Day 245: Basilica Cistern + Topkapi Palace

We tried to go into the Basilica Cistern yesterday, but the line was outrageous. It wasn’t as bad this morning, but it wasn’t great either. Andrew opted out, not wanting to deal with the tourists inside. It was still crowded, but the Basilica Cistern was a lot bigger than I expected it to be and I spent more time inside than I thought I would. Picking up Andrew on our way out we made our way to Topkapi Palace. Again, we were face to face with big crowds and long lines, but we tried to make the best of the beautiful palace and kept… looking up in awe at the domed ceilings and intricate tile work throughout the palace.

Full disclosure: I first heard about (saw) The Basilica Cistern on a season of The Bachelorette. I know, I know, the SHAME! The blonde bachelorette (I forget her name) was on a one-on-one in the Cistern. It looked unbelievably beautiful (and romantic). It probably helped that they were the only two people there… Because although it was still pretty breathtaking during my visit, it wasn’t quite the same. Instead of the Andrew and me floating on a raft sipping champagne in the middle of the cistern, surrounded by water and the soft glow of candles lighting up the columns… Andrew was waiting outside avoiding the crowd I was caught in below (saying excuse me in Korean to the Korean tourist groups I was trying to weave my way through).

Historically (what it’s known for aside from The Bachelorette) the cistern was built by Emperor Constantine and later rebuilt and enlarged by Justinian. It was used as a water filtration system for Topkapi Palace.

I balanced my camera on the railing, praying I wouldn’t drop it and/or slip and fall into the water below. I tried to get a few solid shots, but it was dark and I don’t have the greatest lens for low light.

I picked up a bored Andrew back outside of the Cistern and we made our way to the Palace. Topkapi Palace is an UNESCO World Heritage Site being “the best example of a palace during the Ottoman Empire.” One of the larger palaces in Istanbul, it was where the Ottoman Sultans from 1465 to 1856. Not only did the Sultans live here, it’s possibly more famous for the Harem and the jewels that are now on display.

There are several courtyards, different rooms dedicated to specific events (Andrew’s favorite was the circumcision room for some inexplicably strange reason- I mean, I would think he would want to avoid it… But whatever.) or the usual: like a receiving room and a library to name a few. It also overlooked the Bosphorus in several different places with beautiful views of Istanbul. Instead of fighting my way to get a perfect picture of Istanbul, I tried to embrace the tourists in front of the view and made them my subject a few times.

As in Morocco, I was fascinated (and deeply in love) with the tile work throughout the palace. I know, it’s just tile, but don’t you think it’s beautiful? Why aren’t designs like these embraced more often in American architecture? I made Andrew promise me one day our house will feature tile work inspired by walls like these.

Now, acting as a museum, many of the rooms of the palace have been transformed into showrooms of different collections of weapons, robes (Those Sultans were BIG, yo!), and the treasury. Nearly all of these rooms had long lines. The treasury being the longest. We avoided it, knowing the hour (possibly two) long wait wasn’t worth it for us. We did see a ridiculously large (86 carats) diamond in one room however and I managed to wiggle my way in to see the story behind the fourth largest diamond in the world. From what I remember, it was found by a peddler in a garbage dump. The jeweler thought it was glass, but gave the peddler three spoons as payment anyway. According to the description in the museum, the jeweler called the police thereafter when he realized it was actually a diamond and it was taken or sold to the government or something like that… It was beautiful and heavily guarded- which is actually what caught our attention and made us stop to get a closer look, well, as close as we could manage anyway. (Sorry, no photos were allowed)

We made our way out towards the Harem just outside of the main entrance to the palace. It too, immediately had tile work that made my eyes grow wide and smile. Andrew patiently tried to take the perfect picture (for me) of me in front of it.

We wandered through the opulence and again, I was reminded of other palaces that we’ve been fortunate enough to visit on this trip. The Harem here reminded me of the harem within the walls of Agra Fort that we visited in India (on Day 85 if you’re interested in revisiting). It’s fascinating to see similarities in buildings, history, etc. from country to country – and sometimes continent to continent on this trip!

Most of my pictures are looking up, because that was the most beautiful part of the harem. And, well, people were in the way when I tried to take pictures looking straight ahead. But hopefully these images give you a glimpse of what it was like walking through. Can you imagine what life would have been like living in these rooms?

Walking out a different way, we passed by the back of Hagia Sophia and I couldn’t resist taking a shot from a different angle.

Day 244: Hagia Sophia + Blue Mosque

We started at The Hippodrome, then arrived at the Blue Mosque (also known as Sultan Ahmed Mosque) promptly when it was closed for prayer time. Which in turn, prompted Andrew and I to have a brief exchange over whether or not I could get in without a scarf on over my head. It went something like this:

me: Women are holding scarves. It’s a mosque! I need a scarf! (I meant to bring one, and of course, forgot before we left)

Andrew: None of them are wearing their scarves though. You’re ok. Just go in.

me: Ohhh so just because all of the other naive tourists are doing it, so should I? NO! I’m not going to be disrespectful!

Andrew: So… you want to buy a scarf?

me: Well, if I want to go inside… I guess I need to go buy a scarf…

Andrew was resigned to the fact that he couldn’t go inside in his shorts. They weren’t exactly selling men’s shorts around the hippodrome like they were selling women’s scarves… So I got a scarf, and we went back. It was still closed.

me: Well, now what are we going to do?!

Andrew: The Ayasofya.

Sultanahmet is the Old City of Istanbul. Fun fact: it’s the area that was specifically known as Constantinople. Most of the ancient sites (churches, mosques, the palace) are here. There is a LOT to do. We had started at the hippodrome just outside of the Blue Mosque and after going back and forth (the scarf debacle) we just had to weave our way around large groups of tourists to get to the Ayasofya (Turkish for the Hagia Sophia) across a couple of lawns and squares.

The Ayasofya (not to be confused with something like “The Eye of London” which is exactly what I did. I knew of the title Hagia Sophia, but not the Turkish Ayasofya, and was rather confused when Juliet and Andrew were talking about it prior to our visit) anyway. The Ayasofya is a rather complicated building. It began as an Eastern Orthodox cathedral (and seat of the Patriarchate of Constantinople) from 360 to 1204. from 1204 to 1261 it was a Roman Catholic cathedral. Then it went back to being Eastern Orthodox until 1453. Then it became a mosque until 1931. Then secularized and renovated, it opened as a museum in 1935.

