Cape Town – Part 2

This was Bill's 12^th Golden Oldies festival. He has often described them as a week-long party with hockey breaks. They start with some brief speeches and a welcome party. This time it was in Cape Town Castle. It's a time to catch up with old friends – and after 11 previous festivals there are plenty of them. Over the week we noticed that where the first questions used to be “How's work?” and “How are the children getting on at school/university?” it's now “Are you still working? Have you retired?” Anyone would think we were getting older.

It's also an occasion to enjoy some more South African wine. In fact, such opportunities crop up throughout the week. That's not to say that South African beer should be avoided. They brew some good beers, and so do the Namibians. Windhoek brand beer is widely available and very good.

Monday is a hockey day. The International Harlequins is listed as a Canadian team because the manager lives in Calgary, but we are genuinely international with players from all sorts of places. Dave and Norm had both spent part of their lives in South Africa, and they delighted in swapping comments in Afrikaans. As far as we know, blonde blue-eyed Rose is the only hockey player born in Burundi. We didn't have a full team, but it is part and parcel of Golden Oldies that players may take the field for anyone that invites them. Goalkeepers are particularly in demand. Bill also gets involved as an umpire. There are no prizes for winning games, but that does not mean we don't do our best to score goals. We weren't terribly good at that this year, but neither were our opponents. They were all low-scoring games.

Tuesday is the 'picnic day'. We were loaded onto buses and whisked away to Stellenbosch, one of the major wine-producing regions. Our destination was the Spier Vineyard, where we were welcomed by a band in brilliantly coloured outfits singing “Welcome to Cape Town”.

Previous picnic days have suffered from long, slow-moving queues at lunch buffets. This year we each collected a true picnic lunch in an individual chilly bag and a plastic wine glass labelled “1692 Spier”. The wine glass could be filled as often as we liked, and then taken home as a souvenir. This did eliminate the queues, but the food couldn't be quite as good if it was all pre-packaged.

Tables and chairs were set out in a large marquee. On a stage a band was setting up. They called themselves Sincere Swing and Bill hoped that meant they played jazz. They did! They played extremely good jazz. The lady in the group played jazz flute and had a wonderful voice for singing the jazz standards. Having been raised on swing jazz, Bill was in heaven. To get an idea of why he was so delighted you can listen to a few tracks on their website here.

The vineyard grounds contained a craft market. We suspected (correctly) that there would be craftwork offered at all major tourist attractions and that we would have many opportunities to buy crafted souvenirs. That said, the goods on offer were well made and most featured recycled materials.

There are no tigers in Africa - except this one!

We did buy a few small items.

There was, of course, a tasting room. A group of Harlequins was already there. We decided to verify their opinion that the wines were worth tasting. The samples were generous, the tasting notes helpful and the wines slipped down very pleasantly. A sauvignon blanc was so good we bought a bottle. And a bottle of bubbly for a forthcoming celebration.

Back at the hotel no-one had the energy to go far for dinner, so the team popped across the road to a modest Italian restaurant. The food tasted good, but after several hours at a winery it was perhaps no surprise that several of us drank only water.

Bill normally has a stomach that will digest anything, but something he ate or drank got the best of him that night. He felt washed out in the morning and in no shape for hockey. So he stayed in bed for most of the day with the 'Please do not Disturb' sign on the door. To pass the time he enjoyed the novelty of watching television.

In truth it was not that much of a novelty because screens assail you in bars, restaurants and many other spaces. They are always tuned to a sports channel. There might be golf in the dining room at breakfast, rugby in the lunchtime cafe and English Premier League football in the hotel bar all day. Recuperating in the hotel Bill watched soccer, rugby and occasionally checked that there was no news to interest him.

When Eve went down to breakfast and pass on the news of Bill's indisposition she found that 3 or 4 others in the squad were also nursing tender tummies, but not as bad as Bill's. Was it the Italian food, or maybe something in the picnic lunch? We do not know.

