Travelogue November 17, 2023, to February 21, 2024

To start at the beginning, please go to PART ONE: From Southampton, U.K. to Seychelles.
Then, PART TWO: From Seychelles to Durban, South Africa.

We are now in East London, a river port in the province of the Eastern Cape, also called Buffalo City as it is the name of the river that runs through it. My chosen tour today was called Khaya La Bantu Cultural Experience and featured the Xhosa tribe. Xhosa is also one of South Africa's 11 official languages. Our guide today was Clive, a white South African, whose grandfather had emigrated to this country from Denmark. During his first career, he worked in a bank for 30-odd years. When he retired, he retrained to become a cultural and game-park tour guide.

  

  

We were in two large busses and I was in the first while the second took a lot longer to get to the village. This meant we had time to photograph, look at the few trinkets for sale, and ask some questions of the village guide, a young white South African paramedic, who, for some reason, had decided to become Xhosa, and had gone through the initiation rites, but was still unmarried. I never got his name, but he is shown in the final photo for today. He explained that Khaya La Bantu village was founded in 1995 by a Canadian from Saskatchewan (the Facebook page says, Vancouver, B.C.) called Michael Corbett. The Canadian flag was proudly displayed in the main village hut alongside the South African flag. Once the second busload of passengers from the ship had arrived and filed into the hut used for entertainment and which had seats on tiers, the women all started singing and dancing. They did about five or six numbers in all, and then sang the South African national anthem. Next, they divided us into two groups, female and male. The men followed the local guide, while we women went with a 61-year-old local, featured here as the woman wearing a black and white beaded necklace.

  

  

We learned about the process a bride goes through before getting married--and by the way, when she's chosen for marriage by a man, she's not allowed to refuse him. The bride price is negotiated, just as it is for the Zulu bride, but apart from knowing how to clean and cook, being young and fertile, and over the age of 18, she is more desirable if she is sturdy, and has a full, rounded body, i.e. looks well fed. It also helps if she has an education and is employable. Prior to marriage, she is confined to a certain type of hut for a month and is advised about what to expect with marriage by other married women in the village. After giving birth to her first child, she may not have relations with her husband for three years.

  

  

Meanwhile, I learned that the men were told about the initiation for a man, or rather group of men, who go into their hut as boys for a month and after the circumcision cannot drink anything for three days--apparently this is so they don't pass water because it would be painful to do so after circumcision. Some boys become infected because the circumcision is not performed by a doctor. I will write more about this below.

  

  

After the explanation in the women's group, we were invited to try a locally made sorghum beer. I took a sip and found it had a very malty flavour but was full of sediment. I washed out my cup with water because then we were offered a drop of South African Commando brandy, which was strong but nice. We were also given a demonstration of how a young woman is taught to grind corn using an implement similar to a rolling pin. I then asked each of the eight women present their ages, and learned that those of the younger generation there were in their forties, while the older generation were in their sixties. They also explained their long dresses or skirts, which meant they were married, and added that they wore an apron on top for each child they had given birth to. Most of them seemed to be wearing only 2 or 3 aprons, so consequently they did not have huge families. The three younger ladies who had been dancing earlier were wearing short skirts with slits which they wore in the front or to the side to show that they were unmarried, virgins, and therefore marriageable.

  

  

Finally, we joined the men in the longhouse where tables and chairs had been set up for us. We were then invited to go and see the kitchen, which was another round house of mud with a grass roof supported by Eucalyptus poles and with no hole for the smoke from the cooking fire to escape. I imagine it just went out the door. (Apparently here in the East Cape, Eucalyptus is an invasive species and they can't chop it down fast enough. It is then sent to the pulp mills to make paper.) They had been cooking us food since this morning and we were invited to line up for a tasting of about five dishes: pumpkin, lamb stew, something with what looked and tasted like barley, and then home-made bread, and fried dough with sugar. I admired the art on the walls--including stuffed heads of an impala and a wildebeest, and a couple of pictures of Nelson Mandela, who I was told later was Xhosa, as was Archbishop Desmond Tutu (whom I once met in Vancouver).

  

  

It was time for us to leave, so the women sang and danced once last time for us, and we filed back to our buses. Four of the women even accompanied us right up to the exit of the compound. They had been excellent, warm, and welcoming hosts and hostesses, and a cultural experience I shall no doubt remember for a while. For the rest of this section, I will let my photos speak for themselves.

  

  

I learned, after looking it up, what the men must have been told of a young man's ritual in the Xhosa culture. Called Ulwaluko, it comprises traditional circumcision and initiation from childhood into adulthood. Traditionally intended for teaching, it prepares young males for the responsibilities of manhood. A man who has not undergone initiation is still referred to as a boy, regardless of his age, and is not permitted to take part in male activities such as tribal meetings. The ritual process includes surgical removal of the foreskin by a traditional surgeon. After this, the males are secluded for a month. During the first week, the initiates are confined to a boma (hut) and meat and water are restricted. During the second phase for the remaining two to three weeks, the food and water taboos are lifted and the initiates are looked after by an attendant. The seclusion period ends when the boys are asked to race down to the river to wash themselves. The hut and the initiates' possessions, including their clothing, are burned. Each initiate receives a blanket. The unfortunate truth behind this initation process is that since 1995, around 1,000 initiates have died from complications resulting from the ritual. What's more, about twice as many have had to undergo penile amputations due to botched foreskin removals. In 2014 Desmond Tutu urged traditional leaders and the government to intervene and use qualified medical practitioners to undertake the surgery. Other boys die due to dehydration from the water restrictions. Failed circumcisions have also led to suicide due to depression and feeling deprived of their manhood. Other complications are infection, gangrene, and autoamputation. Nevertheless, penis transplants have been successfully performed since 2014.

  

  

 

Gqeberha (the pronunciation of 'Gq' is a Xhosa click sound) is the new name of what used to be called (and still is by many) Port Elizabeth, named after the deceased wife of Sir Rufane Donkin, acting governor of the Cape Colony. Port Elizabeth became a city in 1913 after completion of the Kimberley Railroad (1873) spurred development of the port. Referred to by locals as P.E., it is a major seaport, the most populous city in the Eastern Cape province, and the sixth most populous city in South Africa (although unfortunately with a 52% unemployment rate). Its industries include cereal and bread manufacturing, truck and SUV manufacturing, and salt harvesting from salt pans. Once again its current name comes from the river that runs through it.

  

  

“After the Napoleonic Wars, Britain experienced a serious unemployment problem. In 1820, the British government encouraged a group of settlers to immigrate to the Cape Colony, where they arrived in Table Bay (now Cape Town) on board the Nautilus and the Chapman on March 17, 1820. From there they were sent to Algoa Bay, known today as Gqeberha. Lord Somerset, the British governor in South Africa encouraged these immigrants to settle in the frontier area of what is now the Eastern Cape in order to consolidate and defend the region against the neighbouring Xhosa people and to boost the English-speaking population. This period saw one of the largest stages of British settlement in Africa with approximately 4,000 settlers arriving in the Cape between April and June 1820.”

  

   

Another game drive today, this time to Pumba (warthog) Private Game Reserve, a malaria-free area, which covers 7,000 hectares and is home to 'the Big Five' (lion, leopard, elephant, rhinoceros, and buffalo) and over 300 species of birds. After photographing our welcoming musicians and dancers at disembarkation off the ship, and a couple of signs from the bus, my large camera decided to stop working again and only gave me error messages, which was frustrating. I took out my waterproof camera and found the battery was depleted. That left me with only my iPhone to take photos with, which meant I would have to be up close to my subjects as its so-called zoom mechanism only makes resulting photos very pixilated, as you will see below. Having started out with the hope of photographing elephants and lions today--animals I had not seen at the previous two game reserves here in South Africa--and after grabbing a bran muffin and a glass of lemonade at the lodge, we had a fairly slow start with Headman, our 10-seat-4x4 driver. Although we sighted some impalas he did not stop for, a few birds that were too quick, with the exception of the above Cape starling (or Cape glossy starling), a zebra, some far off white rhinoceroses, and a couple of not very visible buffalo lying down, he finally found an elephant far away on a hill with his binoculars. So, off he set, and managed to get us up close to a mother and a youngster, who, after having consumed quite a lot of greenery on our left side, crossed in front of us, and we managed to get a few more photos of them on our right side.

  

  

Our next stop, after a few more sightings in the distance, was a lovely lunch at the lodge, with vegetable soup, several salads, bbqed meat, which this time included chicken, and a bucket of chilled water and South African white wine as well as red wine (all seen in the photos below). A vervet monkey had grabbed a few bread buns off our particular table before we sat down and then ran about the trees above as it ate them. I had already photographed vervet monkeys at Cape Vidal so was not bothered about not having captured any good shots this time, due partly to how quickly it moved and how much it hid itself in the branches. After trying small portions of all four desserts, we headed off back towards our bus by doing another game drive.

  

   

This time I truly regretted not having my long lens because we saw a male lion, plus about three females, one of which was white. I learned later from the reserve's brochure, that white lions come about due to a recessive gene and are regarded as a sacred animal by African people. This reserve has been home to a pride of free-roaming white lions since 2006, some of only 500 white lions in the world. They are bred to mix with the tawny lions and to make sure that there is no in-breeding. As these lions surveyed the scene, we noted a large group of nervous impalas, as well as 6 or 7 giraffes, looking at the lions and waiting to see what they would do. The situation was tense. And then along came three very brave warthogs, who trotted towards the lions and whom, we imagined, might have decided to sacrifice themselves to save the impalas at least, since the giraffes were too far away. However, the lions paid them no attention whatsoever, and I suggested that perhaps they were tired of a diet of warthog, and anyway the rigid hairs on their backs probably got stuck in the lions' teeth. Meanwhile, as the lions stayed where they were, the impalas and giraffes gradually drew back and away, and so did we when we realized there would be no chase or kill today (although I think deep down we were actually rather relieved).

  

  

As we neared our bus, Headman sighted a pond with a number of buffalo gathered there and once again he drove towards it along various paths until he had brought us right up close to them. We all said it had been one of our best days for wildlife sightings, although, as I said, with my large camera I would have no doubt managed to get far better photos of the lions. I will also remember this area particularly for the hundreds of termite hills that dotted the countryside.

  

Named after the plentiful supply of mussels found here, Mossel (mussel in Dutch/Afrikaans) Bay is a harbour town located on the Garden Route in South Africa's Western Cape province. “The 190-mile Garden Route is one of South Africa's most visited stretches of coastline with landscapes ranging from sandy beaches and indigenous forests to rocky shores and quaint towns.”

  

  

At the Garden Route Game Lodge, in malaria-free Albertinia, for my final game drive of this voyage, I was really hoping to see more lions as well as cheetahs and the elusive leopard, though they say if you do see a leopard during the day it's unusual and usually signals that something is wrong. After a shorter bus ride than most of our previous days, we arrived at the private game reserve, established in 1999 and located against a backdrop of the Langeberg mountain range. Invited to sign a waiver and then help ourselves to not-very-fresh coffee and tough rusks, we got into our 10-seater 4x4s not knowing who our drivers would be. Ours ended up being a young, white-African girl, and I found out soon enough that they did things a bit differently at this reserve.

  

She would drive up to an animal or group of animals, stop the land rover, and explain all about its/their habits, breeding, etc. I found it slightly annoying because I was wanting to get going, aware that our time was limited, and once again my large camera, after photographing the South African flag at the entrance of the reserve, began displaying only error messages. This time I had a freshly powered battery on my waterproof camera and decided to stick to it for photography and do the best I could with it.

  

Unfortunately, our driver, Kathy, didn't bring us very close to any of the animals, so the views you see here are for the most part the results of fairly wide-angle shots. However, the advantage of today was that the terrain was fairly flat and full of grassland, unlike the hills and bushes of yesterday, so we were able to see farther and note visible animals sooner. Nevertheless, I also had this feeling that the drive itself (or perhaps I mean the reserve) was somewhat contrived. Perhaps because it was a much smaller reserve than yesterday. The driver seemed to know exactly where the various species would be hanging out. The two male elephants were standing unmoving by a building, the two female hippos were soaking in the river, the castrated male lion and his three females--who didn't need to go out hunting because they were basically in their own enclosed terrain and were brought dead cows from neighbouring farms to consume--were lying under bushes on the hill. The black wildebeest were on one plain, the mountain zebras on another, rhinos on a third, and the various types of antelope (bushbuck, impala, and hartebeest) were scattered all over.

  

We also sighted a yellow mongoose (not seen here because it was so small and quick), buffalo in the distance, and, I inferred from Karen, experienced a rather rare sighting of South Africa's national bird, the blue crane, seen below. The cheetah, whose head you can only just see under the bush, was much too far away, even, I suspect, for my long lens, had I been able to use it, but of course I will never know. The final image is the protea, South Africa' national flower, of which there are many species.

  

All in all then I was not completely happy with today's tour, although others I talked to later on were. They had been lucky enough to have seen two cheetahs! I guess this just means I will have to come back here or elsewhere in Africa and try my luck again in the future. After all, any game drive photography just comes down to being in the right place at the right time and hopefully having a very good working camera!

