We got up early to catch our grand entry into Durban. Standing on the observation deck at dawn, I looked around for familiar sights with tears rolling down my cheeks – the Bluff in silhouette on the starboard side, the beachfront at port. I tried to spot my old office building on the Esplanade, but so many years have passed and I couldn’t QUITE remember which one it was! We hadn’t planned anything ashore except, at the last minute, a trip to the botanical gardens, so we took the shuttle bus to uShaka Village ( a tacky tourist park with tacky shops and tacky people lolling around) with our new found friends who were meeting up with old friends who live in Durban. The ‘village’ is at the southern end of the ‘golden mile’ – Durban’s beachfront. We had a coffee with our friends, said good bye to them and decided to take a bus round the city. This ended up being a driver with taxi and spending the best part of two hours going to all our old haunts – or trying to find them! The jovial Indian driver even took us to places he thought we’d like to see from what he described as ‘the good old days’! Smith Street, West Street – all re-named with African ministers’ or doctors’ names but still referred to as Smith and West – were hardly recognisable, extremely dilapidated, and lined from one end to the other with street vendor’s’ stalls reminiscent of third world Africa.
Later we took the city tour to the Botanical gardens, and saw where the other half live – i.e very large desirable residences set in emerald manicured gardens, with pools and ornate tree-lined entries guarded by high walls, higher electric fences and even higher razor wire all round. Oh, and CCTV cameras on every vantage point. At least we knew we were back in South Africa now. We were then taken to the city’s showcase – the World Cup stadium – there’s one in every city, built for the Soccer World Cup in 2010. Peter went up the funicular railway to the top – of course! It might have been interesting to hire a car and go to see our old house – the first home we ever bought – but then we might have been disappointed, and car hire was not recommended by the pep-talking ship’s officers. Whilst not venturing down side streets, watching your pockets, bags, cameras and the like, was highly recommended.
Early days, but back on the ship, South African author Alan Paton’s famous title from his book of the fifties suddenly sprang to mind – ‘Cry, the Beloved Country’!