Got all that? Good. There will be a quiz later. It’s ginormous. And with it’s history, it comes with a long (long) line. We got some snacks (an ear of corn and a kebab) and stood outside in the sun for about forty minutes waiting to get inside.

Naive to what I was stepping foot in, I spent some time photographing the entryway, the ceiling producing a beautiful, yet fading fresco could not be ignored. And then, once inside the next room, I was overwhelmed. Not immediately by the building – the church? the mosque? calling it a museum doesn’t feel right. I was overwhelmed by the chandeliers and the crazy amount of people inside.

Don’t get me wrong, the Hagia Sophia, the Ayasofya (whatever you want to call it) is amazing. It’s big. It’s breathtaking. It’s astounding to feel like you’re in a church and a mosque at the same time. Something that I can say that I’ve never felt before- it’s always one or the other. But the people! They were everywhere. They were standing in front of your picture. Bumping into you from behind while you were trying to take a picture. Asking you to move so THEY could take a picture. It was overwhelming to both of us. And more so to Andrew, who hasn’t witnessed the throngs of tourists in Europe until now.

“Just… look up.” I demanded. The dome is what the Hagia Sophia is most known for. It’s easy to see why. Apparently it’s the “epitome of Byzantine architecture” and even though I’ve forgotten a lot of details from my Art in Rome course in college, it is breathtaking. Especially when you stand directly underneath it reveling how small you are in the church, let alone the universe. That is, of course, until someone asks you to move…

I couldn’t decide which one was my favorite. So I just put all of them in. Half of the church/mosque/museum was being renovated. I tried to photograph around it as much as possible, but here’s what it looked like, to give you a better idea.

We headed upstairs, which wasn’t exactly via stairs as it was a ramp, made of stone, all the way up to the second level. I wondered if it was constructed that way so horses could haul stone up to the second level instead of people carrying it on their backs. I can’t remember where, but this was done in another ancient site we were in. A fort or palace in India, perhaps?

I was really drawn to the details of the ceilings and arches and of course, the chandeliers.

Many of the Christian mosaics were pastered over when it was a mosque.

Eventually we made our way out of Ayasofya and back towards the Blue Mosque. This time it was open. Andrew hung around outside of the mosque while I wrapped my new scarf around my head and stood in line to get inside. Strollers and this little bike sat outside of the entrance while their owners were inside.

The Blue Mosque, is historically known as The Sultan Ahmed Mosque. It’s nickname stems from the blue tiles on the walls and ceiling inside. I tried my hardest to concentrate on looking up and not letting the throngs of tourists take away the beauty of the interior.

The lights circling around the mosque reminded me of The Mosque of Muhammad Ali in Cairo. Only this one being a bit smaller, much more crowded, and smellier. There, I said it. Seriously. It was not good. No finger pointing towards the Muslims either, because you know they wash their feet before praying. It was suffocating, so much so that I didn’t dawdle or ask a nearby guide why women can’t be treated equally like I usually do…

I have to admit I rolled my eyes a bit watching the Muslim men walk through the tourists to where they could pray, I mean, take pictures. Their chests puffed out, while everyone else held their cameras above their heads to get a picture they were satisfied with made me wonder where all of the women were. In Istiqlal Mosque in Jakarta, the women were allowed on the main floor, but off to the side. I couldn’t see any women here anywhere on the main floor. And then, as I was leaving, I saw the women praying on the outskirts of the mosque’s interior. Some areas partitioned off. I sighed, wondering if I will ever understand the role of women within Islam, and if the same role within Christianity is any better.

Day 243: Spice Market and Grand Bazaar

After a lazy morning, and discovering Andrew’s bag still was lost, Andrew and I made our way downtown to the Spice Market and Grand Bazaar.

The Spice Market was more interesting outside, and not so much for the shops, but for the people and being able to watch those sitting outside, sipping on tea or washing their feet outside of the mosque across the street. Something I know very little about and would like to know more: it seems as though only the Muslim men wash themselves before entering the mosque. Why don’t the women wash their feet? Is it because exposing their feet in public is prohibited? Is there a separate area for Muslim women to wash that is more private? So many questions!

Inside, The Spice Market felt like a tourist trap, and we shied away from buying anything, knowing it was unbelievably marked up. Also, there didn’t seem to be any locals picking up spices, just tourists picking up touristy gifts. It was still fun to walk through though, and fun to photograph!

We walked around town to get to The Grand Bazaar. Andrew kept trying to find some new bandanas in all of the scarf shops, but had no luck. After an hour or so walking around on the cobblestone streets, I realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to walk around town in my thin pair of ballet flats. My feet hurt! We arrived to the bazaar and I couldn’t help but wonder if we were missing something. It, too, felt overly touristy. I was expecting stalls upon stalls with narrow lanes in between. A market you got lost in. A market you were overwhelmed by. A market where you were constantly wide eyed looking at interesting wares you were tempted to haggle over and buy. But… this bazaar felt more like a warehouse than a Turkish bazaar. We MUST have missed something. There HAS to be more to it and we simply didn’t see all of it. There were more stalls of knockoff bags than Turkish rugs and lamps. I was so excited to photograph the lamps, but I only saw one or two storefronts offering them, and I had to get creative photographing them! I was also expecting to be completely torn wanting to buy some fun Turkish souvenirs, but nothing really screamed out to me that it was worth dragging around the country, or paying to ship home. (I’m sure to Andrew’s delight)

It does help that I already have blankets and even a rug (from India), a tea set and tiles (from Morocco), and earrings (from Africa). When you’ve already purchased and shipped so many souvenirs home, it gets easier saying “No” to similar (even when they are equally unique and beautiful) items home. Although I might cave soon and buy some new bags for this trip. These Osprey backpacks have got to go!

Needing an opportunity to sit down and slip my ballet flats off, I suggested we go into a rug shop and pretend we were going to buy one. Instead, we found a rather atmospheric outdoor café that seemed to be only frequented by locals. After tea, and an ice-cream to go, we made our way back to Juliet and Daniel’s place.