Eve doesn't play hockey and chose not to go to the grounds and support the Harlequins. Instead she went in search of sandals, something we had done together without success during our stay in Muizenberg.

The Victoria and Alfred waterfront area (“V&A”) has been developed in much the same way as Auckland's Viaduct Basin and Sydney's Darling Harbour. There is a pleasant outdoorsy atmosphere and a host of opportunities to spend money. She didn't find the emporium that had been recommended to us, but did find a leather goods merchant with some sandals that she thought would suit Bill.

Thursday is a day with nothing organised. We had hoped to go to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners were imprisoned, but the sea was rough enough that the ferries weren't running. The terminal had long lines of people queueing for refunds. Our only other opportunity was Saturday, and that was fully booked.

We promenaded the V&A. Bill tried on some of the leatherwright's sandals. He has broad feet with small heels that can be difficult to fit, but by adding an extra hole to one of the straps he found a pair that met the challenge.

Cape Town's aquarium is near the big ferris wheel in the V&A. It is well worth a visit. The displays are definitely superior to the usual big-tanks-in-the-wall. For example, some have a small tunnel to allow children to wriggle through and stand up in the middle. The cylindrical tanks of jellyfish are lit in a clever way that allows the observer to really appreciate the delicate form of the animals.

One cuisine that we particularly wanted to sample was African food. To locate some we used the Internet (of course) and Tripadvisor pointed us to an eating house called Mzansi. Just one little detail – it is located in Langa township and all the guides tell visitors to keep out of the townships unless you are part of an organised tour. But many of the reviews talked about how safe they felt, so we picked up the 'phone and we booked.

We went there by Uber. The driver, who was black, asked us if we were sure, “because it's dangerous”. The main roads took us to within 2 corners of our destination, so we didn't feel as though we had gone deep into hostile territory. When we arrived at the address there was a moment of puzzlement. The number was clear – on a residential house. We looked around. There were some black children playing in the street, but they ignored us. Then Eve spotted a roomful of tables inside the house just before a man came to welcome us. This was Mzansi.

They were having a very slow night. There were only 5 diners, us and a group of 3. But some evenings they have over a hundred at the long tables. And there's more than just good eating here. An artist from over the road came in and showed us how he creates his pictures by painting dilute PVA glue onto the surface and then shaking sand onto the glue. He collects fine sand from the beach and colours it with oil paints. He uses a little tea strainer for even distribution. The image of a bushman he created in front of us was a simple drawing in one colour, but his display included all sorts of pictures with many colours. We were very tempted to buy one. He would roll it into a solid cardboard tube, but we already have more pictures than wall space at home so it wouldn't have been very sensible.

There is no menu. You serve yourself from a buffet. Mama Mzansi explains what each of the dishes is. Despite his recently upset tummy Bill went round for two large platefuls. The food was GOOD. You are invited to help yourself from the bar.

In the next room was a marimba band. A marimba is basically a wooden xylophone. The band had two of these, drums and a saxophone. The marimba music we heard here and in other places explains the origins of jazz in African music. We both found it very pleasant. And the band achieved the miracle of being loud enough to hear and not so loud that they impeded conversation.

After the meal Mama Mzansi came and told us the restaurant's story. She described the house in the apartheid era, when it was just 2 rooms and toilets were shared amongst a whole street. After apartheid they were given the property, but the house had been so poorly maintained that only the land had any value. The idea for the restaurant came after other projects, and it very nearly foundered. A group of American students ate there and asked why it was not on the Internet. At that time Mama had no computer or smartphone and had never heard of Tripadvisor. But the students wrote reviews and more people started to come. Now Mzansi has its own Facebook page and it has received hundreds of reviews on Tripadvisor. What is really remarkable is that, in a city famous for its wonderful food, Mzansi is number 1 of almost 900 restaurants in Cape Town. Follow the link here and see for yourself.

In general, life is still very harsh in the township. There is 50% unemployment, so when bookings are heavy Mama hires in extra staff for the evening. As far as she can, she buys locally. There are women who are growing vegetables in parks and on church land.

