash out against their former oppresses with immoral violence and
cruelty. Whether it is out of vengeance or desperation becomes
immaterial. But the fact is there is mutual hatred between the
races—and that hatred is justly cultivated—and that is the moral
complexity that has no clear answer or resolution.
The stories of violence here trump anything I have ever heard in my
life before. I will not rehash those stories here. Suffice it to say
that people are regularly mugged, stabbed, murdered and raped—all in
most cruel fashion.
From Port Elisabeth I made a half-jump to Plettenburg Bay, where I
waited out a SW'erly and did not leave my boat. Plet Bay was the
first anchorage that was not a port I had moored in in the whole
country. For the first time, I was able to notice the natural beauty
of the land. It was stunning. The rocks along the bay were crowded
with fur seals and sea birds. The water was clean and clear. I felt
like my old self, anchored in the sort of place that reminds you why
you sail the long miles. I saw a bit of South Africa there, my first
taste of the land beneath the unrest. I stayed only long enough for a
fair wind to Mossel Bay.

Arriving in Mossel Bay was like a continuation, a sort of awakening.
Wow, this is a nice town, I thought, surprised, as if I had given up
on such an idea. Quaint and quiet and friendly and clean. I could go
running along the beach. The yacht club paid us good attention and
provided us with showers and services for no cost. For the first
time, we—John and I, along with others—went out at night. And had a
great time. Ironically of course, we were arrested for no justifiable
reason. A bit of a fall into the "old" South Africa. Was is racial?
… It was a "colored" officer (In South Africa "colored" is a mix race,
a mulatto in the US.) who was carrying a grudge. Be that as it may,
it caused a bit of a stir in town. And yet it didn't dampen my slowly
rising satisfaction with the place.
I had seen the beauty in Plet Bay. Now, in Mossel Bay, John, Laura
and I took DANCYN a few miles out of the harbor to Seal Island in
search of feeding great white sharks. It was the single best day I
had had in S.A. so far. We were active—doing something new and really
pretty cool. And it was unique to S. A. Mossel Bay and Cape Town
have some of the highest consentrations of great whites in the world..
Again … this is why I travel. This is what is unique and special.
We saw two tails and perhaps two on sonar, but no breeches, which is
what we hoped for. (Wrong season.) But it was a hell of a good time,
and we would try once or twice more.
We had good friends in Mossel Bay and there were no horror stories.
It was a safe place, an oasis. Lots and lots of cops helps. And we
had fun. And … we were only a hundred miles from Cape Agulhas. We
had learned something now: as bad as the weather and seas of S. Africa
could be, modern technology has changed the way we sail it so
drastically as to be a brave new world. 100 miles to Cape Agullhas.
That is one day of sailing, or motoring. Modern weather can forecast
that. Most sailors coming around the Cape are now using their cell
phones to upload weather files onto their computers. This means we
have continual weather forecasting. This all but guarrentees you of
at least a day of good sailing (when it looks like you have four!)
But 100 miles—that is a day! And often the hops along the coast
were not much longer. We waited; we were patient. We found our
windows and went. And for the most part the passages were fair,
strong, but fair.
I rounded both Cape Agulhas and the Cape of Good Hope in light airs or
under motor power. In fact I rounded the Cape of Good Hope within
five minutes of sundown in a completely glassy sea, running the motor.
It was stunningly beautiful, glorious—but, more to the point—safe.
Modern weather forecasting and wireless internet have changed the
risks of sailing in South Africa.

Before rounding the Cape of Good Hope I visited Cape Town. A friend
from Borneo lives there and offered to take me around. Her name is
Karen Ciellers; we spent time in the jungle together, but only a few
days. I knew the next time I set sail I would be leaving the
country for a long long passage. I also knew I had yet to really make
a memory, a touchtone experience that would tie my heart to the place.
I had shed now the disdain for the place that some of "colleagues'
maintained, but hadn't been won over.
Karen picked John and I up in Simon's Town where we were anchored and
took us up to the wine region just north of Cape Town. It was
stunning. Great beige ridges cradling lush green valleys. These
people didn't seem to be living behind bars and locks. They were
farming grapes in a fine land. We parked on a pass to the north of
the valley and climbed up a mountain. I was home again. Just
stunning. I ran the downhill and felt I had found what I was looking
for. We went down to the vineries and proceeded to wine-taste
ourselves drunk.
In occurred to me that I had wound myself into an unnecessary rush.
To allieviate this, I tempted Karen into taking a road trip with me.
I didn't care where we went—I just wanted to see the country I had
blindly been passing by. Amazingly, she was keen. We agreed on a
place called Bainskloof.
The drive wasn't long, one day, but it took us up high into some
granitic and sandstone mountains. That afternoon as we went out for a
short hike I was shocked to see how utterly climbable the rock was—it
was perfect, really truly perfect. The best rock I've seen since
Tennessee. It was hard, solid, sticky, and absolutely popping with
horns and jugs and chicken-heads, pockets, under-clings—holds of all
sorts. Amazing. I was a kid in a candy store.
The walking was therapy. It was a creek walk in a shallow gorge. We
rock hopped along on smooth river rocks from one crystal pool to the
next. We stopped to swim and picnic. Karen would lay in the sun and
I would amble off to climb. We spent time talking and spent time
alone. I needed the time alone to settle my mind. I was about to
sail a long, long passage and I felt I was giving this fact poor
mental preparation. Here was my place, mountains, water and rock—I
was at peace; I had found peace in a way that I hadn't known it since
Chagos in the Indian Ocean months before. Now I had found it here in
South Africa. Now I had my memory, my love, my experience of a place
to challenging to understand in a cycle of the moon, or maybe a
lifetime. But one can live well there. It has its beauty and magic.
And now I know it.

--
Jonah Manning
S/V BRILLIG

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