  

 

Here we are, finally, in Cape Town at the end of our second leg and the beginning of our third and final leg. I woke up early and peered out my curtains but saw only fog and a lone pilot boat coming towards us on the starboard side. When I woke up again we were docked and the sky was still covered in cloud, so I wasn't quite sure if I was seeing the flat-topped Table Mountain--one of the New Seven Wonders of the World--or not. “Table Mountain is the most famous landmark in Cape Town and can be seen from almost anywhere in the city. Rising 1,085 meters above sea level, with a flat plateau measuring just under two miles wide at the top, the unique tabular shape is a result of erosion from harsh winds and water exposing the many horizontal layers of sandstone” During the morning, however, the cloud became thinner and I was flabbergasted to see said mountain right opposite me. I do not intend to climb it this time. I did so when I was last here 25 years ago, and remember it as tough going, but even more dangerous was the descent as I remember slippery pebbles, which meant going down extra carefully in order not to slide. We will be here in Cape Town for four days and as of today I have tours booked for the first three days. I will decide later what to do on the fourth. I may just go into the Victoria & Albert Waterfront and its shops to see if I can replace my camera.

  

  

Today's tour is to Robben Island, which was “initially inhabited by a variety of wildlife, including birds, penguins, seals, and tortoises. With fresh water available from several springs, most visiting ships preferred to dock at Robben Island to replenish their supplies rather than having to deal with the indigenous inhabitants of the mainland. In 1671, Dutch colonists at the Cape began to place their convicted criminals there, including African and Muslim leaders who opposed the Dutch rule. The British continued this practice when they annexed the Cape in 1806. In 1812, Robben Island was used as a mental asylum and in 1843 a plan was put forward to use it as a colony for 'lepers, paupers, the mentally unfit, and the chronically ill,' removing the convicts to the mainland where they could be used on government projects. For almost 100 years, Robben Island was home to the country's unwanted, who were subjected to poor conditions and inhuman treatment. Following complaints by clergy and medical staff, the lazaretto was closed down in 1931. From 1961, Robben Island was once again used as a prison. During apartheid, many black people were held there as political prisoners, including former President Nelson Mandela. The prison was internationally notorious for its harsh conditions, and when the apartheid regime was rejected by the South African people and prisoners released, the island became a symbol of the strength of human spirit.”

  

  

Our tour was originally to take place in the morning, but we received notice that it had been changed to the afternoon and we were to catch the 1:00 p.m. ferry from the Victoria & Albert Waterfront ferry terminal, which meant taking the ship's shuttle there with our guide, Winston. After getting our ferry tickets and filing inside the terminal, there was a long wait, mostly standing, because we were told the ferry was delayed having left Robben Island late.

  

  

However, once we were on the Krotoa, named after a former post-officer's wife from the island in the 1600s, it was smooth sailing and to make our journey more interesting, we were shown a video of the history of the island from the 1600s to the present day, featuring a number of the prisoners and what they had to say of their experiences, as well as a short history of apartheid.

  

  

After disembarking the ferry, we then walked along the pier to a waiting bus, which we all climbed into along with other tourists, and listened to an amusing tour of the island from a guide whose name I don't remember, unfortunately. He showed us various spots around the island, including the lepers' cemetery, kennels where the guard dogs, German Shepherds, had been kept, and the town in which the families of prison guards lived, which is still occupied today and contains a community centre, at least one school, and two churches. He also showed us a limestone quarry in which political prisoners had worked and told us of a reunion there many years after Nelson Mandela's release, where a pile of stones had been created in memory of their time there. We had a stop at a snack store with a view of Table Mountain where I took a number of photos because the area also contained gulls, cormorants, and African penguins. Both of the latter two species are currently under threat of extinction.

  

  

The bus dropped us back at the prison where we were introduced to Sipho Msomi, our tour guide for the prison. A former political prisoner himself, he had been imprisoned in Robben Island from the ages of 22 to 27. He spoke slowly but had very interesting things to tell us. What impressed me was the fact that the prisoners had all kept up each others' morale by telling jokes and stories. We wandered slowly through the complex, which included sports grounds for football, tennis, and volleyball, gardens where they grew fruits and vegetables (grapes, peaches, chilis, tomatoes, radishes, onions, sweet melons, and watermelons), and a flower garden in which the manuscript of Nelson Mandela's biography Long Road to Freedom had been hidden.

  

  

We were then taken into the long corridors of various communal rooms where items like this sheet of food rations were displayed. Our tour culminated in a visit to the cell block where Nelson Mandela had stayed, not very distinguishable from the other cells, which were all pristine and tidy, with the exception of a bucket for there were no toilets in these cells. Also, something I thought unusual, each cell had a lovely large window through which the bright sun was shining, although, of course, it had bars on it.

  

  

Our tour over, we were given the chance to walk back to the pier on our own on a not-so-long walk to freedom to contemplate what we had seen and learned, during which I photographed this protea and an injured, juvenile gull. There was no time to look into the souvenir shop as the ferry was waiting for us and was eager to get going. On the journey back over the water to the mainland, the second half of the video about the history of Robben Island was shown. On our arrival back at the Victoria and Albert Waterfront, we smelled and saw cape fur seals lying and sleeping on a platform. On our walk back to our shuttle bus, I photographed painted rhinos and a statue of a head found standing amongst them.

  

  

  

On opening my curtains this morning, the top of Table Mountain was clear once again! My chosen tour today was to 528-acre Kirstenbosch National Gardens, a UNESCO World Heritage Site as of 2004, and home to over 8,500 species of endemic plants, along with Groot Constantia Winery for some wine tasting. Our guide was François, a White South African with a French name but without the ability to speak French! He told us his son owned a winery in the area. The gardens weren't far from the cruise ship pier and actually backed onto Table Mountain. I could, in fact, have walked up the mountain from Kirstenbosch. Indeed, the gardens were on an incline, so it was important to be fit to explore the gardens. As it was a Saturday, I saw many families and groups of young people sprawled over the wide lawns, picnicking. I was particularly interested in seeing the protea, a large flower endemic to South Africa, but, as I found out, there are several types of protea and, unfortunately, the season for protea was at its end, so I didn't see as many blossoms as I had hoped. I was told the best month to come and see them was October.

  

  

  

To orient you better, Kirstenbosch currently ranks among the best gardens in the world and contains both indigenous and exotic plants. We were given 90 minutes to explore on our own, and without a map it was difficult to know where to go. There were sign posts but these were rather vague, so I found myself often going back and forth along the same areas. Apparently, there is also a Heritage Trail presenting the history and development of Kirstenbosch. Self-guided and circular, it is 2km long and takes about two hours to complete. People were living in the area in prehistoric times and it was the territory of two Khoikhoi clans. The forests here were surveyed by Jan van Riebeeck of the Dutch East India Company in 1652, and he appointed a forester to protect the trees and supply the Company with timber. Hedges, fruit trees, wheat fields, oak and chestnut trees, as well as grapevines were planted in the area by Van Riebeeck. The land was used for timber in the 1700s and as a farm and vineyard in the 1800s. The last private owner of the land was Cecil John Rhodes, who bought it in 1895 for nine thousand pounds sterling and who, on his death in 1902, bequeathed it to the nation on the condition that it not be sold. It became a botanical garden on July 1, 1913. Wildlife found in the garden include sunbirds, which I certainly heard, helmeted guineafowl, which are apt to raid picnics, and caracals--African lynx--which I neither heard nor saw.

  

  

  

Of course, ninety minutes was not nearly enough time to explore. One could spend an entire day here and not see everything, I imagine. Certainly, there wasn't even enough time to read all the signs designating the plant species--written in English, Afrikaans and Xhosa--if one wanted to. The gardens also contain a concert venue and a beautiful shop, which we were given 5 minutes to visit, so I hurriedly photographed what I could.

  

  

  

Our next stop wasn't that far either, perhaps only a stone's throw away, in the wine district nearest to Cape Town. So close in fact, even hop-on-hop-off buses go there. As we travelled past large houses, our view gave way to seemingly endless vineyards. Having arrived through the gates of Groot Constantia, founded in 1685, for a wine tasting paired with chocolates, we were offered generous portions of six wines: a 2023 Rosé, a 2023 Sauvignon Blanc, a 2021 Pinotage (my first introduction to this red wine grape, South Africa's signature variety, I learned, cultivated in 1925 as a cross between Pinot noir and Cinsaut, known as Hermitage in South Africa at that time), a 2021 Shiraz, and a 2019 Gouverneurs Reserve (sic). As our group tasted and tested, the conversation level rose noticeably.

  

  

  

Agreeing that we had enjoyed all of them, we were invited to take part in a tour of the premises, joining several other tasting groups in the process. Once we had climbed a couple of floors, and had been introduced to names of the winery's illustrious clientele since 1685, including Napoleon Bonaparte, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Count Otto von Bismarck, and King George V, taught about the types of cork, and the differences between making white wine versus red wine, we had just moved to a third stage when one of our passengers fainted, an ambulance had to be called, and our tour was curtailed. Informing our guide of my plans, and obtaining his agreement, I walked from the tasting building to the front parking lot of the estate so that I might photograph some more buildings, the vines themselves, a protea bush, and a hadeda ibis. I actually ended up walking too far and when I approached the guard at the front gate to ask where I should go, he stopped an Uber driver, a fellow originally from Botswana as I discovered during our brief conversation in the car, asking him to drive me to the place I had agreed to meet my tour bus. I still wasn't completely convinced I was in the right place, but decided to turn uphill, and, as luck would have it, the tour bus arrived at our agreed meeting spot just as I did.

  

  

We never heard the outcome of the passenger who had fainted, apart from the fact that she had been taken to hospital by the ambulance and that her husband, who was also on our tour, had gone with her. When we arrived back at Table Mountain, we saw two fires burning on the mountainside and later, from my balcony, I watched as helicopters flew over them, dropping water. I later heard that one of these fires was located right beneath the route of the cable car that brought people up and down the mountainside and that the cable car had been stopped while the fire was being put out by the helicopters. Some passengers from our ship had been on a Table Mountain tour and their descent by cable car had consequently been delayed for an hour or more!

  

Today's 8-hour tour was called Scenic Winelands and our guide was a white South African woman called Laverne, about our age, who was very knowledgeable and gave us information almost constantly en route, which was a nice change. The winelands area also contains a cheetah outreach, a bird sanctuary, a couple of nature reserves, a giraffe house, an exotic animal world, and many, many wine estates. Our first visit was to Paarl. First inhabited by Khoi-na and San, Europeans first visited this area in 1657, but the first farm was only granted in 1687, making Paarl the third-oldest town in South Africa. In the early days, it was known for its wagon building, but today it is the headquarters of the South African wine industry and boasts the longest main road in South Africa at 12km. We had come here to taste wines at Nederburg winery, a somewhat younger establishment than yesterday's as it was founded in only 1791. There was no suggestion of a visit to the manufacturing process, or any pairings with chocolate, although at the end of the tasting we were offered some breads and cheeses, although I decided instead to take the opportunity of buying a Cabernet Sauvignon, a Pinotage, and their sweet, smaller bottle Noble Late Harvest as the prices were very reasonable indeed.

  

  

  

We next drove on through similar countryside, lush with vineyards, including land belonging to South Africa's richest man, though our guide never actually mentioned him by name. We then travelled along the main street of Franshoek, a tiny French enclave settled originally in 1688 by about 300 Huguenots, who arrived at the Cape of Good Hope by ship, and consequently populated the valley, establishing farms and businesses, and bringing with them their French culture and experience in agriculture. After parking in front of the Huguenot monument, built in 1945 and dedicated to the Huguenots who emigrated from France to escape religious persecution and basically founded South Africa's wine industry, we were given 45 minutes to explore this pretty little town, full of art and cafes. Feeling rushed, I went with my small camera and stopped and photographed what I could, wishing we had more time to explore it fully. Then when we arrived back at our bus as arranged, we found two of our group were missing. We then wasted a further 20 minutes as the bus travelled up and down the main road looking for the two miscreants, who had gotten into the other bus of our tour, and the ship's escort in said second bus failed to inform our tour guide.

  

  

  

It was now time for lunch, so we were driven to another wine estate called Boschendal, also established in 1685, located between Franshoek and Stellenbosch, and to picnic tables on a lush green lawn not far from where a live musical group was playing contemporary music. Those on our tour who were couples were provided with a picnic box for two with one bottle of the estate's wine between them (a choice of Sauvignon Blanc or Chenin Blanc in white or Sauvignon or Pinotage in red), while those of us travelling on our own were presented with a slightly smaller box plus an entire bottle of wine, which I ended up taking on the ship with me unopened. The picnic box was very generous with an entire breast of cold chicken with wing, a bread stick, a green salad, a potato salad, a quinoa salad, several sauces and cheeses, and a dessert of carrot cake, as well as marshmallows, all made on the farm. I ate the green salad, the potato salad, and the bread stick, but took the rest back to the ship in a paper bag to have over the next lunch and dinner as it happened. Needless to say, it was quite the picnic lunch!