Day 242: More waiting for our bags + Taksim Square

Again, we called Havas in the morning to ask about our bags. We were told the driver came to our door the night before, but no one was home. We clarified that four people were home after nine o’clock, plus two dogs, both of which bark (a lot) at strangers. They told us our bags were on their way. We asked how many bags. We were told two. We were told to wait until 1 or maybe 2 for them to be delivered.

Only one arrived.

Unfortunately, it was mine. Andrew was going on day five in the same clothes. When Andrew called back (again) about his bag, he was told his missing bag was not on file. He was holding his copy of the missing bag report. He was told to email it to them. Going a bit stir-crazy, we decided to get out and make the most of our third day in Istanbul. We headed to Taksim Square and walked down the infamous Istiklal Street.

Juliet is vegan. Daniel is on his way to being vegan. I gushed over how sweet Daniel was to give up cheese for Juliet.

“Would you give up cheese for me?” I asked Andrew.

“No! You wouldn’t give it up for me. You like cheese MORE than me!” Andrew yelled back from the kitchen to me and Daniel sitting in the living room. Daniel laughed, looking at me for a reaction. I laughed, shaking my head that he was right.

On Istiklal, we passed a chain take-away shop. It had cheese and tomato sandwiches the size of my face. We got one to share and walked down Istiklal nibbling on our first taste of cheese since touching down in Europe. I wandered in some shops to lust after pretty dresses that would never in a million years stay wrinkle free in my backpack and Andrew grabbed a coffee that was big enough for his liking.

“So this is the Myeongdong (in Seoul) of Istanbul…” Andrew declared as we walked down the super busy main street full of stores and sidewalks full of vendors. I agreed and then when we rolled up to a church in the middle of it, it all felt vaguely familiar even though it was half a world away from what we’re used to in South Korea. 

We people watched outside of the church, and then we made our way back towards Taksim. We wandered through the flower vendors briefly before heading down into the metro, making our way “home” to Juliet and Daniel’s place. That night, Juliet and Daniel had invited some friends over for dinner. Daniel is an expert at making falafel (from scratch!) and Juliet is an expert at pouring wine. It was a lovely evening albeit a bit of a blurry one.

Day 241: Waiting for our bags

Thanks, Havas Ground Handling Company for being the absolute worst company in the world. Ok, maybe that’s harsh, but we spent the entire day hanging out at Juliet and Daniel’s apartment waiting for our bags.

They did not arrive.

Instead of posting a video of how annoyed we were at Havas, I put a video and pictures up of the back streets between Taksim and Istiklal. We were here another day and I had so much fun walking around (especially after it was practically forbidden in South Africa) that I took more than enough video and pictures for one day! Enjoy!

About the bags:

When we called in the morning, we were told they would arrive at two o’clock. When we called at five o’clock, we were told they would arrive at six o’clock. Then they called us around nine o’clock to tell us our bags were on their way.

They did not arrive.

Thank God we had friends we were able to stay with, because the silver lining to this day was that it did not cost us as much as it could have if we weren’t staying with friends and didn’t have access to their kitchen.

Day 240: May Day!

Tear gas, again? It’s May Day in Istanbul! Protests abound! A closed metro system. Questioning in the streets. Juliet didn’t feel comfortable going in town. I didn’t feel comfortable putting anyone in danger. Myself, not a problem. But Andrew tends to worry… so we took the dogs for a walk down by the Bosphorus and then went to the mall to get a few new clothes instead. Along the way, we noticed a few posters like this one plastered up all over town.

I should be more specific about the shopping: I got new clothes. Andrew, not being able to find anything to fit his tall and skinny frame waited patiently while I lusted after unicorn shirts and sequined mini-skirts in H&M settling for more travel-friendly cotton clothes instead.

We called about our bags. We were told they would be delivered the next day. We weren’t told when, exactly, but we were hopeful Andrew would get to change his clothes by the end of the day.

Daniel brought an empty tear gas canister home after a failed attempt getting to work. He told me I could take it home as a souvenir, but we both figured airport security might not be as keen.

Day 239: Cape Town to Jo-burg to Abu Dhabi to Istanbul

Four different airports and three flights over the span of twenty-four hours sounds like a chore, but after some of our epic bus rides through Africa, it really didn’t feel so bad. Our flights were rather uneventful. I wish I could say the same for the airports, but they were all a bit of a hassle.

Joburg changed gates for multiple flights and people (including us) were running around confused and trying to prepare themselves for the possibility of missing their flight. Luckily we made it and were fortunate enough to accompany half of China on our flight to Abu Dhabi. The poor flight attendants were extraordinarily patient. Andrew and I were extraordinarily immature, wide-eyed at the women in front of us eating their pudding desert with a knife. There are spoons in China. There were also spoons on our trays. We didn’t get it.

Abu-Dhabi, while beautiful, had a ridiculous amount of people crammed in one terminal, unwilling to go to their gate as additional long lines for security checks would have prevented them from sneaking back out for a snack or a bathroom. The security checks were frustrating. I thought one woman was going to lose it, but she managed to keep it together after we were shuffled from one line to another only to realize we were split up into two lines to then merge back into one line. Andrew had to go in and out of the scanner because something kept beeping on him.

It was here, where we think he lost his baggage ticket repeatedly trying to empty his empty pockets for security.

Once we arrived in Istanbul, we waited at baggage claim before realizing our bags did not arrive with us. A seemingly competent third party ground services company helped us file a report. We were told to call later with details of where our bags were.

We were nearly two hours late meeting Juliet in Taksim Square. I was counting on her not still being there waiting for us, but low and behold, she was. (What a wonderful friend, right?) We made our way to her house for a restful night of dinner and drinks in after a day of jumping continents.

Day 238: Lion’s Head

Things I wanted to do in Cape Town but could not justify going even more over budget than I already am included repelling off of Table Mountain, cage diving with sharks, and eating at famous (some fancy) restaurants. Instead of spending a ridiculous amount of money doing one of those things on our last afternoon in Cape Town, we climbed Lion’s Head for free. Repelling and cage diving will simply have to wait until next time.

After a quick drive to the base of Lion’s Head, we began our climb before the sun got too hot. What was cool about the climb was how it circled around Lion’s Head as you went up so you got different views of Cape Town, Table Mountain, and beautiful views of the ocean as climbed up and around. You also went in and out of the sun and shade so when you got too hot, suddenly you were walking in the shade and were able to cool off.

