Woke at around six, and, as it was daylight, I decided it wasn't worth attempting another nap.
Breakfast was interesting, consisting of a rusk and a cup of coffee. A little later we were given fruit juice and a sweet biscuit.
By around 10.30 Table Mountain was clearly in view, as were the suburbs of Cape Town. It all looked very impressive.
When we got off at the bus station, we found that it was nice and hot, unlike Jo'burg. Also the whites massively outnumbered everyone else. Of particular interest where the attractive blondes strolling around in short, figure-hugging dresses.
At the tourist info centre we met up with two Israelis who had travelled on the same bus. One of them was called Julian. He was travelling with a woman. We later found out that she had latched onto him in Jo'burg and he wanted to get rid of her because she got on his nerves.
Anyway, the four of us got a local bus to a Youth Hostel near Camps Bay. After a fairly long walk we arrived at the hostel and discovered that it was one of the traditional ones that shut during the day. No matter, though, we hid our big rucksacks in some bushes and walked down the hill to the beach.
Ah…the beach! How can I describe the beach? I don't know whether I enjoyed it or not. There were beautiful women everywhere. Many were topless; some wore tiny G-strings. After not seeing more than two white women at a time for over a month, all this was a shock to the system. One girl, fully aware that she was blessed with a perfect arse, paraded up and down the waterfront in a painfully tight G-string. The bitch. How could she? Did she really have to stroke her buttocks with her fingertips? Why did I feel like a filthy, little schoolboy, sitting there on the beach? Maybe I'll get used to all this during the week.
At just gone three, the four of us made the climb back to the hostel. Fortunately they were able to accommodate all of us. A bed for the night, plus dinner and breakfast, came to R31 apiece. Not too bad.
In the evening Olly and I chatted with Julian and a Scot called Charlie. Much to Julian's relief, his fellow traveller was showing signs of latching onto someone else.
The Scot is a bit of a strange case. He exaggerates something chronic (often about his own achievements) and, at one stage, told us point-blank that he hates the English. Olly seemed to handle it quite well, but I had to sit there taking deep breaths. I had never felt patriotic before that moment.
Breakfast was interesting, consisting of a rusk and a cup of coffee. A little later we were given fruit juice and a sweet biscuit.
By around 10.30 Table Mountain was clearly in view, as were the suburbs of Cape Town. It all looked very impressive.
When we got off at the bus station, we found that it was nice and hot, unlike Jo'burg. Also the whites massively outnumbered everyone else. Of particular interest where the attractive blondes strolling around in short, figure-hugging dresses.
At the tourist info centre we met up with two Israelis who had travelled on the same bus. One of them was called Julian. He was travelling with a woman. We later found out that she had latched onto him in Jo'burg and he wanted to get rid of her because she got on his nerves.
Anyway, the four of us got a local bus to a Youth Hostel near Camps Bay. After a fairly long walk we arrived at the hostel and discovered that it was one of the traditional ones that shut during the day. No matter, though, we hid our big rucksacks in some bushes and walked down the hill to the beach.
Ah…the beach! How can I describe the beach? I don't know whether I enjoyed it or not. There were beautiful women everywhere. Many were topless; some wore tiny G-strings. After not seeing more than two white women at a time for over a month, all this was a shock to the system. One girl, fully aware that she was blessed with a perfect arse, paraded up and down the waterfront in a painfully tight G-string. The bitch. How could she? Did she really have to stroke her buttocks with her fingertips? Why did I feel like a filthy, little schoolboy, sitting there on the beach? Maybe I'll get used to all this during the week.
At just gone three, the four of us made the climb back to the hostel. Fortunately they were able to accommodate all of us. A bed for the night, plus dinner and breakfast, came to R31 apiece. Not too bad.
In the evening Olly and I chatted with Julian and a Scot called Charlie. Much to Julian's relief, his fellow traveller was showing signs of latching onto someone else.
The Scot is a bit of a strange case. He exaggerates something chronic (often about his own achievements) and, at one stage, told us point-blank that he hates the English. Olly seemed to handle it quite well, but I had to sit there taking deep breaths. I had never felt patriotic before that moment.
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