  

  

  

Our final visit was to Stellenbosch, though we did not exit the bus. Instead, we had a drive-through (with commentary by our guide) of this university town, which looked quite lovely and once again I wished that we had had more time. Clearly, Cape Town and its surrounding area is a place I will have to visit again to do it full justice. As for Table Mountain, it was clear in the evening, as you see here.

  

  

  

  

I didn't have anything booked for today and, as I mentioned earlier, I wanted to find a camera shop to take a look at my main camera and perhaps buy a new one, but I had also picked up a hop-on-hop-off (HOHO) bus brochure at the Robben Island ferry terminal on Friday, and was interested in their 3-townships tour, offered at 10:00 a.m. and 2:00 pm daily. Furthermore, I also had to keep in mind the fact that at some time, preferably within the afternoon hours recommended by the ship, I would need to go through South African exit immigration at the terminal building, a shuttle bus ride away from the ship. As it happened, I managed to fulfill all these plans, but perhaps not with the exact outcome I had originally had in mind.

  

  

Getting up at an earlyish hour, I was ready to take the first shuttle out to the Victoria & Albert Waterfront at 8:30 a.m. when I knew the HOHO office would be open. As it wasn't busy at that time, I was able to buy my ticket for the 10:00 a.m. tour but was immediately told it would just be to one township, the main one called Langa, and not three. I was fine with that change, bought my ticket, and was told to be back at the office around 9:50. I then wandered at a leisurely pace through the waterfront area, finding a number of noteworthy sculptures, statues, murals, and the Cape Town sign in letters to photograph. I arrived at the shopping centre just as it was opening at 9:00 a.m. and found the sole camera store without too much difficulty. The young fellow at the counter looked at my camera, remarking that he had had the same model, and first said it was a memory card issue and would I be willing to buy a new card? I said I was fine with the idea but then explained the problem a little further and he decided it was an issue with the electronic connection and thought I should probably buy a new camera. Unfortunately, he did not have the type of camera I was looking for in stock. His senior manager then intervened and recommended a slightly cheaper Kodak with all the bells and whistles, and said they were expecting a delivery of them later today. I told them I was on a tour but would look in again in the afternoon to see if it had arrived. All arranged, I took their business card, made a note of the recommended Kodak model, and wandered back to the HOHO office, photographing the cape fur seals by the Aquarium adjacent to the HOHO office on the way.

  

  

Eventually, a small red van with the words “La Gu Gu” written on it pulled up, and we found that we were nine tourists in all: myself, a retired Swiss-German couple, a Dutchman from Scheveningen, his two sons and their girlfriends, and a 23-yr-old youth from Quebec. After introductions, our guide Thobela, a lively young man with strong opinions, who loudly greeted all he met on the street, drove us through District Six, which is a former inner-city residential area that had been razed by the apartheid government with the intention of rebuilding it as a whites-only neighbourhood. Over the span of a decade, more than sixty thousand of its inhabitants were forcibly removed to a township about 25 kilometres away, and the old houses were bulldozed. In 1970, the area was renamed Zonnenbloem (sunflower). However, the white neighbourhood never came to fruition and the land is now mostly barren and unoccupied. The only structures still existing are religious buildings. The newish Cape Peninsula University of Technology was also built on part of the land.

  

  

After a bit of a drive along the highway, we arrived in Langa, the oldest and largest township. Langa means sun in isiXhosa and Zulu but was derived from the name Langalibalele, a chief who was imprisoned on Robben Island in 1875. Langa was initially built in phases and in blocks and barracks. “The intention was to house Black male migrant workers who were not welcome in the urban areas by their employers. These men were forced to live in barracks. Their accommodation was often shared, as were the ablution facilities and eating areas. A cramped rental housing system ensured that Black people would remain temporary urban dwellers or sojourners (temporary residents). Women struggled against the laws of the day to gain legal residence ... Employers in the city favoured single male migrant workers as they were less costly in wages and housing. By 1970, almost ninety percent of the people residing in the township were males.”

  

  

The township was officially opened in 1927 as a result of South Africa's pass laws designed to force Africans to move from their homes to a segregated location. It was also the location of much of the resistance to apartheid. It was here that several people were killed on March 21, 1960, the same day as the Sharpeville massacre, during the anti-pass campaign.

  

  

At this point Thobela handed us over to Wanda, a local tour guide, with a university degree in marketing, who had worked a couple of years for a company in marketing but found that due to his skin colour, he was being paid less than whites who were less qualified than him. He consequently quit and is now freelancing, tour guiding being only one of about five gigs. After asking why we had come on the tour, he proceeded to tell us about the history of the area before and after apartheid--at great length--taking us into the dompas museum which was the former site of the pass court. The dompas, which in Afrikaans means 'stupid pass,' was an identity booklet that every black and migrant man needed to carry and present to the pass office before they went out to work each day outside the township and then present again in the evening when they came back from work. Basically, they had to clock in and clock out and the authorities and police could ask to see their pass at any moment. Should they fail to present it or turn up late or anything else considered contrary to the rules, they would be arrested and obliged to appear at the Pass Court, where the white judge, with a courtesy panel of black representatives, (who were plied with whiskey), would give each arrestee an average of 5 seconds to plead their case and would process hundreds of cases per day. As we did not have the necessary time to read all the panels in the museum, we were encouraged to photograph them and read them later. I shall attempt to reproduce some of the information on these panels below.

  

  

“Black people were subject to special laws restricting their freedom of movement and residence ... A black person could ... only reside in a city like Cape Town if they could prove that they had been born here, [had] lived here continuously for fifteen years or had worked here continuously for the same employer for a period of ten years or more. A pass was a document required for lawful movement into, out of, or within a specified area, and had to be produced on demand by a specified person. Failure to produce a pass constituted an offence. The passbook indicated the status of each person and had to be carried by black people at all times and regularly renewed ... The Administration block in the heart of the township housed the Administration building, Pass Court and Office, and the Police Station. It was among the first buildings erected in Langa. From these buildings, the authorities kept tight control over many aspects of the lives of people. The Authorities, through the Superintendent, wielded almost total power in granting or denying access to housing, social welfare, and trading licences. I remember the old office, it used to be packed with migrant workers who were trying to fix their passes up...That was a human hellhole because on a daily basis you saw human misery there.”

  

  

Wanda explained that there could be 250 people waiting in a small room which even 64 men would have difficulty waiting in (I had eyed the room and figured 8 rows of 8 average-sized men would fill it, though uncomfortably). Some of them would have TB so, of course, at such close quarters. it was transferred easily from person to person. “If you don't have your pass on you when you see the police, you go for your pocket. If you changed clothes that morning and your pass is not with you, you'd have to run to save your life. Otherwise you were arrested and you had to pay a fine or go to jail....We were sick and tired of living with this pass. For a time the Langa Pass Court and Office was the only pass office in the peninsula. People as far afield as Simonstown and the Boland would have to queue for passes from 4:00 a.m. in the dark outside the office. During the height of the pass system, in the 1950s, the Pass Court and Office was at times handling up to sixty people an hour. In the 1950s, when the pass laws were extended to women, the women of Langa besieged the office. Pass raids were notorious and relentless. Officials rounded up anyone without the proper documentation. People on the way to work could be arrested and sometimes lost their jobs as a result. The Administration Block was repeatedly a target of protest and demonstration and was a focus of anger in the uprisings of 1960 and 1976.”

  

  

I could go on, but I am sure you get the gist of the situation. Life for Blacks was horrendous and finally led to the aforementioned demonstrations and uprisings. When the ANC came into power at the end of apartheid, they promised blacks that houses would be built for them and people truly thought their lives would change for the better. Unfortunately, their promises were worth nothing, and some of these same families are still living in crowded and abysmal conditions, and have no jobs, even if they have been given the chance to access higher education and earn degrees.

  

  

After finally leaving the Pass Office and Court two and a half hours into our tour time (!), Wanda took us down the main street, where I was finally able to photograph the murals and street art I had been itching to do all through his presentation, and into a very nice, modern art gallery called 16 on Lerotholi, founded in 2019, which exhibits the art of local artists. It was impressive to see this elegant display among the unfortunate, surrounding squalor. Next, after strolling past containers converted to barber shops and tailor shops, hairdressing salons and more, we were taken into a multi-person dwelling with mould on the ceiling, relaying a general feeling of discomfort, with a smelly, communal toilet block outside, and introduced to another young man with an electrical engineering degree, also unable to get a job due to his skin colour, although he appeared intelligent, healthy, and clearly wanted things to change. He showed us into a couple of the rooms, which had been lived in since apartheid days, and whose residents were still waiting for their promised new homes. The walls also reflected their history with various notes remaining among the peeling paint. The door of a freezer had been used to teach an English lesson! At the back of the courtyard in the same complex stood several converted 20-foot containers, containing two dwelling units apiece with a door each, and a day-care centre for infants, all of whose inhabitants shared the same ablutions block. Leaving this section, we were then led further on to be shown a slightly better quality of single dwellings, beside which stood a collapsed market stall and a box of goat (or were they cow?) heads. Finally, Wanda pointed out some newer-looking, 3-storey, apartment blocks with what appeared to be fresh grey paint on the façade, but unfinished on the inside courtyard. Leading us through this courtyard, he brought us to a stall of local artists, indicating that there was a school for local artists close by, though we were not taken there as our time was now running out.

  

  

Bidding Wanda adieu, we piled back into the minivan, and Thobela drove us through the unofficial shanty town, where we were only allowed to take photos through the window of the van as he said camera snatchings were possible here and this was definitely not an area that tourists should wander through on their own. Before returning to the highway, Thobela made a stop at the beer hall for me to take a photo of its bright colours, and at an empty lot where a friend of his was slicing up a cow head to cook a stew over an open fire, on which he had also been roasting cow legs.

  

I hope my photos illustrate what I have described. For some reason, my iPhone decided to switch to square photos, perhaps to illustrate some of the atrocities the people in this township have to put up with. On our way back to the HOHO office, Thobela made his opinion clear that Nelson Mandela and his ilk were not the saints portrayed by international media and that most Blacks, at least those in the townships still waiting for the ANC to fulfill their housing and social promises, according to him, would prefer to return to the times of apartheid, where at least they knew where they stood, though I would need more time with him to really understand his point of view thoroughly. I get that ANC is corrupt, just like most politicians in power. After all, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And it was just as eye-opening as I thought it might be to see the extremes of living conditions from the crowded, uncomfortable, unsanitary, health-compromised, unofficial townships outside Cape Town, i.e. shantytowns, to the spacious, agriculture-rich, wine estates in the winelands. While in the midst of it all, Table Mountain stands constant, visible from afar and bordered by beautiful nature, all snatched from the original Africans by European White settlers.

  

As a codicil, I did return to the camera shop in the V&A Waterfront shopping centre, but the delivery of cameras they were expecting had not happened. I then continued through the mall and ended up at the exact place I was supposed to be to catch the shuttle bus back to the ship, deposit my stuff in my room, pick up my passport and take another shuttle to the immigration building so as to officially exit South Africa. It is definitely a country worth visiting again. There will be a government election in 2024 so I look forward to finding out the results and if there is any hope of improvement for its downtrodden and disadvantaged citizens, or in any case the possibility of ending ANC's current 30-year rule, which I sensed was the hope of the majority of South Africans (black, white, and coloured) I talked to during my nine days here. Totsiens!

  

Hallo Namibia, where Afrikaans is also a major language, along with English and a smattering of African languages, the majority speaking Oshiwambo, also called Ovamboso. Lüderitz was the port that Fred Olsen Cruiselines chose to replace one that was on our original itinerary at the time I had booked the cruise, namely São Tome and Principe, another lusophone country lying 108 nautical miles off the coast of Gabon. The cruise line decided about one month before embarkation in Southampton that the country was either too dangerous or too underdeveloped for tour purposes, or some other excuse, despite it remaining on the itineraries of other cruise lines, and Lüderitz was considered the only possible substitute. I had been to Lüderitz before and remembered that there wasn't much there, but I suppose the choice of ports between Cape Town and Cotonou, Benin is limited (but not really, considering you have Angola, Congo, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea, Cameroon--the latter three of which I have been to many times for work purposes--and Nigeria, which I almost went to visit once) before arriving in Benin. Nevertheless, they chose what seemed to them, I suppose, the safest (if rather boring) option.

  

  

Lüderitz is described in the ship's daily newsletter as “a town in the Karas Region of southern Namibia, known for its colonial architecture, including some Art Nouveau work, and for wildlife including seals, penguins, flamingos, and ostriches. It is named after Adolf Lüderitz, founder of the German South West Africa colony.” Again, having been here before, I wasn't tempted by any of the four shore tours on offer, so I arranged to explore this port town on foot with P, my shipboard neighbour, for whom it was her first time in Namibia. We arrived on shore via tender and were immediately bombarded with offers to take us wherever we liked by taxi. One, who approached me and with whom we had negotiated (hard) a price for a 3-hour tour to see Kolmanskop, a ghost town, and wildlife including flamingos and wild horses, then informed us he was not a taxi driver, just a guide, and he would have to hire us a taxi, not included in his price, so we might have to pay a little more. So we dropped him as not being honest enough. Other younger youths then approached saying they were taxi drivers and would give us a good price but still neither of us was convinced they knew what we wanted to see, so we strode ahead and decided to give up the idea of a taxi and just walk into town.