It turned out to be quite a lovely climb and I regretted (only slightly) not scheduling more time for the trek up. Close to the top, we were told it was another forty minutes to get to the very top. Forty minutes Andrew didn’t think we had. We cut our climb short and headed back down to have enough time to look for some street art I saw from the bus the previous day, get to the airport, return the car, and check in.

Going on a scavenger hunt for street art in a city you do not know the lay of the land for, and you left your bus route behind at the hostel turned into a little adventure. I knew roughly where the two paintings were, and Andrew pulled up Google to help navigate our way there. A few circles later, I was able to hop out and snap a few shots before we picked up our bags and headed to the airport for our first of three flights to Istanbul!

Day 237: Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour day 2

Our friend Hanfred put us in touch with his sister, who currently lives in Cape Town. We arranged to have brunch with her in the morning (again feeling so spoiled knowing friends or friends and family of friends around the world). Ilze was so wonderful to meet and graciously fielded our questions about South Africa while we tried to fill her in on life was (is?) like in South Korea. She said it helped her understand/know more of her brother’s life in South Korea and we all exchanged hugs and love before we parted ways downtown to check out Green Market Square before jumping back on the Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour to jump off at the Imizamo Yetho Township.

Green Market Square wasn’t my favorite market in the world. It felt pretty touristy, but it was a pretty day and I loved looking at all of the masks at this one stall. The vendor was nice to talk to, but I bit my tongue instead of telling him his masks were ridiculously overpriced and how silly it would be to buy a mask from Zambia in South Africa. I’ll just wait until I go to Zambia…

Imizamo Yetho (meaning “our combined effort” in Xhosa) Township is right in the middle it seems of the upper class suburb of Hout Bay (where we stopped yesterday at the port). When we arrived, our guide immediately pointed out where the upper class lived and told us that no white person lived in the township. It was established in the early 90’s where authorities allowed shacks to be built. Because the black residents could not afford to buy houses in Hout Bay, the only choice was to build these houses in the Township. When I point blankly asked our guide if that was strange- that there was no mixing, she shrugged and said it was just how things were done. The question of “Is it strange?” isn’t one that is necessarily asked. My eyes were wide and she laughed, nodding her head “yes” when I asked if many people ask the same question.

We learned that many of the people who live in the township either drive mini-vans (shared taxis) or work as domestic servants. The weekly wage for a domestic servant is the equivalent of $50.00. That’s right. $10.00 a day. I shook my head in disbelief. She said that it’s not enough money to do anything other than eat, and for the men: drink. a lot. over the weekends. Many women have more children so they can receive additional government stipends (per child) but this is a rather small amount, and even our guide shook her head at the disconnect.

Obviously there is a lot more to this situation, but how a country can get away with such a small minimum wage for certain fields that only seem to employ one race is beyond me. I asked what the township thinks about tourists walking through, if it was frowned upon. Our guide assured us visitors are welcomed. The township receives the entrance fee. Jobs are provided to its residents. And most importantly, our guide insisted, it creates awareness to those outside of South Africa which she hoped would help facilitate change.

Slum Tourism is disputed. (Read more about it here) I get it. We’ve been on a slum tour in Mumbai. I’ve photographed slums in South Korea. We’ll probably see more throughout the rest of our travels. It’s not easy to see. It’s not easy to share, but I think it’s necessary. With this trip, and this blog, I wanted to point out that tourism and travel is not always rainbows and unicorns. It’s an unbelievable experience. I’ve learned more about myself and my partner and our relationship than I could have ever imagined. Cape Town is beautiful, South Africa is a wonderful country, but it is not without conflict and parts that aren’t as pretty. And before you get your panties in a twist- I’m not saying that my country is any better. Because, it’s not. I know that. But I’m here now, and I’m not a big fan of inequality on any level.

We stopped in this little convenient store, our guide knew these boys and their mother. She wanted to say hello. She told me that they loved their picture being taken and sure enough, after I would take a picture, this little man in front would giggle with absolute glee seeing his photo on the LCD screen. We continued on, and I should have slowed our guide down a bit. I was having a hard time juggling photos and video at the same time. When we are in impoverished areas, we tend to only use one camera as a small attempt to not be THOSE American tourists, you know what I mean?

We were told “The Irish” built these houses for the first inhabitants of the Township. Now they are worth a crazy amount of money (I forget the exact amount now) but we were aghast at the idea of anyone else being able to buy the house and wondering why WOULD they buy it when they could live outside of the Township for so much less. We walked around the outside of the township back down to the road. I asked how often people leave the Township. Our guide told us that people simply didn’t leave the township. We waited for the bus watching a soccer game across the street. Their uniforms looked professional and the field looked immaculate. Our guide told us the field was sponsored by the government and the uniforms were sponsored buy businesses- townships played other townships. I didn’t understand the disconnect between the beautiful lawn and the set of three toilets we passed within the Township that did not use running water and looked worse than any kind of toilet I had seen throughout this trip.

The government can sponsor a field, but not toilets? Again, I know there are a lot of missing gaps for me as a visitor, but I wondered how many white South Africans have been through a Township. What would they think? Would they be ashamed of what they saw? When we went through the Apartheid Museum, it was noted that during the 1960’s, one white South African woman saw a “Free Mandela” sign painted on the side of a building. She was so naive that she thought a ‘Mandela’ was a type of food. I wonder if there is similar naivety today.

Back on the bus, we drove past unbelievably nice houses built into the sea-side cliffs. Personal funiculars for each house so residents didn’t have to walk up flights and flights of stairs to get home. Beautiful pristine windows overlooking the ocean. Whitewashed walls. Nice cars parked in private spaces. It was a bit mind-blowing after walking through the township.

Oh right, and then Andrew got mad at me for letting our pamphlet blow away (by accident of course).

The weather had turned a bit (as is often warned it does in South Africa) and clouds started rolling in, covering Table Mountain and the ‘Twelve Apostles’ as we made our way back to our hostel for one last night in Cape Town.

