Holiday - Part Five: The End...Finally!

Well, here is it. The final installment of our holiday adventure (and only 2 months later, too...has anyone else besides us lost interest by now?).

The morning after our trek through Lesotho, we managed to beg a ride back down to South Africa from a taxi driver. Now, normally we avoid taxis like the plague because they are a fine way to pick up various communicable diseases. But, it was either brave the taxi or bike down the steepest/scariest cliff in the world in the dark with our cooler and suitcase. Tough decision. We seriously considered strapping the cooler to one of the bikes and holding the suitcase between us as we maneuvered down the mountain. But, when it came down to it, that taxi looked pretty inviting at 5:15 in the morning...disease-ridden or not.

Port St Johns
Once we were safely back through the border post, we headed out of Kwa-Zulu Natal and into the Eastern Cape province towards the Wild Coast and the coastal city of Port St. Johns.
Although quite exhausted, we were excited about the last leg of our journey. Mostly because whenever we mentioned to a local that we were headed to Port St. Johns their eyes glazed over and "ooh" and "aah" sounds escaped their lips as if savoring one of their favorite holiday treats.

We were told of a place where "laws don't exist" and the roadsides are packed with local fisherman selling underweight seafood for next to nothing. We imagined pristine beaches with endless, white sands; fine restaurants and specialty shops; a diversity of peoples and flavors.

What we found didn't exactly fulfill our wildest dreams.

There were beaches. But, the rocky shores lined muddy waters and smelled of rotting rice.
There were restaurants. But, they were anything but fine. Neil's personal favorite was the N.E.W.S. Cafe where he ordered "fresh crawfish" and got a funny colored one that we deduced was either days old or previously rejected by another customer because he saw the "cook" remove it from the microwave and throw it into a styrofoam box when his order was up.
And there were shops. But, those that weren't boarded up specialized in booze. (Sorry, we only patronize pubs in trees or on mountain tops).

This was looking like a bust. But there was still hope...our accommodation could save us! I'd booked a 3-night stay in self-catering room at the Umzimvubu Retreat. The situation looked promising. This place was well advertised all over the internet and on billboards for several kilometers outside the town:
Plus, it boasted a location not 1o meters from the ocean and had quite an inviting landscape with tree-lined walkways and flower pots outside the rooms.

All good signs.

Then we went inside our room. The bedroom was as least livable...minus the hundreds of mosquitoes and the obvious lack of a mozzie net. (You'll have to envision it without all our stuff.)

The bathroom, however, was another story. Downright frightening.
How, we wondered, were we supposed to feel clean after showering in this? Wearing shoes in the shower helped.
Want a relaxing bubble bath after a long day of driving? Forget about it. Unless you find soap scum especially soothing.
Oddly enough, Neil wasn't super thrilled about our digs.
The communal kitchen looked slightly more promising. This was a relief since we weren't too keen to check out other restaurants in town. However, we soon discovered upon preparing some fish and veggies for dinner that the stove didn't work. We tried everything. Including fidgeting with the gas line that ran from the wall to the stove (kids, do not try this at home). Eventually we heated up some nachos in the microwave...after running to the store for a cheese grater. Fully-equipped kitchen...yeah right!
Truthfully, by the end of the day, we were pretty set on suffering through the night and leaving for home in the morning. But then we realized we were only a couple hours away from a few other places we wanted to see. So, come the morning light we shooed the mosquitoes off our exposed appendages, rolled off the sticky bed, schlepped ourselves into the car once more, braced ourselves for a pothole-ridden ride, and ventured south.

Coffee Bay
Our first stop was a place called Coffee Bay. This is another town on the eastern coast of the country. It's smaller than Port St. Johns but much more attuned to the tourism market.

There were little shops along the streets selling bait, tackle, and refreshments to the beach bums there for the weekend.


Frankly, this felt a bit like Spring Break '89, so we passed through rather quickly.

Hole in the Wall
Just down the road from Coffee Bay is the third-most photographed place in South Africa, Hole in the Wall.

To get there you must drive a few kilometers on a winding dirt road that takes you past ocean views, family huts, grazing cattle, bountiful farmlands, and hundreds of children chanting "Sweets! Sweets!" from the roadside.
Eventually the road stops and you find dozens of young boys waiting to take you on a guided walk from the "parking lot" to the Hole in the Wall...for a nominal fee, of course. Actually, I think those who wait and watch your car while you're gone have the right idea ..."only paper money".
Eventually, you arrive at the Hole in the Wall, a place known for and named after, well, a hole in a wall. OK, yes, I can expound...

The Hole in the Wall is a huge detached cliff with a giant opening through its center carved by the waves.
The local Xhosa call this place "izi Khaleni", which means "place of thunder". During high tide the clap from the waves can be heard throughout the valley.
In short, this place was great. We had a grand time relaxing, exploring, and generally being awe-struck by the capability, power, and beauty of nature.





And that, as they say, is that. Our Christmas holiday in a nutshell. Well, everything except the 16-hour drive home...