  

  

We followed a map on P's phone for a while, coming across a few Germanic looking houses, reaching the Goerke House, home of the Diamond Mine manager (there was a discovery of diamonds not far from here) and the Felsenkirche, noted for its stained glass windows, both sitting literally at the top of the town. We then walked down the colourful street you see above, past a house that had belonged at one point to one of the founders of Mercedes-Benz, and saw one of our ship's tour groups entering an art store. We followed and were quite struck by the high quality of the goods on offer. As P bought a small wooden elephant, we struck up a conversation with the short French owner and his elegant, tall African-Namibian wife and asked if they knew of a trustworthy taxi driver who could take us to Kolmanskop, a ghost town in the Namib desert, 10 kilometers away, recounting our experience with the not-so-trustworthy lads at the pier. They recommended a Rastafarian friend of theirs, who owned not only a taxi company but also a cell phone store, and as his price sounded fair and what we were expecting to pay, based on research I had done previously online, we walked over to his store and he had a car and his brother, Sem, as driver, waiting and ready to take us.

  

  

  

We were informed that Kolmanskop, once a small but very rich mining village for workers of the Consolidated Diamond Mines of South-West Africa Ltd., was only open to the public until 1:00 p.m. and as it was now 11:45 a.m. we didn't have too much time before it would close for the day. A diamond was found in the area in 1908 and was shown to the German railway inspector. German miners then settled here and started to mine for diamonds. The residents built the village in the style of a German town and included a hospital, ballroom, power station, school, bowling alley, theatre and sports hall, casino, ice factory, and the first x-ray station in the southern hemisphere. The town began to decline during World War I when the diamonds started to run out and a new diamond area was found 270 km south of Kolmanskop with the result being that many of the town's residents joined the rush to the south leaving their homes and possessions behind. The town was ultimately abandoned in 1956 and is often used to film in. We asked Sem to wait one hour for us as we wandered through the town. We each paid a hefty entrance fee to enter, due to it being inside a restricted area of the Namib desert, which included the cost of a guide, although at such a late hour there were none to take us round.

  

  

  

We asked one maintenance fellow we met, which was the best house to see if we only had time to see one, and he pointed towards the last house on the horizon. We headed over there through the sand and arrived at a house that was still fairly intact, compared to the others, with wooden flooring not covered in sand but rather in bird droppings, and a clear, white ceiling where the paint was clearly peeling off. We understood that by 'the best house to see' the chap had understood the house in the best state of preservation. Some of the windows were still intact, although they hadn't been cleaned for a while, while the windows on the porch were empty of glass, and the roof of the porch had some panels missing, so that the sky was visible through the gaps. We then moved over to the second house, which displayed a sign saying Buchhalter or Accountant. This one was in a slightly worse state with floorboards missing over piles of sand, and the ceiling stripped of gypsum board. One room still showed the remains of some fancy wallpaper, as well as sand piling up at the corners. The next house over had belonged to the Architect, and the floors were covered in sand and footprints. The bricks of the stairway to the upper floor had become exposed. Conscious of the time, we then walked down to the long, central building, which contained information about the town's history, and how workers had smuggled uncut diamonds from the mines: hidden in the toes of their shoes, in knife hilts, in crossbow bolts, or in the hinges of cages, secreted up rectums, tied to released homing pigeons, and more. Passing through the curio shop, we went downstairs to take a look at the two-lane bowling alley, and the bowling prize certificate on the wall awarded to the Gut Holz Kegelclub (good wood bowling club) on June 4, 1927. During a final look around, and after taking a few more photos, we had a short chat with an affable ghost town guide, whom we found sitting inside his hut out of the hot sun.

  

  

  

Climbing back into the taxi, we discussed with Sem about the possibility of seeing any animals on our way back to town, and he agreed to take us to the flamingo pond. When we arrived, the number of flamingos and their location were disappointing. Nonetheless, I got out of the taxi, fit my long lens to my large camera and, luckily, it had decided to work again, but still the flamboyance of flamingos was too far away for detail. Nonetheless, on the way back, we passed an elementary school, and stopped two girls on their way home to ask if they would agree to a photo (they did!). Sem also pointed out the letters of Lüderitz attached to a hill of stone. In the end, I was glad to have gone to Kolmonskop, despite having seen it before in 1998, as otherwise, my selection of photos from today might have been very sparse indeed.

  

  

Walvis Bay was founded in the 18th century due to its abundance of fish and whales. The waters here are known for their purity--certainly the water in the bay was a beautiful colour--producing high-quality fish and crustaceans. The area is also known for dolphins, seals, and flamingos, which I unfortunately missed seeing this time, as I had another unmissable photo opportunity to take advantage of. The desert surrounding Walvis Bay is the oldest in the world. “Covering an area of 31,274 sq. miles, the Namib” (which people here pronounce with the accent on the first syllable, while throughout my life I had accented the second) “is a coastal desert stretching along the southwestern coast of the African continent, crossing Angola, Namibia, and South Africa. The word 'Namib' is of Nama origin and means 'open space.' Geologists believe that ... an arid climate began to dominate the region around 55 million years ago and became semi-arid between 14 and 18 million years ago. The Namib experiences less than one centimetre of rain per year, resulting in an almost barren landscape. Unusually, whilst the region is virtually rainless, the air there is typically at, or very close to, saturation point, and fog is very common. Coastal winds blow moisture-laden air inland, forming thick fog which provides plants and wildlife with a reliable water source.”

  

  

The aforementioned thick fog was prevalent as we entered the port but luckily blew off or lifted by the time we disembarked so didn't impede our views of the desert. My tour today took me to Swakopmond, a town of 90,000 inhabitants, of which 60,000 lived in a very neat and tidy township called Mondesa, a melting pot of different Namibian cultures. During my last visit to Namibia in 1998, I had tried unsuccessfully to visit a specific tribe called Himba, whose women have fantastic hairstyles, not too different from some of the ones I had seen in Ethiopia in 2005. The following information comes from Wikipedia and you can read more about them there if you are interested. The Himba are semi-nomadic, livestock- (sheep, goats and cattle) breeding people who live in northern Namibia, in the Kunene Region (formerly Kaokoland) and on the other side of the Kunene River in southern Angola. They are considered the last (semi-) nomadic people of Namibia and usually wear clothing made of calfskin or sheepskin. The women especially are famous for covering themselves with otjize paste, a cosmetic mixture of butterfat and ochre pigment. This paste cleanses the skin over long periods due to water scarcity and protects it from the hot and dry climate of the Kaokoland, as well as from insect bites. It gives their skin and hair plaits a distinctive texture, style, and an orange or red tinge, and is considered as a highly desirable aesthetic beauty cosmetic, symbolizing the earth's rich red color and blood, the essence of life, and is consistent with this culture's ideal of beauty. Women who have been married for about a year or have had a child wear an ornate headpiece called the Erembe, sculptured from sheepskin, with many streams of braided hair coloured and put in shape with otjize paste. Unmarried young men continue to wear one braided plait extending to the rear of the head, while married men wear a cap or head-wrap and un-braided hair beneath. Widowed men will remove their cap or head-wrap and expose un-braided hair. The Himba ... also ... use wood ash for hair cleansing due to water scarcity. Among the Himba people, it is customary as a rite of passage to circumcise boys before puberty. Upon marriage, a Himba boy is considered a man. A Himba girl is not considered a fully-fledged woman until she bears a child. Consequently, reading in the tour description that Mondesa was a melting pot of different cultures, I have hoped I might see some of these people there. Of course, now I understand that the chances of doing so would be very slim since they are semi-nomadic, self-sufficient and, if they were in Swakopmund, they would likely only be passing through.

  

  

Joining my tour called Mondesa Township and meeting our dynamic driver/guide, Wilfred, I exclaimed “Himba!” excitedly, because as he drove us out of the port gates, I saw a very long line of handicraft, trinket, and souvenir sellers displaying their wares, and among them ... Herero and Himba women in full traditional dress. I remarked to Wilfred that I had been wanting to see the Himba for years, but had never had the chance, and this is why I had booked his tour. Stressing the very slim chance of seeing any Himba in Mondesa--though we would see Herero--he assured me the vendors would all still be there when we got back from our tour and not to worry. He then drove us to Swakopmund, German for the mouth of the Swakop river, which, when we saw it, was merely a dry bed. The route he took led us past Dune 7, the tallest sand dune in the area, but he took pains to explain that it was not the same dune that was in the south of Namibia, near Sossusvlei, I gather, also called Dune 7, which was actually the tallest sand dune in world, while the one we were seeing was just a tallish sand dune, with the number 7 denoting the fact that it was located seven kilometres from Walvis Bay. I tried to find more information via Google later but the only mentions I discovered were those referring to the one we had seen, so I'm a bit mystified. In any case, we got out of the van at two different locations to photograph it. I took out my large camera at the second place and fit my long lens to it and it was working for me still. I was certainly hoping it would continue to do so throughout the day, thinking of all the portrait photography I was hoping to do.

  

  

Arriving in Swakopmund, we stopped on the side of the road where there were three of four vendors with stalls selling local delicacies. The guide from the other minivan of our tour, explained what they all were, because we would get to try some of them at the end of our tour (those who were daring enough, that is). We were shown specifically various types of dried spinach and mopane worms (Gonimbrasia belina), which were actually the caterpillars of a species of emperor moth, containing 60% protein as well as significant amounts of phosphorus, iron, and calcium. We then walked down the street making sure to keep together and were amused to see the Anglican church of Swakopmund behind a tall brick fence, topped with barbed wire. One of my fellow passengers quipped that he knew it was hard these days for churches to fill their pews, but preventing them from escaping afterwards seemed harsh! The fellow you see kneeling below followed us as he was sketching one of our group (a Welshman) on the back of a piece of cardboard from a cardboard box. He eventually presented it to the Welshman, who bought it off of him for a small sum, which hopefully made the young man's efforts worthwhile. Our first visit then was to the house of a Herero woman, a small, one-storey building, in which, we discovered, 12 people lived, including the woman's mother, several sisters and sisters-in-law, and their children. Some of these aforementioned relatives came to watch the presentation given to us. I talked to one of the sisters-in-law afterwards and found out her baby girl, seen here beneath photos of the Herero woman, was 11 months old.

  

  

The Herero are a Bantu ethnic group inhabiting Namibia, parts of South Africa, Botswana, and Angola, and are traditionally cattle-herding pastoralists. The floor-length dress of Herero women is similar to clothing worn by German missionaries in the late 19th century, but they now make them in vivid colors and prints. Married and older Herero women wear these dresses every day, while younger and unmarried women wear them mainly for special occasions. These dresses are high-necked and have voluminous skirts lavishly gathered from a high waist or below the bust, incorporating multiple petticoats and up to ten metres of fabric. The long sleeves are puffed from the shoulders or frilled at the wrists. The most distinctive feature is the horizontal horned headdress, a symbol of respect worn to pay homage to the cows that have historically sustained them. It is usually made from rolled-up newspaper covered in fabric and made to match or coordinate with dresses, while decorative brooches and pins are attached to the front.

  

  

Our guide also talked about a number of the objects set out on the table, which were for sale: dolls made from left-over dress fabric, which were a popular items among the women passengers, wooden cups, a gourd in which milk was made into cream, a perfume made from a plant, and ground-up red stone which was mixed with a face cream and used as a cosmetic to protect the face. The Herero woman put some on her face to demonstrate. (By the way, the stuffed tiger you see on the table was not for sale. It appeared to belong to the little boy who was part of this Herero family.)

  

  

Our next stop was to one of two unofficial townships. I suspect this is what the Wikipedia entry, last updated in 2022, calls the “Democratic Resettlement Community (DRC) ... founded in 2001 as a temporary resettlement community for people waiting for subsidized housing in the city and ... built mostly of reclaimed garbage from the city landfill [including] corrugated metal, wood, canvas and plastic. In 2015, the population was estimated to be around 20,000. There was no electricity ... no sanitation [and] running water came from one tap, installed in 2012. Inhabitants found employment working menial jobs in Swakopmund. By 2019, the Swakopmund municipality had spent over 200 million Namibian dollars on facilities at the DRC. The government food program was supplying families with food packages. The DRC includes a youth development and community centre, a clinic and laboratory, and a hostel for orphans.” According to our guide, nonetheless, this particular shanty town today contains about 45,000 people, while the other one contains 15,000. What we did notice, both from outside looking in and once we were inside, was how neat and tidy their yards and the common areas were--a stark contrast to the township I had seen near Cape Town. Once inside, we visited the shop of a local herbalist from the Nama tribe, the same tribe as Wilfred. Their language also involves clicks, which Wilfred demonstrated for us and I videoed part of it. The Nama people are the largest group of the Khoikhoi people, referred to by the early colonialists as Hottentots. In general, the Nama practice a policy of communal land ownership. Music, poetry, and story telling are very important in their culture and many stories have been passed down orally through the generations. The traditional attire of Nama women consists of a long, formal dress resembling traditional Victorian-age fashion. These long, flowing dresses were developed from the style worn by missionaries in the 1800s. As we stood under the hot sun, Wilfred interpreted as the herbalist showed us bottles of various plant remedies she had collected and which she sells to her clients to cure various aches and pains, etc., which were all passed round the group. I, of course, was more interested in photographing the various children in the area.