Day 236: Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour

We were oftentimes a bit overwhelmed trying to figure out what we wanted to do in Cape Town. There is simply SO MUCH to do, that we really should have made a more detailed itinerary than waking up every morning asking each other “What you want to do?” Because, every morning in Cape Town, went something like the buzzards on the tree in "The Jungle Book."

Hanfred (and Idette, our South African friends we met in South Korea) suggested we check out Franschhoek (a town outside of Cape Town) but that involved more driving. We heard good things about the hop on -hop off bus tour and enjoyed it so much in Joburg, we decided, in the end to stick to something we could do where we didn’t have to drive or get stuck in traffic. Our first day riding the Cape Town hop on – hop off bus tour began with a ride through District Six, a wander through Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden, a tour and wine-tasting at the Constantia winery, and eating some fish and chips in Hout Bay. I know, it sounds like it turned into a really ambitious day, but it was a lot of wandering around, wine, and more wandering around. We were happy.

I had no idea what District Six was until we heard about it on the bus tour. There’s a recommended District Six museum in town, but having gone to two Apartheid museums and a visit to Robben Island, we decided to save the District Six museum for our next visit. To sum it up, District Six was demolished in the 1970s by the Apartheid regime, forcing around 60,000 black and white residents living in harmony out of the area. Now, only 24 houses stand with former residents having moved back to the neighborhood. These houses are surrounded by grass and empty fields as a reminder of what once was.

Our first hop off point was at the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden. We walked through, took pictures of pretty flowers. It was lovely.

Next hop off point was to get on the Constantia Wine Bus. Basically, this was just another bus that took us down to some different wineries. We decided on Constantia and took a tour and had a wine tasting. The wines were on the dry side. Something I wish was easy to tell by the label, I guess one of these days I’ll get used to figuring out which brands of wine I like more than others. You know, when I don’t hone in on the $9.00 or less bottles of wine…

We tried to go to the Hout Bay Market on our way back, but we were too late and it had already closed for the day. Instead, we grabbed some fish and chips at what looked to be a bit of an institution at the port. I could just be making that up to make a random fish and chips restaurant seem a bit more romantic than it actually was, but it hit the spot after the wine tasting. We walked back through the port, back on the bus and returned to our hostel for the night.

One thing about this trip that we did not expect was how tired we would get. Some nights we are simply exhausted. It never happens at the same time, but one of us will pass out exceptionally early. Tonight, I was in my bunk bed by seven and asleep before eight. Our hostel was rather hopping as well, a drum circle was going on out back, people were drinking in the front. I was asleep.

One thing about Cape Town that we did not expect was how many hostels were owned by young women. Technically, we were couchsurfing at a 28 year old girl’s hostel in Cape Town. It felt on the empty side compared to the B.I.G. Hostel we were at when we first arrived. It was nice, and we were grateful that it was free, but I have to say it just wasn’t as nice as the B.I.G. Andrew missed the brewed coffee and I missed the internet. As much as we prefer a cheaper nights stay, we prefer good coffee and internet even more.

Day 235: Robben Island

Robben Island, just off the coast of Cape Town (in Table Bay) is where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years.  A bit of trivia for you: He served 27 years in total, but only 18 were spent on Robben Island. In case you’ve been living under a rock, Mandela was the first black president in post-Apartheid South Africa. He was followed by Mbeki (who resigned due to corruption charges), Motlanthe (who served in the interim) and now, the current president, Jacob Zuma. Both Motlanthe and Zuma were imprisoned on Robben Island as well.

Our trip began on the sun deck of a smaller speed boat to the island. We chatted with a fellow American, Gregg about his trip (a bucket-list trip for his father and a few of his friends) and exchanged stories from our own travels.

When we arrived on the island, we boarded a bus that came with a guide who told us about the island’s history. Early Dutch Settlers initially used the island as a prison, then for awhile it was a leper colony, an animal quarantine station, it was fortified during the Second World War, and around that time went back to being a prison.

We drove past a leper cemetery, and past the quarry where the prisoners worked while serving time. A pile of rocks was pointed out to us towards the entrance to the quarry. During a reunion visit, Mandela silently took a rock and laid it there. Other former prisoners followed suit. It’s now treated as a memorial to their imprisonment.

Three of the four post-apartheid South African presidents (even though one was not elected) were imprisoned for ten years on Robben Island. When we toured the prison, our guide was also a former prisoner. He described the prison to be more like a school. The more educated prisoners taught the lesser educated ones. There was always an open dialogue and many prisoners walked out with the equivalent of a university education because of it.

We were in a pretty large group, perhaps about forty people or so. I often trailed behind so I could take pictures of the prison without anyone lurking in my shot. Because of this, I couldn’t always hear what the former prisoner had to say. I also couldn’t stop wondering what would make him return to the prison to give tours after being imprisoned for ten (maybe more? maybe less) years there. I don’t think I could do it. Below is Nelson Mandela’s window out to the courtyard, the interior of his cell, and the hallway of his prison wing.

Prison has to be bad. Twenty seven years of it can’t be easy. But we’ve seen quite a bit of bad things on this trip (and for me, even more in past travels). I was kinda picturing something along the lines of the slave quarters that we visited on Zanzibar, a type of prison where slaves were kept before being sold at the market. Obviously, it was a lot longer time ago, but it was the most recent type of prison, so that’s what came to my mind when we arrived on Robben Island. I’m also rather sure that an empty, clean facility now, several years later is much more attractive than it would have looked back when there were prisoners. But, I couldn’t help thinking that their conditions really didn’t look that bad. Again, this is coming from someone who in the back of her mind was thinking back on the Vietnam War Museum in Saigon, or the Killing Fields in Cambodia, or even the daily poverty in India and in some of Africa…

At this point, as I was photographing the empty hallway, I realized I could no longer hear the tour group. I had passed the door to get out of the prison wing and started to panic slightly that I might be lost inside. This panic was equal annoyance at myself for needing to lag behind to take a few photographs.

“Great.” I thought. “I’m lost. in a prison.” I rolled my eyes at the thought and tried to find my way out. I found one door that led to yet another courtyard. I tried to listen for the group. I still couldn’t hear them. I opted for another door that looked as if it continued to lead outside, rather than back in. I was in Another courtyard, but this time I could hear voices. I quickened my pace and found a few other stragglers talking to our guide, and Andrew waiting with an expression I’m all too familiar with. It’s the face he makes when he’s lost track of me and he doesn’t know whether to be concerned or annoyed. I popped out of the door and told him I got lost. He rolled his eyes, none too surprised.