Almost all patrons are tourists. Very few locals eat at Mzansi, which is a terrible shame.

After the story, we met the band. The saxophonist offered to play any jazz standard. “Take the 'A' Train”, suggested Bill. And after a brief pause to think about it, that is what was played. Then it was time for the diners to pick up a mallet and have a go – under strict tuition. We played simple phrases while the band added a tune. It was a little crowded round the marimbas, but it was fun to be part of making real music.

When we paid we were simply asked what we had had to drink and the proper amount was added to the bill, which was extremely reasonable.

Due to concerns about going into a township, we had not brought a camera. There are many photographs on the Tripadvisor page.

We thought it would be a great idea to go back the next night with all the Harlequins, but in our absence they had booked – and paid a deposit – for the whole squad to go to a seafood restaurant in the V&A. The food was excellent, but it was at least twice as expensive as Mzansi and the venue didn't come close on atmosphere.

Our final games were on the Friday. Bill is noticeably sluggish around the pitch these days, and never declines an opportunity to be substituted. However, he was moved to the back in the last game and feels he did a good job of stifling the opposition forwards. His ancient stick, that has seen service on five continents, has now been donated to a South African school so that at least one more child can have a game of hockey.

Bill in 'action'

The International Harlequins.  What athletes!

Saturday was our last full day in Cape Town. We reckoned that the hop-on hop-off bus would be a good way to see more of the city's points of interest. Our first hop-off was at the Greenmarket Square. This was large craft market with goods of all sorts. All prices are “negotiable”, but even the asking prices were not bad. We were torn between the opportunity for some very nice souvenirs and presents and the possibility that there would be even better options later in our holiday. We did spend some money, including on a colourful shirt for Bill.

We hopped on more buses and saw the sights. The commentary was very helpful. It was a lovely, sunny day, so we favoured the open upper deck. The weekend traffic was heavy, and going towards Table Mountain we found the bus was in a traffic jam, that stopped and crawled and stopped again.

The Table Mountain Cable Car.  It rotates as it travels very slowly up and down and people PAY to ride in it.

With the traffic and a lunch in Camps Bay that was delivered very tardily we had to abandon the plan to have a second look at Greenmarket Square and hasten back to the hotel to get ready for the final party.

There was food, there was drink and there was jollity. The band was too loud, and Bill, whose hearing is not 100% anyway, danced only between the dining table and the door because the dance floor was uncomfortably noisy. He did nonetheless dance with great energy, and the comment was made that at the next festival rock music should be played next to the pitch to get Bill's legs moving. Cheek!

Exhausted by too much partying.  Bill is in his Greenmarket shirt.

And another Golden Oldies festival was over. The next one is in Christchurch next April.

Cape Town – Part 1

We deliberately arrived in Cape Town a few days before the Golden Oldies hockey commenced so that we could recover from any jet lag and, if we wanted to, be as idle as we liked.

We again favoured an Airbnb home. It seemed to be ridiculously cheap, but we discovered that South Africa is generally much cheaper than New Zealand. It was in Muizenberg (pronounced Mew-zen-berg), a few km to the South of the CBD. It has a sandy beach that is popular with surfers and a generally laid back 'vibe'. We were hosted by Sam, a historian, who is teaching at the University of Western Cape and researching a most depressing subject; something like State Sponsored Violence. Apparently the South African government was a great practitioner of this before the end of apartheid. Unfortunately we never met his partner, Charlene, as she was away working as a safari guide.

Few of the properties in Muizenberg village bothered with the spiky fences and razor wire we saw in Johannesburg, but they all sported notices advertising alarm systems or the use of an armed response service. A house in a nearby street was robbed during our stay, and Bill saw the responder driving furiously along the narrow streets. Yes, he did carry an automatic pistol.