  

  

Our final stop, which included toilets, was at a snack shop, where a long table with chairs had been set up for us, and bowls of roasted mopane worms, cooked spinach, a solid-looking porridge, and a bean mash were offered for us to try. They also sold beer and soft drinks to those who wanted them. My interest was on the five young men in costume, who, we learned, were there to entertain us as they were an a cappella singing group (with drum) called simply the Swakopmund Acapella (sic) Singers. They sang four songs, most of which I got on video, and then I bought their CD called 'Rainfalls', which I look forward to listening to. So engrossed in their performance was I that I missed the food tasting, but there were no utensils and none of the passengers seemed to have washed their hands before dipping them into the communal pots, hence another reason for me to abstain.

   

  

Wilfred drove us the 45 minutes back to Swakopmund along the coastal route and we had glimpses of the sea waves on one side while multicolored sand continued on the other, as paragliders sailed and sandboarders slid over the dunes. Wilfred explained that the greyer-looking sand had been dredged from the sea. Back at the port, I thanked Wilfred, but I suspect at some point I dropped my long lens cover in his vehicle, for when I arrived at the first of the Himba women, ready to photograph them, I realised it was missing. I had managed to retrieve it at the ship's lost-and-found office twice before, but this time I was unlucky, so shall have to go without for a while until I am able to purchase a new one.

  

  

The Himba and Herero women were happy to be photographed as it was another way of earning income for them. I learned that they had travelled here to the port from some 700 kilometers away after learning of our ship's arrival. Armed with some smaller bills in USD, Euros and a few left-over South African rand, I walked to the far end of the long line of vendors, male and female, although females dominated, and made my way gradually back to the port gate. Unfortunately, none of the men were in traditional dress. Had they been, I would have photographed them too. A lot of what they were selling was good quality, and I managed to part ways with some bills in exchange for a few souvenirs and quite a few photos, as you will see here. After about an hour, conscious of the time, and the fact that we had to go through Namibian exit immigration on board before Bolette was to leave the port, I regretfully pulled myself away and headed back to the ship. I was actually enjoying talking to the vendors, meeting some of my 'sisters' in life. I'll particularly remember a young woman called Loveness, who successfully sold me a lovely, brightly coloured woven basket and a couple of magnets, taking the time beforehand to get to know more about me and tell me more about her. I'll also remember a younger Herero woman, who seeing that I paid a Himba woman extra to photograph her baby as well as her, invited me to accompany her across the street to photograph her own baby, who was sleeping on the sidewalk under a tree, wrapped up in a blanket, barely visible, and guarded over by a male relative, I surmised. I respectfully declined to photograph the child, not wanting to wake it and drag it away from its sleep.

   

   

I learned from P later at dinner that flamingos, seals, and colourful pelicans, not to mention Walvis Bay's lovely waterfront area, were only a short walk away from the pier. I was sorry to have missed that opportunity, so engrossed was I in the costumed vendors and their banter. Perhaps it is merely an indication that I should come back here again!

   

   

We were originally supposed to have called in on Cotonou, Benin, (known as Dahomey until 1975) today, and had been asked, prior to leaving our countries, to apply for a Benin e-visa online. The visa itself was lovely with a colour photo of dancers in costume, and I was looking forward to visiting Benin because not only would I be able to add a country to my list, but back when I was a student, I had had a friend from this country, and he had once brought me photos of the Ganvie Stilt Village, which I had booked a ship's tour to see. Alas, on February 3 while we were at sea, the captain announced that due to safety issues, and after much consultation with local representatives, embassies, and the like, it was decided to cancel this visit. Instead, we would visit our remaining ports one day earlier than scheduled, and then spend two days in Tenerife. We were all curious to know why another African country hadn't been selected instead, such as Ivory Coast or Gambia, to name just two countries that other cruise ships often visit, but the Captain claimed to know nothing about them, or even whether or not they had ports that accepted cruise ships, and stated that all these countries had safety issues, which I doubt was an informed opinion. Nevertheless, that's the third cancelled country, and the fourth cancelled port on this itinerary, representing three countries that would have been new to me. And I wasn't the only passenger disappointed. The Captain claimed that we would have been the first cruise ship to call into Benin. If that were true, how was it that they had decided to add this port to their itinerary in the first place? Was it only to draw in passengers in order to disappoint them later? To be fair, I will add that they did offer to reimburse us the cost of our Benin e-visa, though I imagine they will not offer to reimburse us for any port charges they must have paid in advance on our behalf.

  

  

  

  

I was just as desirous of visiting Togo, however, because the same friend I mentioned above had also had some affinity with this country, though I can't remember if his family had moved to Togo after he was born in Benin, or whether it was a case of his mother being from Benin and his father from Togo. In any case, I believe there are some similarities between these two neighbouring countries, if only regarding their practice of voodoo and their fetish markets. Lomé, formerly known as Porto Seguro, which we visited today, is the capital of Togo, a French-speaking country of 8 million people, with an area of roughly 57,0000 square kilometres (roughly 22,000 square miles) bordered by Benin on the East, Ghana on the West, and Burkina Faso to the North. Bonjour, alors! to country number 141. Between the 16th and 18th centuries, the coastal region served primarily as a European slave trading outpost, earning Togo and the surrounding region the name 'The Slave Coast.' Colonialized by Germany in 1905, it passed to France after World War I, and gained its independence in 1960. Ever since 1967, after a military coup d'état, the country has been ruled by one family, first the father who won the presidency three times and governed for 38 years, and now his son ever since his father's death in 2005. Forty-seven point eight percent of the population are Christians. Cash crops are cotton, cocoa, and coffee, and they also produce plantain, cassava, yams, peanuts, and fish.

  

  

  

“Although Togo is one of the smallest countries in Africa, it is home to 39 ... ethnic groups. More than half the population of Togo practice indigenous African religions, following traditional animist beliefs ... and the mixing of different groups and inter-group marriages [are] gradually increasing. Marriage customs in Togo vary according to the ethnic group although the payment of [a dowry] is important throughout the country. Whilst the law grants equal rights to ... men and women, generally men enjoy a higher status than women, who are expected to manage the household chores and children. The growth of a child is marked by several initiation ceremonies ... Each ethnic group has its own style of music and dance, which are often integrated into the religious and social lives of the people. Drums are used extensively throughout the nation to celebrate special occasions.”

  

  

  

  

My tour today was called History & Diversity of the South. As you will see, photo opportunities were abundant as we visited a total of three villages. Our first was Agbodrafo, a former slave trade centre situated between the Atlantic Ocean and Lake Togo, where we were greeted by Chief (or King) Mensah-Assiakoley VI before visiting a wooden home containing illegal slave dungeons. Next, we drove to Lomnava Fishing Village where we had the opportunity to interact with fishermen and watch their wives dry the fish their husbands had caught. Then we had a stop at Hotel Le Lac situated on the edge of Lake Togo for lunch. After lunch we went to Glidji, near the border with Benin for a ceremony by priests and to see some more deities, while our last stop of the day was a nearby village, whose name I did not record, where we witnessed a Voodoo dance, called in the itinerary, the Zangbeto Dance, or the Night Guardians' ritual dance. I tried to look this dance up online but never found any reasonable explanation. I did read that it can also be found in other countries of West Africa, such as Benin, Nigeria, and Gambia. All I can really do is describe to you as best I can below what I saw.

  

  

  

As we disembarked the ship, our forehead temperatures were taken by local Togo health authorities, and costumed entertainers were singing and dancing for us as they have done in many, but not, all ports. I managed to record a tiny bit of their dancing, but never got the chance to photograph their elaborate costumes. And later, waiting in the bus for other passengers to get in, I regretted the fact that I had missed this opportunity as I later glimpsed men on stilts dancing as part of the group. I doubted very much they would still be there when we returned to the ship in the evening. As we exited this major port on the West African seaboard, Kokou, our guide, talked of various commodities being exported to neighbouring countries, especially inland countries like Burkina Faso, Mali, and Mauritania, also part of the West Africa UN subregion. He also pointed out about three cement plants close to the port on our way. I'd also like to add that the sky was hazy the entire day but the sun did manage to poke through the haze somewhat in the later afternoon. I understand that this haze, called harmattan, is quite usual for this time of year in West Africa and is caused by the heavy amount of dust in the air. It can severely limit visibility and block the sun for several days, like a heavy fog. One of our passengers looked up the air quality for Lomé today and it was recorded as PM2.5, which is 34.2 times the WHO annual air quality guideline value. WHO recommendations were to avoid outdoor exercise, close windows to avoid dirty outdoor air, wear a mask outdoors, and run an air purifier. However, whenever we were outside the bus (whose windows I must say were quite dirty, making it difficult to take any photos through them), I felt no discomfort from the air and none of the other passengers or locals for that matter seemed to be suffering (or wearing masks for that matter).

  

  

  

  

Our first stop was at the Hotel Le Lac, where we would later have lunch, to use the toilets after a long bus ride. Then we proceeded to the village of Agbodrafo, as mentioned, first of all to witness a libation ceremony, where water and alcohol were poured on the ground by a priest to invoke the ancestors and request their assistance in welcoming us to the village. We then proceeded into the village chief's compound and sat in rows of chairs set out for us under a canopy. An introduction was given by the delegated spokesman of the chief (also referred to at times as king) and then we were asked to stand as he entered with three bodyguards and sat to the front and left of us on a plastic chair just like the ones we were sitting on. After a presentation by the spokesman again, we were invited to ask questions and found out that to be appointed, the chief must be a member of the royal family. His great-great--or perhaps great-great-great--grandfather was the first chief of this dynasty going back to 1832 and photos of the current chief and his five predecessors were displayed on a table opposite us. We also learned he had only one wife, but no one dared ask how many children he had! The man didn't say much, if anything, but we were then invited to take photos of him, and with him as he sat in his sunglasses, various necklaces, white robe--white signifying peace--and matching frilly bonnet and held a staff of office. He smiled at me when I thanked him in French (though I later remembered we weren't supposed to talk to him directly but rather through his spokesperson. Oops!) I addressed him as 'Excellence', remembering that this was how I had been taught to address Presidents of French-speaking African countries (and which I often had occasion to use, I might add) but when I checked with our guide, he commented that it was good that I had showed the chief respect by addressing him as such but that I really ought to have said 'Majesté!' I'll have to remember that for the next time I meet a French-speaking African chief.

  

  

  

There were a few handicraft sellers under the canopy taking advantage of a visit from tourists but we were hustled back on the bus to drive us five seconds down the road. Why we didn't just walk it, I'll never know. Perhaps it was to give respect to some of the elderly passengers among us with sticks. I should probably add that today we traveled from Lomé and back again in a convoy of two large buses with V.I.P. written on the sides, a range rover in front with police in it, two police on motorcycles with their sirens continually sounding as we moved in the convoy, who were essentially there to control traffic when our buses emerged from smaller roads onto the highway, and ... an ambulance with, I suppose, trained paramedics. None of us are sure why this latter addition was necessary. Perhaps it was because there were elderly people in our group, and they didn't want anyone fainting from the heat, though due to the haze the sun wasn't getting through so it wasn't that hot although the bus was recording an exterior temperature of 29 degrees Celsius. Perhaps they were worried about passengers being affected by the air quality, or perhaps it was the fact that there was a growing number of people on the ship with gastroenteritis. In any case, as far as I was aware, no one needed the ambulance, and the ambulance driver and staff no doubt enjoyed a nice day out in the countryside as they followed us around.

  

  

  

  

Just down the road we came to an ancient slave house inside a complex. The house, now a museum, was crumbling with parts missing--much like the houses in Swakopmund--and, as we were a large group, only about ten of us could fit inside the house's main room at a time. Inside this room, a trap door in the floor led to a humid cellar in which the slaves had been crammed, and, unable to stand, had remained there sitting or lying down until they were shipped off to the New World. The house was built in 1835 by an Englishman called John Henry Wood for the then village chief (one of the current chief's ancestors). Although slavery was abolished by Queen Victoria in 1852, the house was still used for this lucrative purpose until 1856. UNESCO provided support for the renovation of the building, which has been among the list of places submitted by Togo to UNESCO as a World Heritage site since 2002. An underground labyrinth to the house was used by slaves coming from Nigeria, Ghana, and other areas. The elderly gentleman shown here was the curator of the house and when I asked him his age, he said 77.