Back on a different (bigger, less charming) ferry boat back to Cape Town, we chatted more with our new friend, Gregg. He invited us out to lunch with his father and his father’s friends. Not yet sure what we were going to do with the rest of our day, we accepted and had a really lovely lunch! Gregg warned us that we would have to field a lot of questions and we’d probably have to entertain his company, but we enjoyed it and had to laugh when they expressed gratitude no one in their family was traveling for as long and to as many places as we were.

“What do your parents think?” They demanded. We laughed and explained, after living abroad for so long, they were probably used to it. We told them about couch-surfing and shared our funnier and scarier moments of the trip, and then thanked them over and over again for lunch. (Really, thanks again, Gregg and family!) I cannot express how much of this trip is owed to generous people we have met along the way. A free night’s stay, lunch, a drink, even to borrow a cell phone every now and then. I need to make a “Thank You!” page just to give you a glimpse of how fortunate we’ve been to come across so many wonderful people around the world.

Day 234: Cape of Good Hope + Cape Point

We decided to spend our first full day in Cape Town heading down to Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point. This might not have been the best idea, considering that although the drive was beautiful, and all along the coast, there was a silly amount of construction going on. We stopped off in Muizemberg and walked through some antiques stores. Then drove through Fish Hoek and Simon’s Town where shortly after, we stopped off to oggle some penguins waddling around, before driving down to and stopping off at Cape of Good Hope + Cape Point.

In one of the antiques stores, a woman with a camera around her neck told us to stick around for high tide. With the lunar eclipse, the waves were bound to be even bigger than usual. We would have loved to, but instead we knew we had to make our way down to the Capes. It was fun meandering through the shops though before we left.

Our friends warned us that penguins have a mean bite, so I avoided petting them even when they got super close like this little guy did. On our way to the Cape of Good Hope, a few cars were pulled over off the side of the road. They were looking at wild ostriches. There were four of them in total. Gigantic. Just hanging out along the side of the road in between the beach snacking on the foliage. 

The Cape of Good Hope was beautiful. It was also full of tourists. I think we arrived smack in the middle of a Chinese tour bus unloading. At least while we were sitting on the rocks admiring the view, an adorable couple decided to take a few pictures of each other directly in front of us. Normally I’d get all “C’mon… Seriously???” on them, but I thought they were so cute, I decided to snap a few pictures of them myself.

Posing for pictures in front of the Cape of Good Hope sign turned into a bit of a comedy routine jockeying for a spot in between the Chinese. All other tourists (non-Chinese) stood around dumbfounded about how to go about slipping in for a picture. If they handed their camera off, a Chinese tourist would hand them their camera to take a picture of them instead. During my attempt with the sign, I simply started photo-bombing any and all Chinese who couldn’t wait for their turn. The poor girl taking our picture was super patient, trying to wait for them to move, until finally I told her “Don’t worry, it’ll be great, we’ll just pose with him…” but she was a bit apprehensive, trying to figure out if I was being serious or sarcastic.

Having enough of the tourists at Cape of Good Hope, we got back in the car to head up to Cape Point. The peak above Cape Point is higher, and feeling a bit pressed for time, we decided to take the funicular up to the top. It proved to be another beautiful view, but one that was again, full of other tourists jockeying for their own photos. We didn’t stay long.

We had planned on going on an evening climb up Table Mountain with a group organized by our hostel when we got back from both Capes. Unfortunately, we got stuck in traffic again. We skipped having a late lunch due to time constraints, so by the time we got back, we were starving, and again, after driving and sitting through traffic, I was feeling rather worn out. We attempted to go out for some quick take-out and then decided it simply wasn’t worth it. Instead, we canceled going on the climb and opted for burgers and beer instead.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being a bad traveler when I skip out on plans because I feel worn out. I should sleep when I’m dead or at least think something along those lines, right? But then Andrew reminds me it’s ok to take a few steps back, and I am usually glad when we do.

Day 233: Knysna to Cape Town

Our last leg of the Garden Route from Knysna to Cape Town was the easiest, and probably the most beautiful. We stopped off in Hermanus for lunch and some whale watching- it’s not exactly the season to see the most whales, but as soon as we sat down in a restaurant right on the water, our waiter pointed out and I saw a giant tail-fin disappear. After some soup and seafood, we were only about three hours away from Cape Town.

The drive into Cape Town was stunning. We drove along the coast and it reminded me so much of driving the Pacific Coast Highway winding around bends along steep cliffs that led down to the water. Andrew was in the passenger seat and it was up to him to film how beautiful the scenery was while I tried not to think about how scary the drop was off one side of the road. We made it to the hostel after dark and were overwhelmed by how nice – Really. Nice – the B.I.G. Backpackers Hostel was.

We checked into our room, chatted with the two Brits who we would share the room with for the night. Afterwards, I apologized to Andrew for not having as much product and make-up than they did. Homeboys had a LOT (hair-dryer included) and the room resembled a sorority girl’s college dorm more than it did a room you stay in for a couple of nights while traveling in a different country. They were nice though, and very quiet when they came in after a long and I’m assuming by the smell intoxicating night out. We were out earlier than them the next morning, so I unfortunately couldn’t tease them about their crazy amount of products.

Day 232: Knysna

We woke up to a lovely breakfast spread and then jumped in the car to get our tire checked out at the local mechanic. After the tire was checked out, we were told the inside rim was bent. He would pound it out for us. I shook my fist at “First Car Rental” and vowed that next time I rent a car and am told “It won’t be a problem at all” I will get a written statement with a signature. Because, what if something happened?!

After our car was good to go, we went for a drive around town. We started with a lookout point that gave different views of the city, the lagoon, and the ocean below, drove through an area of fancy vacation houses and then walked around downtown. We slipped in a few thrift stores. We tasted oysters (Andrew’s first time). And we picked up some meat for the brai (South African for barbeque) at our hostel that night.