To avoid the inconvenience and doubtful safety of public transport we rented a car. Having read a review of a really cheap car rental company, which was reported as charging customers for almost invisible scratches, not returning the deposit, etc., we went for one of the international firms, Thrifty. It was still a very reasonable rate, so we splashed out for a satnav. It was a Garmin device and it worked perfectly on our first journey to Muizenberg. After that it always got in a tangle somewhere along the route. Sometimes it sorted itself out, and sometimes we had to refer to a map on the tablet and override the Garmin's maniac instructions. We have a Tomtom at home, and we will not be switching brands!

If you drive in South Africa you will quickly come across parking wardens. These individuals are not there to give you a ticket, but to watch over your car while you are, say, walking on the beach or dining. They generally will point out an empty space for you, and help you reverse out when you leave. Sam explained that some of them are employed, but at a ridiculously low wage, and they survive on tips. Others are entrepreneurs who have obtained a high-vis jacket from somewhere and just turn up. The usual gratuity is R1 or R2. At roughly R9 to the NZ dollar, that's not a lot. We had cause to be grateful to one of these wardens, who came into a restaurant to advise that a car had been left with its lights on. He got a larger tip!

Cape Town is famous for its eating houses, especially for seafood. The coastal communities of Muizenberg and southwards are well furnished with everything from cheap-as-chips takeaways to fine dining. It is not difficult to find very good, inexpensive food.

For our first evening we found a Mozambican café that only had 6 dishes on the menu. And 4 of them were afterthoughts. Basically you choose 8 prawns or 12 prawns. They are huge, almost big enough to call lobsters, and served with a delicious sauce. Eve thought 8 would be enough, but gluttonous Bill went for the BIG plate. And we shared a salad (one of the 4 afterthoughts) to persuade ourselves we had eaten a balanced meal.

For breakfasts we walked along to the end of the street, turned left, and barely 150m away was a café called “Joon”. All the staff were cheerful, the coffee was strong and the cooked breakfast was irresistible. There are breakfast cafés near the beach with great reviews, but we couldn't see how the extra walk could possibly be worth it.

One of Cape Town's attractions for the natural historian is the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. It is particularly well known for its collection of Fynbos (the first syllable rhymes with “rain”) plants. The Cape Floral Region is one of the richest areas for plants when compared to any similar sized area in the world. It represents less than 0.5% of the area of Africa but is home to nearly 20% of the continent’s flora. Unfortunately we were there in the Autumn, so few plants were in bloom. In the Spring it would be much more colourful. Nonetheless, the guided walk was well worthwhile. It is very tempting to go back in springtime and take one of the guided Fynbos tours while the proteas and other bushes are in bloom. They are reputed to make a wonderful display.

 One of the plants that was in bloom was this rare, yellow bird of paradise flower, bred at Kirstenbosch and named after Nelson Mandela.

The gardens are home to quite a few birds and our birds list got properly under way. Nothing rare, and, alas, no sunbirds or sugarbirds.

The tea room in the gardens is rather pricey by local standards, but the food and service were very good. As well as a yummy snack, Eve selected one inedible item from the menu - the tea room's own cook book.

The gardens are home to a thriving population of horned guinea fowl.  This mother and her chicks are foraging amongst the tea rooms' tables.

A very popular day trip is to Cape Point Nature Reserve. We saw rather more of suburban Cape Town than we should have, thanks to the eccentricity of the satnav, but we did manage to cross the peninsula, drive through Hout Bay and South to the reserve. We saw several signs warning us not to feed the baboons, several of them in quite built up areas. When we did come across a baboon troop in the road we were well into the countryside – and we didn't feed them. They were accompanied by a human wearing thick clothing and a face mask. We couldn't decide whether he was monitoring the baboons, or had driven them onto the road so the tourists would see some wildlife.

By the time we got to the nature reserve it was raining, but we paid our entrance fee anyway. It was past lunch time and the reserve boasted a café. In the café we met some other Golden Oldies from the Havant Cavaliers. Luckily there was a fairly sheltered spot where we could munch our sandwiches and fend off the starlings.