  

  

  

Within the slave house complex was another handicrafts centre, and unsure of what we might find later in the tour, I hastily searched for a bracelet and a magnet so as to have something from Togo. I ended up buying a magnet as we were pulled away from the site and back onto our bus. Our next stop was the beach on which fishermen were untangling nets, men were pulling in boats that had been out fishing, and women and children were hanging around watching, gossiping, and providing us with scenes of people going about a typical fishing village day to photograph. A long line of men was pulling in one boat while we were there like a tug of war, and they sang as they pulled to give each other extra encouragement. We were then invited as a group to go into the yard of one home where a woman was drying fish that her husband had caught, and, as we were leaving, school children were returning from their morning classes for lunch before going back to school in the late afternoon.

  

  

  

  

The next stop for us, too, was lunch at the aforementioned hotel on the shores of Lake Togo, where we were fascinated by two types of geckos or lizards that were scurrying around on the beach and climbing up the walls of the restaurant. We also watched people in boats or fishing from land in the distance. We were invited to sample two brewery productions: Pils with 5.1% alcohol or Beaufort with 4.6%. There were no handicrafts here for purchase as far as I am aware. We then proceeded to our eastern-most spot near the Benin border called Glidji. First we were invited into a compound, which housed a couple of deities--mounds of shaped dirt with various cloths and covered in libations--and after passing along a path with totems, some of which you see in the photos here, we reached an area of lawn stretching between buildings where a group of 15 men and women in white clothing were gathered. These people were introduced to us as priests and priestesses, each representing one or more deities. The main priest among them, located in the front and centre of the group, then performed a libation, calling to the deities to bless us and our visit and grant us a safe return to our countries, pouring alcohol (in this case, J.H. Henkes' Aromatic Schiedam Schnapps) over a bundle of long sticks as he spoke in an African language, while the other priests and priestesses clapped in rhythm and repeated some of the words with him. Meanwhile, a copper pot of something was smoking in front of it between the bundle of sticks and us. I videoed a small portion of it for recording purposes.

  

  

  

Back on the bus again, we drove westwards down the highway briefly to another village, whose name I never did find out, but I gather it was still located in the area of Glidji. At the entrance to the village was another hut with a deity inside. On the outside of the hut were the words Agbonon Agbo Etchikankou and the date 26.10.1986 as well as images of a man in a kente cloth, a devil with a pitchfork, and a crowned haystack, above which were the words Vodou Hebiesso, which I took as meaning this village was a voodoo village that honoured the Benin voodoo deity of thunder. I was to discover the meaning of the haystack image a few minutes later.

  

  

  

  

We were told to wait for a representative of this village to come and greet us and invite us in, but as no one came, yet they were aware we had arrived, we proceeded in nonetheless, and once again found a central area, not grassed this time, a group of people under a tree straight ahead of us, men beating drums, and women singing and dancing and sitting with children. To the left of them was a set up of benches and chairs for our group, in the middle and front of which were three men with cloths around their waists sitting behind a table on which several mismatched objects were lying, and in front of which were two wooden statues of men with cigarettes in their mouth. (I had seen such statues for sale in handicraft stalls in Cameroon and other central African countries in the past.) This set up seemed to be the focus of attention, similar to an altar. One of my fellow passengers, seeing I had a serious camera, graciously offered me her seat in the front row. Later, as you will read, we learned that the front row might not have been the safest place to sit, but it certainly gave me a clear view of the event. Meanwhile, other villagers not involved in the event were arriving and sitting opposite us on the other side of the earthen square, if one were to describe it as such. You should be able to get the gist of this event site from my photos. So here we were listening to the drums and watching the women dance as they faced their own group rather than us. A couple of these middle-aged women came up to a few women in our group asking them to dance with them, which basically required them to imitate the Togolese women's moves. Our lot's efforts certainly seemed entertaining to the locals. After they had stopped dancing together, the women returned to their respective groups and then all of a sudden, at a very great pace, what I had earlier described as a haystack came whirling out onto the event arena. I gathered that it consisted of a frame in the shape of a haystack, covered in raffia and straw, and dyed to various hues. Other haystacks (I believe I counted a total of 6 or 7) came out to join it and whirl around the open area. From time to time, older women would come out of their group under the tree and pick up the fallen straw. I read on one site that these haystacks are believed to be empty, only containing spirits, but when they walked they certainly had the gait of a human and each was minded by a young man holding a branch, or in one case a coloured horn, to control them and clear their viewing holes, which did not provide for much visibility, being covered with hay. Each of these stacks had some kind of item on their tops: one held a red, white and black striped flag; another had an image of a type of lion, perhaps; a third one bore a leather cap with holes in which mirrors were inserted, I think, and something unidentifiable on top; a fourth had six small canopies and a silver hand with its index finger pointing upwards in the middle. They each had a sort of lip extending from the viewing hole. You will see close-ups of two of these. The one in blue appears to be snakeskin. Every so often, one young man or other would come out of the group of young men drumming under the tree and spin around the stage area crazily, as if possessed. One of these haystacks in the midst of its spinning motion accidentally bumped into one of our elderly male passengers sitting two or three chairs down from me, and the haystack's minder came over and talked to him. I didn't hear what he said but I got the gist that he was asking our passenger if he was ok, i.e. unharmed, and apologized that who or whatever was inside the haystack was drunk and couldn't see where he was going.

  

  

  

After a while, at least three of these haystacks settled on our left side and stopped moving and our attention was then diverted to the fact that four small statues of male human figures had been placed as if on the four corners of a square in the centre of the performance area. An older man then paraded around the square holding up a green and purple cloth to show it to us presumably, as if he were about to perform a magic trick. He then proceeded to the centre with a younger man in the midst of these statuettes and set the cloth on fire using alcohol and a BIC lighter and watched it as it burned. The younger man, using sticks, then picked up what remained of the burnt cloth and brought it outside this sacred circle and made a hole in the sand/dirt about a foot deep in front of where the haystacks were now standing unmoving. An older woman then came along with a bowl of water and some leaves and with the leaves sprinkled water into the hole over the cloth. At the same time another man was there holding a large bone, which was put into the hole as well and then the hole was filled in. Meanwhile, an additional curiosity was that another man was walking around the square all this time holding another wooden, human-shaped object to his ear as if it were a cell phone. I suppose he was communicating with the deities in this way.

  

  

  

  

Throughout all of this activity, the drummers continued to drum and the women continued to dance and sing and clap, but I never saw any of the women becoming possessed as they did so. What happened next of significance is that the haystacks were then lifted up by four men each and carried from our left side to our right side over to where the drummers and dancers were, perhaps to show us that they were empty. Strangely enough, I noticed some of our passengers exclaiming in disbelief as one of these haystacks was being lifted up (they were standing behind these haystacks), because out of it, as it was being lifted up, appeared a bird of prey. I suppose it was to give us the impression that whatever had been inside the haystack at the beginning and twirling around the performance area had converted itself into a bird. The large bird was caught and carried and eventually put under the haystack again once it was on the other side near the drummers and dancers. There appeared to be another bird of prey in a second haystack as it was being carried but it did not emerge from where it was located at the top of the inside of the haystack.

  

  

  

I then noticed that meanwhile the small effigies had been removed from their spots where the cloth had been burned, and the old man who had shown us the textile cloth before it was burned was now bowing before the central altar, saying something we couldn't hear. Then he turned and started scrabbling in the dirt in front of this altar. After making a medium size hole, praying over it, talking to it and waiting as another man sprinkled water into it from the same bowl as before, and using the leaves again, he reached in and lo and behold the purple and green cloth was whole again and he paraded it around to show us. A miracle indeed!

  

  

  

  

At this point, our guide encouraged us all to applaud the performance as it was our time to leave. I was reluctant to go because I was still expecting the women to go into a trance, but perhaps this wasn't the type of spectacle for that to happen. I decided that this was probably the ending anyway and if the guide had seen it (or a version of it) before, he would surely know exactly when it was appropriate for us guests to leave without offending the villagers. So, leave we did, reluctantly, wondering what exactly we had just seen. All our guide would tell us in the bus on the way back was that apparently the deities had chosen to show themselves in various guises and shapes. What I was left wondering was where had the fellows who had originally whirled around inside the haystacks disappeared to? Had they been able to dig a hole in the sand under their haystacks and disappear underground into pre-existing tunnels like the cloth had? OK, call me skeptical. I frequently try to work out how magicians perform their tricks too! As a final remark regarding this voodoo village, I was amused to see a house on the path back to the bus that had the following words written over its front door: 'Dieu est mon sauveur' (God is my saviour). I am left wondering how they reconcile one belief with the other.

  

  

  

What a completely satisfying day it had been. It certainly made me want to see more of Togo, not to mention Benin, which is purportedly the number one country for voodoo. After all, voodoo was brought to Haiti (and other places) by the slaves. We will be learning more about the slave trade tomorrow in Ghana and visiting more villages. I can't wait!

  

Akwaaba or welcome to English-speaking Ghana, my 142nd country and the land of gold and cocoa! Twinned with the city of Sekondi, as they are located side by side, Takoradi was originally a fishing village, but became involved in trading slaves and gold. “For over 1,000 years, Ghana has produced a substantial amount of the world's gold. Initially frequented by Arab traders who crossed vast stretches of the Sahara to obtain the precious metal, the trading routes of the Ancient Kingdom of Ghana initiated conflicts, in particular with Europeans, who, for centuries, battled for control of the West African gold monopoly. The Portuguese were the first to sent foot in the country in 1471. They were followed by the Dutch, Scandinavians, Germans, and finally the British in 1874, who named their colony the 'Gold Coast.' During their rule, the British built hospitals, schools, and transport[ation] infrastructure, which remains in place today.”

  

  

  

  

“Cocoa originated in South America and was introduced to Europe by the Spanish. As the popularity of the drink spread, colonial plantations were established to meet demand. Cocoa was introduced to West Africa in the late 19th century, initially in the islands of São Tome & Principe and Fernando Po (now part of Equatorial Guinea). The first successful introduction of cocoa to Ghana is attributed to the blacksmith, Tetteh Quarshie, who smuggled pods in his toolbox on his return from missionary work in Fernando Po in 1876. He established a farm, and, seeing how successful the crop was, neighbouring farmers bought pods and cultivation spread. The crop quickly became a key export, and between 1911 and 1976, Ghana was the world's leading producer, contributing up to 40% of the world's export. Today, Ghana is the second-highest cocoa producer in the world, after Ivory Coast. Cocoa farms in Ghana are mostly small, family-run plots, rarely exceeding three acres.”

  

  

  

  

Flush with the successful photographic results of yesterday (and, yes, in case you ask, my large camera was behaving itself again yesterday and today, for the most part), I was happy to see that my tour today, called Village Life, would include even more villages. What I wasn't prepared for was the fact that much of the information learned, and customs experienced, in Togo were similar, if not identical, in Ghana. For me, the highlight today was not a voodoo ceremony, like it had been yesterday, instead it was a visit to a school, although it was also educational and sobering to visit two UNESCO World Heritage Sites in Elmina and Cape Coast Castles, and I enjoyed another delicious lunch accompanied by a local beer at a beach resort.

  

  

  

  

As we left the port of Takoradi, I was taking photos of some of the produce for sale at the handicrafts market, allowed to set itself up right in front of our ship. Most other ports we have visited do not allow locals to exhibit their wares so close to the ship. Usually, we have had to pass through an immigration building to gain access. And the other nice thing is that the vendors were not too aggressive, as they have been elsewhere. I was anxious to peruse the options but knowing we had a full-day tour of nine hours, wasn't sure that they would still be here when we got back. I asked one vendor how long he would have his wares available to us and he promised he would be there until the ship left at 7:00 p.m. I also obtained confirmation of this fact from our tour guide, Pius, who was uncannily similar looking to Kokou from Togo yesterday; both had short hair and wore glasses and were in their fifties, I would estimate. Kokou had explained to us that his name meant that he was male and born on a Wednesday. Pius today said his other name was Yao, which meant he had been born on a Thursday. He also spoke English slowly. I had thought Kokou's slow speech was due to the fact that English was not his first language, but rather French (aside from his local African language, of course). As we exited the port, Pius explained that in the early 1990s, Ghana had been a large producer of round logs, which were exported abroad. I was reminded of my fist weeks at the company I had worked for in Hong Kong, which was purchasing round logs from Ghana at that time for their plywood mills in China and the Philippines. My initial task for the first month or so was to read all the correspondence pertaining to this African business, and, as I did, so I day-dreamed of being able to go to Ghana and experience everything I was reading about for myself. In fact, that was 30 years ago. As it happened, I was not needed in Ghana at that time, as they had plenty of English-speakers in the company. Instead, they had hired me for my French, as Ghana was at the beginning of making a policy change: for every tree cut down, producers had to plant two. Also wood was now required to be processed inside Ghana and only processed wood such as veneer and plywood could be exported. The company consequently moved to French-speaking countries, which were still allowing trees to be cut down and raw material to be exported. Later on, of course these countries adopted the same policy as Ghana, and the company I was working for eventually bought wood-processing facilities in those French-speaking countries to fulfill the laws and adapt to forestry sustainability practices. But I digress.

