On the 20th of February 1966, the Union Castle steamship Edinburgh Castle halted in the sub-tropical darkness just before dawn. Eleven days of dully throbbing engines suddenly gone, all the passengers woke up with the unaccustomed absolute silence hammering in their ears. The Captain, Commodore Byles, crackled into life over the ship’s intercom. “On deck all of you. You won’t want to miss this.”
Thinking it might be another of the commodore’s little jokes — he was blessed with a twisted sense of humor when he held a microphone — we stumbled grumbling onto the deck where we were greeted by a view of a necklace of lights seemingly suspended in the inky darkness. In the still quiet of dawn, a huge rectangular slab of darkness solidified in the brightening sky as Table Mountain loomed over us. The passengers stared transfixed as around the edges of the silhouetted mass, a gentle pink haze gradually emerged, intensifying in a matter of seconds into a glowing salmon-pink ‘table cloth’ spread across the top of the mountain. As the sun rose out of our sight behind the monolith, glowing tendrils of mist probed the lower reaches and were reflected in the quiet waters of the sea.
In only a few minutes, it was gone. The engines restarted and we got under way. No one moved. For some, it was homecoming; for most of us, it was our first, and unforgettable, introduction to Africa. The second was unfortunately less pleasant. Literally straight off the boat, some passengers climbed onto the first bus out of the port for a closer look at this wondrous new land. Clustering on the open top deck for a better look, a furious inspector shouted at us to get off. We whites were in the section reserved for blacks; the bus was going nowhere until we were off it.
Some years later in 2005, it was with mixed emotions and a growing sense of anticipation that I craned towards the window of the aircraft to see that same fabulous mountain. “To those who have been to South Africa before,” said our brisk and youthful sounding Captain, “Welcome back to the mother city.” This time, it was a homecoming — perhaps as Peter Tosh sang in the 1970’s — if we trace our lineage back far enough, “No mind your nationality, You have got the identity of an African.” We all started here.
It was still there, unchanged and with a hint of the table-cloth draped over its plateau, 1100 meters above sea level, with the city lapping against the mountain’s craggy flanks. Once off the aircraft, the unchanging permanence of the mountain became the backdrop for the Western Cape Province and a South Africa that in every human aspect had changed out of all recognition.
Ten years after the end of apartheid and the election of a majority government, the “sleeves rolled up” muscularity of the country is still very much in evidence. Now however, everyone is involved and there is electricity in the air.
Even the beagle employed in the terminal by the agricultural inspector to check luggage for imported produce wagged his tail with such enthusiasm between looks over his shoulder for a nod of approval from his handler that his back paws slid on the polished marble. The energy of the place is the first thing that hits the new arrival and the smiles; they are everywhere; and they are genuine.
With the mountain forming a backdrop, the journey through the vivid well-watered green lushness of the Cape refreshes the soul after the arid deserts of Arabia. Stellenbosch is a rich farming and grape-growing area, full of history, much of it evident in the unique Cape Dutch architecture.
Sprawling over the Bottelary Hills between Stellenbosch and Kuils River, the Zevenwacht Estate is a particularly fine example of the genre and has strong viticultural roots anchored deep in the historic past of South Africa.
Originally two separate farms, Langverwacht and Zevenfontein, the property is a working vineyard, but is also a wonderful place to stay as a jumping off point for a look round the Cape. The manor house dates from 1800 and is set in a verdant hollow on the slopes that grow the vines that produce the estate’s wine and overlooks the Cape Flats, offering magnificent views of False Bay and of course, the mountain. Hotel it is not; chalets and suites for individuals or families in discreet and private surroundings is the style. It seems entirely right where it is, and the energy and openness of the place is typical of the new society. They are having fun.
In completely contrasting style is modern Cape Town. The glossy office blocks and redeveloped waterfront area have transformed the city into a vibrant and exciting place. Scattered in among the office blocks and hotels are little gems of peace and quiet, all carefully preserved and incredibly clean, many reminders of the city’s colorful and sometimes cruel past hide away in side streets and squares for the tourist to discover. That is typical of the place; vastly different cultures and histories jostling in a glorious setting, the past assigned to where it should be.
Company Gardens, ancient trees and manicured lawns with shady bowers littered with book reading students; incandescently bright houses restored and occupied in the largely Muslim Malay quarter; mosques popping their minarets over the roofs of Cape Dutch houses — one mosque located in Church Street and another next to a Hindu temple — it is an eclectic mix of African, Asian and European cultures rubbing comfortably together with a tangible purposefulness.
Muslims, brought from Indonesia where the Dutch had enormous commercial interests, arrived in the Cape soon after the Dutch themselves. Cape Town’s first purpose built mosque, the Owal Mosque, was opened in 1794. Now there are scores integrated into the community with the Muslim community getting along just fine. They really are having fun building their new nation.
The energy and work ethic that Europeans brought with them to the Cape 350 years ago has been carried forward into the new rainbow society which has taken to the new social structure with gusto.
The feeling of oppression and tautness that was so evident in the late 1960’s has blown away completely in the crisp south Atlantic air and has been replaced with an energetic “can do” approach that is characteristic of many southern hemisphere nations.
Woven into the fabric of the society are reminders of what happened only half a century ago and with it, the implications of what might have been. “The Struggle” — as it has become known — to get rid of the apartheid system and establish an equitable society that works for all appears to have succeeded. The lasting monument to the giants — Mandela, Tutu, Sebukwe, Biko and hundreds of others — is not what exists now; rather, it is the historical fact that the transition took place with almost no violence.
A visit to Robben Island, the prison island 11 kilometers off Cape Town, is now a must for the tourist. It is a very sobering experience. To see the miserable grey cells, barbed wire and slate-covered grey walls of the prison and to ponder the fact that intelligent far-sighted men were incarcerated here for, in some cases, decades — in sight of one of most beautifully situated cities on the planet only generates wonder at the peace of the changeover. Respect and Reconciliation worked; it might have been Revenge instead, but it wasn’t. How did they manage?
They did; and the fact that they did should be an object lesson to cultures elsewhere which have diametrically opposed beliefs, live in lands defined by long-departed colonial powers and seem unable to agree on the future. They should simply walk around there looking at the past. They need giants whose shoulders they can stand on, not dwarves. That way lies retribution, not reconciliation. With their sleeves rolled up, the antipodean buzz is back and standing on the shoulders of giants, there is every appearance that the new generation of South Africans can see the future as theirs; and they are out to make it work.