The red-winged starlings (the one with a grey head is a female) will eat from you hand or, if you do not offer them a hand, will 'buzz' you and rip a piece of bread off the sandwich as you lift it towards your mouth!

There was no shelter at the top of the funicular by the lighthouse. We got the full benefit of the wind and the rain. And the cloud was so low that we couldn't see the view.

Back in the car, we set out to explore the reserve. We visited the Cape of Good Hope. After reading about it in so many stories and seeing it on so many maps the reality was a little disappointing. But the wildlife wasn't. We saw our first ostriches on the beach. Does that classify them as seabirds? ;-) There were also seals and many true seabirds.

A waterlogged ostrich

The Cape of Good Hope is well populated with cormorants, and there are seals on the further islet.

Down a road to the East of the Cape we saw our first antelope – bonteboks. They are unmistakeable with their white 'faces', but they were not very close and the photographs were disappointing. We also had an eland leap onto the road in front of us. He or she capered along the tarmac ahead of us while Eve groped frantically for a camera. Alas, the frolicking stopped and the beast trotted off into the undergrowth before she could get a picture. Later on we saw many eland, but none so high-spirited as this one.

A southern boubou

Thankfully, the day we went to see the penguins the weather was much better. At Boulder Beach there is a well-populated colony that is well used to human visitors so they are not shy. Until recently they were given the unflattering English name, jackass penguin, but now they are referred to as African penguins. They still bray like a donkey, though.

An African (nee jackass) penguin

Who says penguins can't climb trees?

Maybe there's a roster - two hours sitting on the land being photographed and one hour relaxing in the sea?

It would be unthinkable to visit South Africa and not sample the wines. We entered a liquor shop attached to a supermarket and chose two bottles each, based solely on the names. We both selected a Tall Horse wine, one chardonnay and one shiraz, with a picture of a giraffe on the label. They were R42 or R43 each – about $5 NZ. Eve located a sauvignon blanc for only R26 ($3), but I splurged R99 ($11) on a bottle of Fat Bastard. This is actually a well known, premium pinotage. Over a series of evenings at the Airbnb, with a little help from Sam, we drank our purchases. They were all good wines, particularly the Fat Bastard.

As you probably know, Cape Town is dominated by Table Mountain. There are paths for the fit and strong, and a cable car for the weak and idle. The cable car travels slowly and rotates while it dangles in space. As an acrophobe (look it up!), Bill could not face the cable car, and Eve was not enthusiastic either. Walking up and back would take several hours, assuming we were fit enough, so we conquered Signal Hill instead, by driving to the summit.

A handy frame for your picture, in case you forgot what you were photographing.

We enjoyed great views of the city, but most folk at the top of Signal Hill were involved in tandem paragliding, either as providers or passengers. We watched them gallop along a 'runway' and lift off as the parachute gripped the air.

"You're mad, I tell you."

An even more accomplished aviator on Signal Hill.  This rock kestrel completely ignored the humans below its perch.

Bill's brother, Nigel, keeps in contact with scores of folk around the world. One of these is Evon Smuts-Rogers in Cape Town. Nigel wrote to her and thus engineered an introduction for us to a local resident. He even remembered that Bill had met Evon once in the UK. We worked out that it was Xmas/New Year 1977-8. The conclusion of these machinations was an invitation to meet Evon and Jerry in the British Hotel in Simon's Town. We imagined a drink or two at the bar.

We arrived at the appointed time – and the hotel was closed. Fortunately we had Evon's cellphone number. “Yes, we're upstairs. I'll come down and let you in.” It turned out that the building was no longer a hotel, but had been converted into apartments. We then had a most enjoyable evening with Evon and Jerry, and nattered on so long that we got to our chosen restaurant after the kitchen's closing time. Luckily the owner suggested that they could manage a pizza – and very good it was, too. Another example of the kindness we received from so many people during our holiday.

Sunday arrived, and it was time to transfer to a posh hotel for the Golden Oldies Hockey Festival. We said goodbye to Sam. We had been very comfortable in his house and had seen our first sunbirds in the tiny back yard.