  

  

  

  

Pius also talked about the cocoa industry, mentioned above, and informed us that Ghana, with a population of 34.5 million speaking 50 languages, was known not only for the quantity of its cocoa products from cocoa beans, such as cocoa butter, cocoa cake, and cocoa powder, but also for their quality. He talked about Ghana achieving independence from the British in 1957. Besides gold and cocoa, iron ore, manganese, and bauxite are some of the other commodities produced in Ghana. Yao/Pius also taught us the same phrase as Kokou had in Togo: Ago and its answer amay. When I looked this up, I found it was actually Agoo, which means “pay attention” or “listen” while amee is the response to Agoo and means, “You have my attention.”

  

  

  

  

After about a 90-minute drive, we finally arrived in a migrant fishing village, where we were invited to sit under an awning across from a nicely dressed gentleman, clearly the village chief, and a few other elders. Once again there was spokesperson who conveyed the chief's message to us. A short ceremony was also performed by his priest, who removed his shirt and tied a towel around his waist to pray to the gods, splash alcohol and then water on the ground, and convey to the chief that the gods had spoken and welcomed us. Then, through our representatives (the ship's escorts from our two respective buses), we stated our purpose for coming to his village--to learn about the fish processing carried out by the townswomen and to visit the school. As part of the ceremony, I saw our tour guide bearing two bottles of alcohol, which he presented to the spokesperson, who then passed them to the chief. Our two representatives, together with our guide, then went up to shake the hands of the entire group of elders and they were presented to us individually by name and what their role was. (It was a good thing we were not asked to present ourselves individually as it would have taken an age, given that we were about 40 or 50 persons). In any case, as per our request, the chief (though his spokesperson) granted us entry and gave us three people from his village to accompany us on our visit to the women's cooperative and then to the school. We got up and followed them, passing welcoming villagers on the way, some of whom were happy to be photographed, and came to a covered area where two women were working on boiling, cutting, and sieving cassava root into powder, for use in their cuisine. We then walked back to where the ceremony had taken place and turned down a street and into a courtyard of a home where other women were processing fish--frying, drying, and smoking them in racks over a clay oven. We were able to use the house's toilet here.

  

  

  

  

We then walked a short way to the village school comprising grades from kindergarten to probably grade 10, although some of the girls could have been studying for their school leaving certificate or the equivalent. Passing three or four classrooms full of children, to whom we waved, we progressed to an open area where other students were sitting in ordered rows on chairs and, of course, some had drums in front of them. There were rows of chairs for us to sit in too, and once the majority of us were seated, the principal addressed us and explained that they were a school of 350 students and 18 teachers, three of whom were men and the rest, women. The kindergarten class then sang (not quite in tune or all together) a welcoming song for us with gestures in a local language, and then an older group of girls performed a dance. Then some of them invited members of our group to dance with them. I did manage to record some of the children's singing and dancing on video. After the performance, I got chatting to some young teachers, the females among them asking if I had any eligible sons they could marry! I also talked to a couple of young men who were selling their art. Unfortunately, Pius wasn't allowing us any time to buy anything, reminding us that we had a very tight schedule. In fact, we had already gone over our allotted time at this village, so since it was already 1:00 p.m., instead of visiting one of the world heritage site castles as planned, we went straight to the beach resort for lunch and he told us we would visit both castles in the afternoon with slightly shortened tours than originally scheduled.

  

  

  

  

The Coconut Grove Beach Resort, located on the beach, was lovely, and we were taken straight to the dining area, accompanied by a drumming group, offered local beer and soft drinks, and invited to help ourselves to a delicious, cooked buffet. I was distracted by the handicrafts that an artisan was setting up on the beach and asked him if he had a Ghanian bracelet to sell me. The ones he offered were plastic and none of them had the name of Ghana on them. I was interested in some brass figures he said he had made himself, but we never settled on a price. I left him to take another gulp of about one inch of beer I had left in my glass, not realizing that two flies had got inside and were swimming in it. Luckily, I realised before swallowing them, and spat my beer back into my glass. I then went off to photograph the musical group, and when I came back to my table again, I was in time to see the waitress clearing away my glass of beer, which now contained more than a dozen flies. I explained to her that I had almost swallowed two of the flies and she offered me a fresh bottle of beer, which of course I accepted and, asking her not to remove the cap, I brought it back to the ship and it is cooling in my fridge as I write this.

  

  

  

  

We drifted back to the bus and finally drove East to Elmina castle, a UNESCO world heritage site erected by the Portuguese in 1482 as a trading fort. The Portuguese were attracted there by rumors of fertile African lands rich in gold and ivory. They were also seeking a southern route to India so as to circumvent Arab traders and establish direct trade with Asia. At the height of the gold trade in the early sixteenth century, 24,000 ounces of gold were exported annually from the Gold Coast, accounting for one-tenth of the world's supply. Later the fort became one of the most important stops on the route of the Atlantic slave trade. By the seventeenth century, most trade in West Africa concentrated on the sale of slaves. Elmina played a significant part in this trade because it acted as a depot where enslaved Africans were brought in from different Kingdoms in West Africa. The Africans, often captured in the African interior by slave-catchers of coastal peoples, were sold to Portuguese, and later Dutch traders in exchange for goods such as textiles and horses. The Dutch seized the building from the Portuguese in 1637, after an unsuccessful attempt in 1596, and took over all of the Portuguese Gold Coast in 1642. The slave trade continued under the Dutch until 1814. In 1872, the Dutch Gold Coast, including the fort, became a possession of the British. Elmina Castle is preserved as a Ghanaian national museum and was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Monument in 1979. It is a place of pilgrimage for many African-Americans seeking to connect with their heritage.

  

  

  

  

It was rather an eerie place with separate dungeons for male and female slaves. Female slaves were sexually abused by the white traders, being brought up the stairs shown in the photographs to the governor's quarters so he could have his way with them and then brought down again to the dungeons. Meanwhile, of course, people were crammed in by the hundreds, there were no toilets, and no electricity, and even with just 15 of us in the dungeons, they felt very hot and airless. We were shown that the floor did slope to allow for bodily fluids to pool in one place and in some rooms there were gunnels where if the tide came in it might wash out some of the effluent. Nevertheless, people were crammed in. We were also told that women who refused to be raped were held in irons or had cannonballs tied to their legs and were left to die from dehydration and starvation. Others were tossed into the sea when they became sick and were near death or dead. And those who did manage to survive were crammed into slave ships found on the other side of the 'Door of No Return' and transported to islands in the Caribbean to work as slaves to other white men and women. (Although at this castle there was quite a bit of land to cross over before you would reach the sea today, we were told that back in the 16th and 17th centuries when the slave trade was going on, the sea used to reach the door.) After visiting the governor's quarters upstairs, I descended again through the curio shop and there found the exact type of Ghana bracelet I was looking for, and quickly negotiated a price, despite (as mentioned before) our guide Pius basically forbidding us from engaging with any of the souvenir traders and delaying our time even longer. I figured it might be my only chance to buy it--regretting the fact that I had not been able to find one for Togo yesterday--since we were running late and might not get back to the vendors across from the ship in time. I was very quick, nevertheless, and the price he asked was exactly the price I was prepared to pay, so no haggling was necessary.

  

  

  

  

Our final stop was at a second fort, the Cape Coast Castle, the only difference with Elmina being, I found out, that this one had originally been constructed and established by Swedish, Danish, and Dutch trading companies instead of the Portuguese, otherwise things--i.e. its operation and cruel treatment of slaves--were identical. I did not stop for any souvenirs here though I think a few of my fellow passengers forewent the castle tour and had a brief shopping spree instead because there were fewer of us following our local castle guide around. This building did contain a plaque proving that former US President Barack and Michelle Obama had visited in 2009, and there were graves in the courtyard for a couple of the British governors who were involved in ending the slave trade. Again we visited the male and female dungeons that were just as dismal and dark as they had been at the first fort, and purported to have contained up to one thousand unfortunate souls at a time before they passed through the door of no return and were shipped out on vessels as slaves.

  

  

  

  

  

You may be interested to learn that there were indeed still some vendors in their stalls when we returned to the ship, but they were definitely packing up their wares, so being very quick, I managed to photograph these three very clever paintings. They do not depict Ghanian people clearly--they are more likely Ethiopian--but the vendor's starting price was way too steep for my purse. In the end, I found an embroidered picture of a market scene, which I found quite pretty--it was a type of art I had not seen anywhere before--and I left Ghana satisfied. I hope this won't be my last time to West Africa in general because I have been enthralled by the friendliness I have met and the hundreds of photo opportunities I have missed ... for now.

  

  

  

  

  

Senegal is our final African country, country number 143 for me, and we were on tenterhooks to hear whether or not it would be cancelled (just like Benin had been), due to a political incident having taken place a few days earlier. (Two young men, aged 22 and 23, had died in violent protests against the President's decision to postpone the upcoming presidential elections, earlier announced for February 25, to sometime in December.) In addition, I learned, our ship was in code red due to the high number of gastroenteritis cases on board, although the captain had informed us last night that cases were diminishing due to efforts no doubt of all of us who were not confined to our cabins. So, we all breathed a huge sigh of relief when we were told our ship was cleared and we could go off on our tours.

  

  

  

Dakar, with an overall population, including its suburbs, of almost 4 million, is the capital of Senegal, (population 18 million), was founded in the mid-1800s, and is one of the chief seaports on the west African coast. It is located midway between the mouths of the Gambia and Senegal rivers on the south-eastern side of the Cape Verde Peninsula, close to Africa's most westerly point. Dakar has a diverse history and culture as well as many popular beaches. It contains two famous monuments, the 'Door of the Millenium' and the new 'Monument of the African Renaissance', which is now the tallest statue in the world.

  

  

  

“Gorée Island is situated opposite Dakar, off the coast of Senegal. Between the 15th and 19th centuries, it was the largest slave-trading centre on the African coast. Ruled in succession by the Portuguese (from 1677), Dutch, English, and French, its architecture varies from the bleak slave quarters to the elegant houses of the slave traders. Gorée owes its history to [its central] geographical position between north and south, [it being] the nearest point on the African continent to the Americas, and its deepwater harbour ... provided safe anchorage for ships. It was coveted by various European nations who either used it as a stopover or to facilitate the brutal slave trade. Until the abolition of the trade from the French colonies, the island served as a 'warehouse' with over a dozen slave houses. An estimated 20 million slaves passed through the island between 1536 and 1848.”

  

  

  

Our tour today was called Lake Retba by 4x4 & Village Feast, although I believe the translation of 'Feast' was wrong and it was probably originally 'Fête' in French because what we witnessed was not a meal but rather a celebration, or, more precisely, open-air entertainment. Translation aside, it was another beautiful day (the sky was blue again after six days of haze), and apart from a flat tire, everything went well. I had ample opportunities to speak French with the locals, and was able to take masses of photographs as well, despite my large camera misbehaving once again, and eventually the batteries of both of my smaller cameras both becoming depleted!

  

  

  

Birds were plentiful at the port and once again kites appeared to be prevalent, in addition to pigeons, local crows with a white neck, swallows and sparrows. It's possible there were also vultures, a species I have not seen much of this trip, though I do remember seeing them quite often in my earlier trips to Africa and India, for during our route out to Lac Rose, vulture nests on the tops of baobab tree branches were pointed out to us by our guide, Hammad. He told us that Senegal was 90% Muslim and 5% Catholic although there were also animists. Productions he mentioned were peanut oil and cashews and Senegal has also recently discovered offshore gas and oil. Retba Lake, where we were headed, is also called Pink Lake (Lac rose) and we certainly saw signs saying Lac Rose, but the lake itself was no longer pink. It used to be full of micro-organisms, and at sunrise and sunset due to the angle of the sun's rays, the water would appear pink or purple. However, with global warming, there is now more fresh water in the lake than usual and the micro-organisms are not reacting as they used to. Fresh water is now being removed from the lake so that it has the correct consistency once more for these microorganisms to survive and render the lake its original colour. The lake also has a high salt content and salt is mined from it. We saw a lot of houses being built, most of cement bricks. Apparently the bank does not grant loans, so it takes people 5 to 10 years to build a house, one stage at a time. As they earn money, they use it to buy construction materials and labour, which is why it takes so long.

  

  

  

Before arriving at the lake, our bus stopped momentarily in a village with a market, and we were invited to alight so we could briefly see what fruits, vegetables, and meats they were selling and photograph what we could. Of course, it was far too brief a stop for me. Possibly, this is what our itinerary described as “stopping in the village of Niaga on the way.” On our arrival at Retba Lake, we first went to a hotel--where incidentally we ended up having lunch--to use their toilets, before being driven to the lake proper, passing by the spot that is the official ending stage of the Paris-Dakar car race--although we did not stop to photograph the plaque stating this fact. We were then dropped off at the lake and as our clearance to leave the ship had been late, the 4x4s to take us to our next village were being still used by a half-day tour, so we were forced to wait an hour for this transportation--which were jeeps actually--to return to the lake. This was an opportunity for at least three female vendors carrying souvenirs in baskets on their heads to approach us and do some hard selling. For me, it was a chance to speak French, of course, and I also asked if I could put the basket of one of these ladies on my head to see how heavy it was. I figured it was about 20 pounds, but, of course, I do not know for certain. What I am sure of is its weight caused me to have a very temporary headache. And then, of course, this meant I was now friends with the ladies and they all had to sell me something, especially since I spoke French ... They did not have a bracelet with Senegal written on it, but one lady knew where she could get one, and ran all the way with her basket, not wanting to leave it behind. She did offer to leave her basket with me, but I wasn't sure how long I would be there, so she decided it would be safer to take it with her. Then, of course, when she got back, I was still there, and accepted to buy the bracelet she had fetched for me, but she now wanted twice the price it was worth for the effort she made in going to get it so I agreed to buy a magnet from her as well. In any case, all three ladies all eventually succeeded is selling me something.

