Travelogue

Cape of Good Hope & Ostriches Gautam Vohra The writer shares a memorial trip to South Africa where he developed a unique bond with the wily ostriches One of the things to do in South Africa is to see ostriches. So like the good tourists that we were, we visited the Safari Ostrich Farm that raised and protected ostriches, for, as the ostrich cannot fly, they would have quickly fallen prey to predators of which there are many in the African wild and gone the way of the dodo in the Mauritius. It seemed as if the birds had all lined up behind the fence to welcome us – long, tan-coloured necks, and black or brown and white feathers depending on the gender. We were told we could feed them; we had to buy a packet or two of grains and then stretch out our hand with the grains in our palms. Warily I held out my hand, fearful of its beak that could perhaps break my bones. The ostrich nearly took my hand off, but it was not such a painful experience, though the peck was quite forceful. He was having fun and he put his beak right next to my nose and winked. Or was it blinked. I thought we had developed a sort of bond. The ostrich farm guide took us around, pointing to the workers who had graded the tail, wing, belly and neck feathers, explained what they were used for in the fashion industry. Surprisingly the female had tougher, rougher feathers. The discarded feathers were used to make dusters and other objects. The skin of the ostrich was used to make hand bags. We went to see the hatchery and examined the eggs, then on to the ‘crèche’ where baby ostriches frolicked. The guide gave us a chick to hold. They didn’t show much sign of fear though they wiggled a bit. May be the commercial farms made good out of rearing ostriches but that was one way of ensuring their survival. We were told that one ostrich egg omelet can suffice for 12 people! After a half a day visit of Table Mountain at 3,500 feet, which has become a UN protected site because of its vast variety of plant species that are endemic to South Africa, including the King Protea, South Africa’s national flower, we went to the focal point of any South African tour. Onwards to the southern-most tip of South-West Africa, Cape Point and Cape of Good Hope. Anwar, our chauffeur-guide pointed to the lighthouse where Vasco da Gama (Portuguese), and on the other side another lighthouse where the other explorer, Bartholomew Diaz (Spanish), had descended. Huge crush of tourists at the Cape Point where the Flying Dutchman, a train boarded by tourists took them up to the top of the Cape Point mountain. From here we viewed the two Oceans lashing at the farther-most point of the land jutting out into the water. A curious phenomenon: the waters of the two oceans, the Indian and the Atlantic do not mix, which is visible from the two different colours of the two oceans, one a grey-blue the other deep blue. Whales can be spotted here, seals and dolphins. I have to report I saw nothing of the sort. Nor was I granted a glimpse of the Zebra, Eland, Striped Mouse or Water Mongoose. What my eyes did feast on was the coarse scrubby fynbos vegetation; fynbos comprises hundreds of species of indigenous plants. The best known fynbos include protea and erica, with attractive flowers when in season. The one animal we did come across en route to the Cape Point was the Chacma baboon, one of the largest of all monkeys. The pamphlet issued to tourists clearly warns not to feed them, display food, do not keep windows and doors open; if you fed them you were liable to be fined. “Baboons that have been receiving food from humans become aggressive and have to be destroyed”, said the instructions. And yet in the middle of the road a car had halted near a troop, and its occupants were violating every warning. A baboon had got inside the car and the people were laughing and trying to shoo it out. Anwar shouted at them; I just mentioned to Anwar that they seemed to be having fun, and he got annoyed with me too. The Cape of Good Hope was my high point. Dudley Stamp’s geography textbook in school had imprinted the Cape of Good Hope in my mind and to have visited this point on earth meant I had crossed another milestone (like having visited the Arctic, or climbed Everest). My bucket list was slowly nearing completion, and I would be 70 tomorrow. Not that many years would be left me to cover the rest on the list. I have since learnt that Dudley Stamp was one of the most famous British geographers of the 20th century and professor of geography at Rangoon and London. He was at LSE, where I also studied. It was lunchtime and Anwar knew of the very best seafood restaurant, The Black Marlin. We arrived to be told that it was full. Tourists were streaming in; there was no parking space either. Anwar approached the maitre de; the man knew him from old. We were given space overlooking the oceans under the umbrella that shielded us from the sun that had now begun to feel hot. A platter of seafood was the choice of the house, which was duly ordered: prawns, deep-fried calamari, mussels, and fresh grilled fish with salad, veggies and fries. The platter was huge. Even with the help of an extra carafe or two, we could not finish it. And I haste wasting food. Sated and satisfied, we prepared to leave for the penguin colony. We had encountered a variety of penguins in Galapagos; now it was the turn of the Cape Point penguin to welcome us. We found the narrow road to the penguin world blocked. Cars stood on either side to enable a couple of ostriches, black feathers rustling in the wind, to cross the road. They were in two minds. Walk half way across the road. Then walk back. Now one, now the other... A mincing walk... A tentative walk… Or was it a performance. We all loved it. The penguins could wait. When we did meet them, they were flocking to the beach. Hundreds of them... Not much movement. The occasional one would waddle across the sand in a purposeful manner. Several stood stock still; a few played statue, not moving an eyelid. They were larger than those we had met in the Galapagos. We loved them too. It was sheer magic. For us, the South African tour ended all too quickly. Photos by Priya Sen To be continued