We arrived at the hotel too early to go straight into our room, so we stored our luggage with the other early arrivals' kit and Bill set off to return the rental car to Thrifty's city depot. The horrible Garmin satnav kept the worst for last. It should have been a 2-minute drive, but the idiot device directed him firmly towards the airport, which was in the opposite direction! Luckily he saw a safe place to park, switched off the mendacious machine and worked out a proper route from a map on the tablet.

On returning the car it was inspected for damage. Alas, there is a round piece in the front panel that can be removed to allow a tow rope to be passed through and attached directly to the chassis. The piece was missing. We have insurance to cover a rental car 'excess', but the inspector and his colleague could fix it if Bill just dropped R200 on the driver's seat, which would avoid a lot of paperwork. We realise now that it was a scam and the piece was almost certainly in one of their pockets, but Bill took the simple way out and paid up.

Now we were all set for the hockey festival.

Getting to Cape Town

This is the first instalment of our five weeks of adventures in Southern Africa from late March to the beginning of May this year. Others will be added as we find the time to write them.

We live in the Southern Hemisphere. It should be easy to get to Cape Town. But of course it isn't. Over the years we had collected many Qantas air points. Did we have enough to get there?

First of all, Qantas doesn't fly to Cape Town, so a reward ticket will only get us as far as Johannesburg. For some reason we could not get a reward booking from Nelson, even though Qantas's horrible subsidiary, Jetstar, does fly from Nelson to Auckland, so the main booking would only be from Auckland to Johannesburg. Then the Qantas computer tried mightily to persuade us to select a route flown by Emirates, which would have involved changing planes in Dubai as well as Sydney and a journey of more than 30 hours. We had enough air points to get there, but not back.

Reluctantly the computer confessed that, at least on some days, we could fly all the way on Qantas, changing only in Sydney. This was much quicker and also cheaper. We had enough air points for return tickets.

Notice that we have not called it a free flight. The taxes and “charges” have to be paid in cash, and we were levied more than $900 to be able to enjoy our reward.

We booked as soon as the flights were open, a year in advance. In that year Qantas changed the booking 5 times. Three of the changes were trivial; a flight departing 10 minutes earlier or arriving 5 minutes later. But two of them were significant. We were moved to an earlier flight out of Auckland. The Sydney-Johannesburg flight did not depart any earlier, so we would have to sit in Sydney Airport for nearly two more hours. Then, despite that fact that our return flight from Johannesburg was unchanged, we were shifted to a later flight from Sydney to Auckland. More hours sitting, tired and bored, in Sydney Airport. Sometime soon we will give Qantas some feedback.

Not having a single booking through from Nelson to Cape Town adds an awkward risk to the traveller. If you are delayed and miss a connection within a single booking then the airline has to arrange a new onward flight. But if they are separate bookings you count as a 'no-show' and, especially if you have selected a cheaper fare, may forfeit your fare and have to pay again. (Always have travel insurance – it will cover this horrid eventuality.) Also, you are probably at the back of the queue for seats on the next flight.

In New Zealand, to be sure of checking in on time we had to fly up to Auckland the previous evening. The flights to Australia all seem to depart at or before dawn, so even if there had been a connecting flight in the morning, we would have had to leave home so early it wouldn't have been worth going to bed. Consequently we flew in the evening and arranged dinner with some particularly friendly clients of Bill's.

In South Africa we were due to be delivered at the very reasonable hour of 5pm. We could no doubt have found a late evening flight to Cape Town, which would allow for a bit of delay and the unknown time to struggle through customs, but why make the journey an endurance event? We found an attractive and modestly priced Airbnb near O.R. Tambo Airport, and selected an economical onward flight for the middle of next morning.

How airlines are organised will forever be a mystery. The cheapest deal from Jo'burg to Cape Town was Kalula Airlines, but they fly out of the other airport in Johannesburg. For not much more we stuck to the convenience of O.R. Tambo Airport and flew with, of all people, British Airways, booked through the Kalula web site. Why is BA in the 'cheap flights' market in South Africa?