Driving into Knysna we passed a rather extensive shanty town just outside of the city. Driving through the town to look at the fancy mansions or just smaller houses along the water reenforced our perceptions that there is a continued racial divide in South Africa. The shanty houses we drove past were minimal. stacked on top of each other. cringe-worthy. Not ten (I’m guessing here) miles away were huge houses that were seemingly empty. Vacation houses, Andrew suggested. None of them even looked lived in. A few maids (black people, in uniform, of course) were seen beating dust out of a rug or taking out the trash, but it was apparent that only white people lived here.

When we walked through town, a few people stopped to ask us for money. Andrew and I have tried to avoid handing out money. If we gave everyone something, we wouldn’t be able to continue this trip. That’s why we’ve tried to volunteer along the way, or give back in a other ways. It’s not always easy. I’ve caved and bought something from a child (or remember my five minute massage?). Andrew has given some small change here and there… It has affected us differently and at different times.

Whenever someone would stop us here in Knysna, they would hone in on Andrew. I’m not sure why. Sometimes they go for me. Sometimes they go for him. Usually, we try to be as polite as we can while not slowing down. As soon as you stop, it can be so much harder to get away. We don’t always know when it’s a scam or not either. Quite simply, it can be a toss up.

Today, a man came up to us a few blocks away from the grocery store we just visited and said something very softly to Andrew. The man practically ignored me, not in a rude way, more like one man talking to another man. I kept walking, figuring Andrew would eventually get away and catch up. I waited around the corner. and waited. and waited. Eventually, Andrew caught up and told me he needed to go back to the store for more bread.

“Is that all you gave him?” I asked slightly surprised that he gave him some of our dinner, yet also slightly surprised that all he gave him was our bread. We wanted to get so much more from the store- more vegetables, more cheese, some Nandos sauce, some ice-cream- but decided we didn’t NEED any of it, and in the spirit of trying to get our budget back down, we walked away from everything extra we wanted. Andrew looked a little shook up, but I didn’t press it, and we stopped in another store to pick up a cheap bottle of wine to go with dinner.

Which again, felt a little wrong. Andrew had just given away some bread to a man who clearly (unless it was indeed a scam) needed it. And we were still able to walk into a store and get a $4.00 bottle of wine. While we were in there we overheard a white South African girl calling friends asking what they were going to drink that night, asking if she should get more bottles or not. She circled the store, spotting her uncle’s label of wine and then complained (loudly) how expensive it was. Then with her two friends in tow, she ponied up to the counter, talking (still way too loudly) on her phone the entire time about their plans for that evening, and then walked out with two boxes of various wines. I could tell Andrew was uncomfortable. I could see it written on his face how bad he felt having talked to the man on the street, having only given away some bread, buying some drinks for himself, and then having to listen to a young, rich, white, South African girl unintentionally advertise how wealthy she was in comparison to the older, poor, black man outside.

We walked back to the hostel. Andrew told me the man had come on a boat from the Sudan and he was trying to find other Sudanese people that he knew about in Knysna, but all of the truck drivers were asking him for 100 Rand (basically $10.00) and he didn’t have any money. He said he hadn’t eaten in two days and he couldn’t find any ‘familia’ around to help him. Andrew said that the man was in tears, he looked really scared. His voice started shaking and Andrew could tell he was trying not to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Andrew admitted that it could have been a scam, but if it was it was a damn good one. He had never seen someone look so scared and helpless before. I could tell Andrew was conflicted, wondering if he should have given the man more or if he should be satisfied for what he did give him or what if it WAS a scam…

Tired from a restless (slightly sleepless) night in the hostel, I had planned to take a nap. Andrew paced back and forth, clearly still upset as he thought about the man on the street.

“Do you want to lay down with me?” I asked, knowing that would make me feel better if I was him as I climbed into my bottom bunk that I couldn’t even sit up in. He nodded and climbed in after me. We’ve gotten remarkably good at squeezing into these bunks that are entirely too small for two, let alone when one of us is so tall. I wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep. I woke up to him still in my bunk looking at his computer, telling me he was going to run back to the store for more bread. When he returned, I asked if he saw the man on the street again. He didn’t, and perked up over a beer and a brai that night.

Day 231: East London to Knysna

Clear skies! Finally! We hit the road early and halfway through the morning, pulled over to see how Andrew would do behind the wheel. Aside from a few start then stall then start again moments, he did great!

I thought the houses along the way were so beautiful, dotting the landscape of green and brown with bright punches of color. We rolled into Knysna towards dusk and were given directions to Mitchell’s Brewery for a beer tasting before we called it a night.

Day 230: a rainy day in East London

Our gracious host suggested we stay another day because of the weather. We weren’t planning to, but then I woke up exhausted. That kind of exhaustion that courses through both your arms, your legs, your head, your everything. It was raining again, so I knew it would just be me driving again, and I knew I wasn’t up for it. We decided to stay another day. Also, Andrew needed to practice driving.

We headed to the mall (in the rain) to get a wire to hook up an ipod to the car stereo, eat lunch, and practice driving. Andrew very rarely gets frustrated, so when he does, I find it very entertaining. It also puts me in check on how entertaining it must be for him when I get frustrated. He kept demanding when he was supposed to change gears. I didn’t know the answer other than…

“I don’t know, you just feel it… Don’t you feel that?” I asked as the gear strained needing to change.

“No!” He responded frustrated.

“Shift!” I demanded. He grumbled. I laughed. He didn’t. But he got a little more comfortable and I told him he just needed more practice, which hopefully if the rain let up, he would get en route to Cape Town.

Day 229: Durban to East London

Road-trip 2013! Andrew and I picked up our car early in the morning and headed down through the Transkei to East London where we planned to stay one night with yet another couchsurfer host to help break up our drive down to Cape Town.

We knew it would be a bit more expensive, but we were in desperate need of some freedom. Driving again (I haven’t had a car since… college?) was a little challenging. Not only has it been at least 5 years since I’ve driven a car, but shifting gears with my left hand and driving on the left side of the road, in pouring rain were not factors we considered.

Furthermore, one of the tires was low. Andrew pointed this out to the rental company right away. They assured us it was just because it had been sitting in the parking lot for awhile, and had it pumped up for us “to make us feel better.”

Driving through the Transkei was everything our South African friends warned us about. There were cows and goats wandering across the road whenever they wanted. I’m still a bit skeptical why there were absolutely no fences for these herds. If I had a herd of cattle, I would think fencing them in would eliminate accidental deaths of cows crossing the road on a highway where the majority of the people driving through are INSANE.