  

  

  

Finally, our jeeps were back, so we piled in, and I sat in the front seat of one of them, beside the driver. We drove along over dunes and to a beautiful beach of white sand by the ocean and then into a Fulani village, which had five wells, donkeys, many half built houses, and dozens of children. We were introduced to the village chief by our guide, and were taken to be shown one of their wells. A young girl demonstrated how water was drawn from it. Next, we were taken into another compound where three women in their forties showed us how they ground millet, using a thick, long stick in a pot, and some of our women tried it for themselves. Children were clamouring around us all the time asking for candy and our guide specifically said that if we had candy for the children we should give it to the chief and he would distribute it. But, of course, some of our fellow passengers wanted to give it to the children themselves (a much more rewarding experience for them) so that instruction was ignored completely! We were also told that if we wanted to spend our money, there were handicrafts being sold under a canopy behind us, so we all went there to have a look and several purchases were made. In exchange for a few photographs, I was encouraged to buy something I didn't really want. Back in our jeeps once again, we returned to the lovely beach, and this time got out to dip our toes in the ocean, and take some photos of it. We were not given much time, however, as we were due at the restaurant for lunch.

  

  

  

At lunch, most people were more interested in the free wifi, but we were invited to line up for the buffet, where there weren't many vegetables, being mostly fish dishes, rice, and some chicken, while dessert consisted of fresh fruit, spice cake, and apple tart. We also tried the local beer, with an alcohol content of 5.2%. While we were eating, we were accompanied by a three-peice musical group consisting of two drums (djembes) and a 21-string kora, which though lute-like is more like a harp because each string is tuned to a different note. Wikipedia describes it as follows: “The kora is [made] from [a] gourd, cut in half and covered with cow skin to make a resonator with a long, hardwood neck. The skin is supported by two handles that run underneath it. It has 21 strings, each of which plays a different note. These strings are supported by a notched, double free-standing bridge.” I expressed an interest in the kora and spoke to the player of this instrument. Of course, he tried his best to sell me a playable mini kora he had made himself, with, I think, 8 strings, for a ridiculous price, but I successfully resisted, as he could clearly see I had no more room in my backpack.

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On our way back to Dakar, we made our last stop, in Noflaye, a Wolof village with a female chief. We weren't sure what to expect. Was it a feast? Was it a festival? Was it entertainment? Indeed, it turned out to be the latter, and all the village children plus a few adults were gathering to watch it too. Once again, we had been provided with two or three rows of chairs in the shade. These were set out on one side of a narrow street between buildings. A large poster in front of us was advertising a lion dance and, once again, I sat in the front row. There were the inevitably drums, but there was also a man yelling into a microphone so the decibels were clearly above and beyond what was required. However, there seemed to be nothing we could do to get him to turn down the volume. As I mentioned above, my waterproof camera had no more battery power by that time, so I couldn't record any videos with it. I was also conserving the battery in my phone as it was getting low on power as well. And although I had a full battery in my main camera, I didn't even want to try videoing with it, due to its ornery behaviour, so I stuck to photographs, which I knew would use less power, and take up fewer megabytes. I hope my photos manage to tell the story. The village chief is the woman in the blue and green dress. There were four women in red and white dresses who were dancing at one stage and holding gourds as they danced, and, as you may have figured out, there were three young lions, the lion being the symbol of Senegal, and appearing in its coat of arms. Yes, a few lions do exist in the north of the country: about twenty lions currently live in the 3,513-square-mile Niokolo-Koba National Park, an area ten times larger than New York City.

  

  

  

The lions performed a number of leaps, roared at the crowd, and near the end, a fire was lit, and one lion breathed (alcoholic) fire and I believe also ate fire. The children and adults were all enjoying the performance as much as we were, and once my phone finally told me my battery was almost depleted, I took out my big camera once again, crossed my fingers, and managed to get some close-ups of faces. This performance was definitely the highlight of our day, and, once again, we were reluctant to leave, knowing that this was our last day in Africa proper (the Canary Islands and Madeira, although in southern latitudes, are neither on the African continent nor are they independent states, belonging to Spain and Portugal respectively.) I believe we actually returned earlier than planned to our ship, so I had some extra time before we left port. I ventured off the ship again with some US dollars to see what I could find. A man had set up a table beside the gangway and was selling postcards and stamps, but that didn't really interest me. Instead, I spied an older man about my age, I judged, who had entered the port with a sack, and I asked him what he had inside. He pulled out ten good-quality wood carvings that he said he had carved himself, which were mostly of animals and mostly of ebony. We haggled for a long time and I eventually walked back onto the ship with what I wanted for the price I wanted.

  

  

  

Au revoir, Sénégal and farewell Africa until the next opportunity I'll have to travel here again, which I hope won't be too far in the future. As the sun set in Dakar, the sky turned orange, the kites gathered in the sky, and flew away from the port and over the city.

¡Hola! Estamos ahora en España. Tenerife is the largest of the Canary Islands, built around Mount Teide, “the highest volcanic structure in the world outside of Hawai'i. It's also the highest point in the Canary Islands and at its peak [one can find oneself] above the clouds. Formed 170,000 years ago, according to the lore of the Guanches, the indigenous inhabitants of the Canary Islands, Guayota (the devil) lived inside Teide (hell) and kidnapped the son god, Magec, taking him down inside the volcano ... During the age of exploration, Mount Teide was thought to be the highest mountain in all the world and was used as a navigation beacon in the Atlantic by southbound Spanish, Portuguese and British sailors.” Santa Cruz de Tenerife is the capital city of Tenerife and has a population of 206,593 within its limits and 538,000 if you includes its suburbs. It is the second largest city in the Canary Islands.

  

  

Although I was last here just over a year ago, I took a tour called Whale Watching, without much expectation of seeing any wildlife. Our code red being lifted, and the sky hazed by the local calima (a weather phenomenon from sand being blown off the Sahara desert), it was an hour bus ride to Puerto Colón on the south-east coast of the island to join our catamaran at the marina. As we headed out to the open sea towards La Gomera, we did see a few bottlenosed dolphins, Atlantic spotted dolphins, and short-finned pilot whales, who feed on giant squid in this part of the ocean. Of course, they don't stay visible for long, so photographing them was impossible. All we really saw were fins where the whales were concerned. It was a pleasant catamaran ride, nonetheless, and it stopped off a beach so that those who wished to could swim off the boat within about a 5-metre range. We were also provided with local sangria, and snacks consisting of simple sandwiches, potato omelette (also known as Spanish tortilla) and fruit. The day was warm but not too hot, and as we basked in the heat, we were reminded that we would be back in our cold climates in a week.

  

  

After we were dropped back at the ship, I set off on foot to revisit the city of Santa Cruz, take some photos of murals, and, basically, reacquaint myself with its layout. Being Ash Wednesday, it was the last day of Carnival, and we were told Tenerife had the world's second largest Carnival in the world (after Rio de Janeiro), “considered by many to be the best with a great atmosphere and friendly street parties. Every night of the week during carnival season sees thousands of people in fancy dress joining street parties, which start around midnight and last until dawn. ... The final main event of Carnival, the Burial of the Sardine, [is] held on the first day of Lent and final day of Carnival, Ash Wednesday, [this year, February 14.] Participants come dressed as widows of the sardine, wearing black dresses, veils, and hats to mourn a large papier mâché sardine carried through the streets on a special float. The event marks the death of the carnival, and the sardine was chosen as a nod to the city's fishing traditions and culminates in the burning of the float and a huge firework display as a form of farewell to the carnival season.” We were told the parade began at 10:00 p.m. In light of this special opportunity, I joined six passengers from Britain, Australia, and the Netherlands, respectively, first having dinner in a restaurant with the two British men and then joining the other two couples after dinner for sangria just off one of the streets we were told the parade would come down. None of the locals we asked was quite certain of the time this would actually happen, but we waited nonetheless until about 11:30 p.m. then gave up. We did, however, experience the crowds waiting with us, the costumes, the level of inebriation, and the loud Spanish music as we stood in anticipation. Finally, our patience exhausted, as there was no parade in sight, we walked back to the ship and joined the ship's carnival party on the top deck. As that wound up at 12:30 a.m. and still seeing none of the promised fireworks, we left for our respective cabins. I was finally woken by the popping of fireworks around 1:30 a.m., but my cabin was on the wrong side of the ship to watch them from my balcony, so I didn't even bother getting out of bed and fell back to sleep.

 

  

  

  

  

  

Bom dia! It's our last day in warmth and sunshine for a while, perhaps, because the temperatures will get cooler as we sail north. Madeira, an autonomous region of Portugal, is an archipelago comprised of four islands off the northwest coast of Africa. It is known for its namesake wine, warm, subtropical climate, and gardens. I did the levada walk when I was here last year, so this time I joined a tour to Monte Palace Tropical Garden, cited by Conde Traveler as one of the 13 most beautiful botanical gardens in the world, covering an area of 70,000 m2 and home to exotic plants from South Africa, America, Australia, and mainland Portugal among other places. It also contains two oriental gardens of Chinese and Japanese culture, carp, swans, and flamingos ... as well as peacocks, which we did not see. Additionally, there is a collection of stone sculptures from Zimbabwe and a museum of 700 mineral samples from around the world.

  

  

  

  

  

My main camera was thankfully working again, perhaps due to the somewhat cooler temperature, so I was able to capture many of the items mentioned above, plus a couple of wild chaffinches (Fringilla coelebs). To get to the garden, we took a mini bus to the cable car station and then had a quiet ride upward to the town of Monte. After our guide had taken us on a commentaried walk through the garden from top to bottom, I and one of the British men I've gotten to know, enjoyed cappuccinos and pasteis de nata in the coffee shop before sampling what we were told would be madeira wine but was in fact muscatel from the mainland of Portugal, to our great disappointment.

  

  

  

  

  

After returning to the ship for a typical Friday lunch of fish and chips and mushy peas, I headed out again on foot for around two hours, getting the free shuttle bus back to the cable car station, then slowly winding my way through the town and back to the pier. There was some sort of parade going on which ended up in the main town garden, wherein which townsfolk were dressed up in various costumes depicting the sea and fish. The sports statue is of Cristiano Ronaldo, a locally born professional football hero, who has an entire museum dedicated to him called CR7, seven being the number he wears on his shirt.

  

  

  

  

   

Yesterday, our table decided to have one last dinner together in the formal dining room, followed by the final musical show by the ship's singers and dancers, one of about ten different ones we've had this cruise. We then participated in the final quiz, and our team won with a score of 11 out of 15, including a tie-breaker with one other team. So, of course, to celebrate, we shared the bottle of bubbly we'd won. This morning, it was sad to say goodbye to some of the crew who'd been looking after us for 93 days but I managed to take a few photos to remember them by. After having packed yesterday and putting my large suitcases outside my cabin to be taken off the ship at 2:00 a.m. and into the terminal building, I had to be out of my room by 8:00 a.m. and go through customs/immigration on the ship. Due to an incident with the gangway--which was stuck--our departure was delayed, but we were finally let off the ship and into the terminal building to collect our suitcases. I was then transported by the ship's affiliate transportation company to my cousin's place in London and we left almost immediately for Guildford to visit a second cousin for lunch and a walk. We arrived back in Chiswick for a light dinner and I spent the evening looking through more family memorabilia.

  

  

The flights to Calgary and then Vancouver were uneventful, with the exception of a 40-minute departure delay in Calgary. It was certainly faster to go through immmigration and customs at Calgary than it would have been in Vancouver.

And now to sum up. It was certainly a great trip and matched some of the things I had been expecting and hoping to see. However, it did leave me wanting to see and travel more. Perhaps my most pleasant alone moments on the ship were those days when I was working (on this travelogue) in my room with my balcony door open, feeling the warmth of the sun, and breathing in the healthy sea air. I also enjoyed the sound of the waves against the ship as it moved in the water and watched many sunsets and fewer sunrises. I was struck by the many colours of the ocean at different spots in our journey as well as the variety ... or sameness ... of the many birds that accompanied the ship. I saw a few dolphins and seals leaping over the waves as well. (Yes, I did not realize seals also jumped in the sea.) It was also interesting to visit a total of 40 ports and observe port workers going about their business from my balcony, six decks up. Would I do it again if I were given the chance (and had the wherewithall)? You betcha. I certainly have a lot more African countries to visit that were not included in this journey so will be keeping my eye out for any interesting itineraries!

NOTE: The quotations herein are for the most part from the Fred Olsen cruise excursions brochure. Other smaller quotes come from Wikipedia.