So the planning was done, and fares paid. What was the reality?

For the first time we tried checking in online. You have the 24 hours before departure to do this and, the web site promises, it will be a simple matter of dropping your bags and sauntering on the aircraft, avoiding those ghastly check-in queues. You even get a chance to select different seats. From a purely technological point of view it worked very well. But we got a shock. Despite that fact that we were one booking, and had made the reservation a year before travelling, the Qantas computer had us sitting 12 rows apart for 13 hours from Sydney to Johannesburg. The flight was virtually fully booked, and the best we could manage by selecting another seat was 2 rows apart.

The only hiccup in Auckland was that the hotel's shuttle was so slow in arriving that the clients picked us up from the airport. We had a good dinner with great company.

We set two alarms to make sure we dragged ourselves out of bed in good time the next morning. Clutching our home-printed boarding passes we were staggered to find that we really did walk straight up to a 'bag drop' desk, while long queues waited for a regular check-in. The clerk had to check our passports, but it really was very quick. “Before we go, can you do anything about the seats from Sydney to Johannesburg?” The clerk had to ask a more experienced colleague, but it turned out that, yes, she could rearrange things so that we were sitting together. What a relief.

In Sydney Bill offered Qantas a chance to redeem themselves by admitting us to their lounge as compensation for the extra waiting time they had inflicted on us by rescheduling. No luck there. The flights were regulation boredom. We both got some sleep on the very long sector into Jo'burg. The No-Jet-Lag pills seemed to work well and we arrived in Africa in pretty good shape. Customs was reasonably efficient, and the passport officer was friendly and chatty.

Our overnight stay in Jo'burg was supposed to be just a long sleep and back to the airport in the morning, but circumstances delivered some unwelcome complications. We were booked into an Airbnb private house. Our hosts had recommended Uber for getting to their house, and also advised the proper fare if we chose a 'regular' taxi. Although the airport provided WiFi, we could not connect with Uber for some reason, so we looked for a taxi. Some Jo'burg taxis are metered, but with others you haggle. Acting on our hosts' advice we haggled R200 down to R150.

When our taxi arrived the house was deserted. Like every other house we saw in the city it was surrounded by high fences and razor wire. Our phones were refusing to connect to any local network, so the taxi driver kindly phoned the contact number for us and refused to leave until the host arrived. Standing on the kerb after dark is not a safe activity in Johannesburg. For his conscientious assistance the taxi driver got his R200.

Greg was very apologetic. There had been an accident that stuck him in a traffic jam for an hour.

We then had a long, comfortable and refreshing sleep.

Our first accommodation in Africa.  Note the shadow of the outer fence.

In the morning all we had to do was summon a taxi and go back to the airport. I checked the tablet was now connecting with Uber, and downloaded a few emails. We chatted to our hostess, Gwen, and she left for work. We were alone in the house, but the maid would be here "soon". Are we all packed? Yes. Then call Uber. What's this? No Internet connection. The Wi-Fi was down. We did have time to spare, but how to call a taxi at all?

By now Bill's phone had adopted a local network and it was no time to be squeamish about roaming charges. Call Gwen. Easy, but her phone was switched off! The maid will probably be able to restart the Wi-Fi, but she has still not arrived. To call a regular taxi company we need its number. We have 2 other SA phone numbers, both in Cape Town. But if we ask nicely they may be able to look up a number for us. The first number didn't answer, but we did make contact with our next Airbnb host. Sam, bless him, tried to make a booking via his own Uber account. That didn't work but he did provide 3 numbers for local taxi companies.

At this moment Augustina, the maid, arrived. So sorry she was late. A train broke down. But she did know how to start the Wi-Fi. In 5 minutes an Uber car had arrived and we were on our way to the airport. (The Uber fare was R100.) We even had time to grab a quick breakfast before boarding the flight to Cape Town.