Graaff’s Pool

I have another somewhat sketchy night’s sleep, waking at 06:00, when I don’t need to be up until 08:00. No such worries for my beloved. We agreed our 08:00 alarm call last night, and I’m enthused when she seems properly awake not long after. The hotel driver drops us over to the V&A Waterfront at 10:15 - up and out quite a lot earlier than either of us thought would be necessary on this trip. We’re heading over to Robben Island. I’m fully prepared to be part angered and part heart-broken by this place, based on what little knowledge about it I’ve accumulated.

We start badly. We’re corralled into an airless room to wait for our ferry. We’ve previously been told we must be there by 10:15 for an 11:00 departure. The reality is that the boat docks at 10:55, moments before our departure time. We board. It’s hot and stuffy. There is no bar. Mutiny festers. We are both hot and bothered. As the boat finally gets underway, some breeze finds us. The ferry owners have missed a massive trick - we’re in an enclosed deck, when windows and open air would have made the journey far more memorable, and massively more enjoyable experience. Some 90 minutes after we rocked up for our ferry, we finally land on Robben Island. We board a bus to tour the island, and our hugely enigmatic guide tells us about the various buildings that were a part of the apartheid management of the prison facility. My blood very quickly begins simmer, soon after it boils. Some of the stories she tells are both unbelievable, but utterly credible.

Most of what you’ll hear about modern South African history, and the overturning of apartheid is about Mandela - and let’s not fuck around, the guy’s a saint. BUT - there are so many other stories that should be told as well. The guy that shows us around the prison complex itself was imprisoned for seven years for sabotage - a pretty beige crime at the best of times. When he tells us his personal story, I’m torn between anger and sorrow. He was imprisoned on Robben Island at the age of 18. He admits to his crime - arson of an administrative office that charged unmanageable rents to people of colour, in houses they never wanted to live in at all. His parents defaulted, and were instantly evicted. They couldn’t find anywhere else to live. It’s unsurprising that this young man found cause to fight back. When he did, he and his friends targeted an administrative office, with a desire to stop the white managed office from executing its racist policies. They set the fire after hours, making sure no-one could be hurt. Two of the five were caught, and jailed for 7 years - for trying to make sure their country had an identity and a future. What beguiles me the most is Derek’s calm - he is not angry, and he is not bitter. He is assured that his country is becoming something better, albeit slowly. I adore listening to him speak. I could spend hours hearing stories of his experiences, no matter how dark and dangerous.

We’re shortly back at the dock waiting for our ferry back to the mainland. It’s a clusterfuck. We’ve spent a lot longer in the sun today than we’d planned or hoped. No one can tell us what time the boat is actually supposed to leave. We briefly consider swimming the 13km back to Cape Town. We finally board the boat. By the time we land back at the Cape Town Waterfront, we’ve been the go for 5 hours. Only 90 minutes of these have actually been hearing about and learning about Robben Island. Those 90 minutes are incredibly powerful, and hugely heartbreaking - but we both end up feeling that the day is both organisationally and informationally challenged.

We’re both parched and ravenous. We agree on the ferry back to Cape Town that our first drinks order will be sizeable - a beer each, and a glass of wine/Savanna for follow up. We find a very cool Belgian restaurant. The server looks a touch confused at our drinks order, but does the decent thing and brings it anyway. We eat fish - mussels and kingklip. We have a fabulous bottle of Chardonnay. We move seats several times to avoid the sun, as we’re starting to feel a touch crispy.

The V&A Waterfront is the shopping centre of Cape Town. I buy a 3rd ostrich egg to complete my collection. Vicki finds a couple of hats that really suit her. We demand 1/2 kilo of really good biltong. It’s pushing 19:00, and we’ve been out for most of the day, so we grab a cab back to our hotel. Not quite ready to call it a night, we hit the Sky Bar. The sommelier instantly asks if we want to do a wine tasting. We accidentally agree. In the background, there’s a guy doing very passable acoustic covers of Tom Petty, Dave Matthews Band, even Cher. We spend a great 1/2 hour chatting to Akonwe about his wines, watching an achingly beautiful sunset, and then decide it’s maybe time to call it a night. Back in our apartment, we throw on a movie (admittedly after spending 20 minutes trying to figure out lighting), and relax a touch….Read more