At one point, a woman wandered in the middle of the road- without looking and I had to swerve around her. It was raining. There was fog. Animals. People. Construction. It was a FEAT getting into East London that night. Andrew is not as experienced driving a standard (shift) car. I was nervous enough adapting to driving on the other side of the road, shifting with my left hand, in the rain, we both figured it was probably a safer bet for him to continue navigating and me continue driving.

Meanwhile, our tire kept losing air. Every time we stopped for gas, we had our tire pumped up.

We were late getting into East London. It was still pouring when we pulled up to our couchsurfer host’s house. Not house, more like mansion. We discovered we were actually staying in their bed and breakfast that was attached to their house. A beautiful room with a loft all to ourselves. We were drenched. I was exhausted. Our host, an older woman in her early sixties I’m guessing- but a youthful sixties- offered us some soup. I immediately accepted and we sat around her kitchen talking about our travels, warming up over homemade soup with fresh bread and butter.

Her and her husband had traveled up through Africa and ended up couchsurfing. They had a really positive experience doing so, and had since decided to attempt to give back to the community. I was so grateful. I am still so grateful. I can’t even imagine getting the same kind of reception if we had showed up to a generic hostel or hotel in town. Can you?

Day 228: another rainy day in Durban

I make mistakes all. the. time. But I try (emphasis on try) to own up to my mistakes, and/or at least apologize for them. Our host did not apologize for waking us up in the middle of the night. He acted like nothing happened the next day, while avoiding eye-contact. This did not bode well with me. But again, I reminded myself that I was sleeping on his couch. for free. without having known him prior.

It was another rainy day. We did much of the same as we did the day before. We also made plans to leave earlier than planned and were motivated to have more control over the rest of our time in South Africa by renting a car. We stopped by our host’s restaurant, and had a few drinks. I really enjoyed our host’s friends, but again, we excused ourselves early as we had to pick up our rental car and start driving down to Cape Town early the next morning. 

Alas, again, we were woken up in the middle of the night. Our host wanted to tell Andrew he would be outside. I think he wanted to have another heart to heart. Andrew didn’t humor him this time. We woke up to a hand written note about how cool we were. Unfortunately, we didn’t leave him a similar note.

Day 227: a rainy Durban

That’s all it did. It rained. We went to a cafe and did some work and slipped “home” early for a dry, cozy night in. We went to sleep not long after, and then in the middle of the night, the lights were flipped on, and our host was standing before us as we were blinking sleep out of our eyes, while swayed, asking if we could move,  so him and his roommate could eat dinner and watch tv.

It was 3:30 in the morning.

I sat up, briefly, wondering if this was going to be the couchsurfing experience that my cousin, Amy was afraid of. Then I realized, he was drunk. Wasted. Yet harmless, and so was his roommate. I laid back down on my couch and shut my eyes, hoping they would lose interest, turn off the lights, and go to bed instead of hanging out in the living room, where we were trying to sleep.

Andrew, on the other hand, shook himself awake, sat up, and humored our host. He is a champion. Andrew, not our host. I listened as Andrew told them both what we did during the day.

“DO YA WANT SOME CHIPS AND CHICKEN?” Our host’s roommate yelled. I heard Andrew respond that he was ok. If my eyes were open, they would have rolled. We were asleep, no, we don’t want to eat chips and chicken. It was nearly four. in. the. morning. And we’re only three feet away from you. Why are you yelling?

It’s since become a huge inside joke between me and Andrew, yelling to each other in our ridiculous attempts to do a South African accent “DO YA WANT SOME CHIPS AND CHICKEN?”

Andrew explained how we went to a cafe, how I wanted to try to catch up my blog about our trip… and that the weather really kept us indoors…

“YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE BEACH? WHY DIDN’T YOU GO TO THE BEACH? DON’T YA LIKE THE BEACH? IT’S WONDERFUL. YOU CAN WALK ALONG THE BOARDWALK, THERE’S ALL SORTS OF CAFES AND SHOPS… IT’S THE BEACH! GO TO THE BEACH!” The roommate continued yelling.

Andrew, again, tried to explain that it was raining all day. We like the beach. We’d love to go to the beach. When it’s not raining… Eventually the roommate lost interest, or was full of his CHIPS AND CHICKEN! and went to bed. Our host took that as his cue to sit down with Andrew and have a heart to heart about how much he wants to travel and a lot of other possibly too personal things to share online. (This has happened before, where people we meet along the way seem to be intimidated by the fact that we’ve been, and will be traveling for awhile longer. This seems so silly to both me, and Andrew. As wonderful as this adventure is, there have been hiccoughs (like tonight?) and sometimes we miss the “normal.” It’s an adventure. A wonderful one. But it is a challenging one. Dude owned his own restaurant. Bottom line: grass is always greener.)

Anyway, his heart to heart somehow included showing Andrew his camera and taking pictures of me (trying to sleep) with the flash on. I reminded myself we were sleeping on his couch for free and continued to pretend I was asleep. He talked for awhile. Andrew listened and agreed with everything that he said, playing along.

“He was just drunk…” Andrew came to his defense the next day as I shook my head in complete awe that the night happened. Until now, we have had a flawlessly wonderful experience with couchsurfing, and while this experience wasn’t the worst experience ever, it is now the story we tell when we’re asked if we’ve had a bad experience.

“I don’t know if I should admire you or think you’re an idiot for how patient you were!” I told Andrew. He explained how he’s done this before. Humored good (but very inebriated) friends when they have no control over themselves after several drinks.

“But, they’ve (his friends from home) earned it. He (our host) hasn’t.” Andrew concluded.

Day 226: Joburg to Durban

South Africa, you have some beautiful landscapes. That is the triple truth, Ruth. 
At the last minute, a couchsurfer host responded to our request, and we were elated we had a place to stay when we arrived in Durban. We were intrigued he was a restauranteur and looking forward to meeting him and trying out his restaurant. We stopped by the restaurant at night, when he was working and were happy to sit down with him and his friends and talk about our travels and the restaurant business in South Africa and what Durban was like. A few free shots later, we slipped out before it would be guaranteed that I would wake up with a headache.