What's in a name?

More coastline than you'd know what to do with...

Cintsa beach beyond the lagoon.  A fine hostel view, eh?

Cintsa is African.  It has an enormous beach - a golden arc of  washed sand stretching so far end-to-end the pony group I was watching disappeared from view.  I was enjoying the sun and eventually decided to brave the waters, too.  Sod the sharks, it was the biting cold temperature I was more worried about.

With a 'shorty' wetsuit, I needn't have hesitated so long - it really was warmer than that day down near Cape Town.  I chatted to a pair of friendly local surfers, who gave me the inside information about the rips and rocks.  Reassured, I had an hour on the boogie board, competing with a cheerful young Dutch chap from the hostel, to see who could be least-worst.  Next time, maybe I'll bust out a surfboard.

Wednesday finished, I was prepared to head inland the next day.  The helpful staff at the hostel gave me some great tips on the best roads to follow, and I was off bright and early Thursday morning to check out the inland plateau, and then back to the coast a bit further up.  The Dutch and Swiss folks I'd met over the past 36 hours were heading in the opposite direction, so we swapped hostel recommendations. 

I felt a little bad to have not spent more time and money in the bar, bonding with my fellow travellers.  I guess that style of travelling was one I followed in my late teens and twenties.  At the grand old age of thirty-ahem I don't get a kick from getting doped up or drunk by night - and it also burns up my budget too quickly.  Of course, the 'best' nights are those you can barely remember, which seems a waste.  These days I'd rather be early to bed and early to rise, hunting a new adventure and leaving the boozing to those who can do it so much better than I can!

Coastal hillsides give a rolling and tumbling route to ride

The N2 heading north east to Butterworth is a good trunk route, but not very exciting to ride.  So, I was set instead on a route roughly parallel, going around the back to Tsomo, Engcobo and Coghlan to Mthatha.  This was to avoid road works, and congestion left over from a birthday party.  Not just any birthday party, I should add - yesterday's anniversary was for Mr Nelson Mandela, who lives twenty miles from Mthatha.  Most, though not all of the people I chatted to today were aware of the auspicious date.

 

It was a remote back country detour, and I soon became fascinated by life amongst the extraordinary spread of rural huts dotted around the rolling hills.   People going about their lives; but lives so removed from my own as to seem remarkable even in the smallest detail.  I spotted so many picturesque images, but I was too indecisive to take proper photos - I couldn't help but think the next few minutes would show me something even 'better', and usually it did.

The huts, some thatched but most now with shiny metal lids, are painted peppermint-chocolate ice cream colours: green and black.  I asked a friendly policemen about this (by way of distraction from the impending ticket he decided not to hand me), and he pointed to the horizon to show me how much easier it was to see the colours against the grassy plains.  In the heat of summer, he explained, the normal white-washed huts almost disappear in the haze.  I don't know if this was the proper reason?  I had guessed the green colour was either an old tribal custom or symbolic of a regional flag of some kind.  Apparently, not so.

By early afternoon I was headed down the R61, through Libode and down to the coast at Port Saint John.  It's rightly described as one of the most scenic roads in South Africa, although I found it a natural extension to what had been a beautiful day's riding already.  Yellow grasslands grew in greenery and with only fifteen kilometres to my destination the landscape had become lush and well-forested.  The rumpled, heaving coastal hills dropped me to sea level as though I was riding down a giant Helter Skelter. 

Another fine hostel by the sea...

The scattering of huts and rural buildings continued, as did the concentration of dwellings around all the urban towns.  Here many schools were spilling out: the school day finishes around 2pm, or earlier, suggesting a very early start.  The kids always look so smart, with two or three different school uniforms in evidence.  I received lots of cheerful waves and in this the teenagers here seem very relaxed and friendly.  Yes, I was riding into a tourist stronghold, but this cheerful welcome wasn't always found in the other countries I've visited on this trip.  It's nice to share a wave with folks, as I cruise through quietly.

Gateway to the ocean, at Port Saint John

I followed a muddy brown river the last few kilometres, and passed between the two 'gates' of Port Saint John - two imposing, sheer rock cliffs that guard the exit of the river into the blue ocean beyond.   After checking into Amapondo Backpackers (again, highly recommended), I followed directions to watch the sunset up at the local airfield.

It's a convoluted journey to find the airfield, even though you can 'hardly miss it', being as it is on the top of one of the giant Gates - the only long, flat spot for miles around.  I discovered another motorbike parked at the viewpoint, and chatted with a local couple,  Marie-Anne and Andy.  It turns out they're each hostel managers.  Marie-Anne runs the one I was staying at, and Andy the one I'm most likely to call at next.  Small world, eh?  

Sunset atop one of the 'gates' of Port Saint John

I took Friday as an 'exercise day' and hiked to the top of the other gate, before flopping in the sun when I reached the white 'trig point' at the top.   (It reminded me of happy hiking days back in Hong Kong, though I wince at how my fitness has crashed since then.)  The view was tremendous; equal to the view yesterday evening - from the opposite side of the gorge. 

Little fella, big view

I could see the misty, lush inland coastal hills, as well as miles of dark blue ocean.  Tracing the line with my eyes, I worked out the next road I'll follow north towards Port Edward and then Durban.  First though, I needed to find a track off this particular mountain.

The day had begun with the sight of gulls plundering a sardine fish ball dolphins had herded into the nearby bay.  For a late lunch I had stumbled upon my own culinary hotspot, the marvellous little restaurant called "Monstrous".  With a glistening, pristine beach and secluded bay, beneath a rickety wooden deck and sun shelter, I was able to relax in the sun and stare out to sea.  Garlic mussels came as a starter, and then a huge crayfish for the main course. 

The hike had given me an appetite.  The filling lunch meant that I ought to go out and do it all over again.  Ho hum.

Today, Saturday, has been a long biking day.  I tracked the sweeping bends between Port Saint John and Port Edward - a three hour extravaganza of clear-sighted sweepers, gradients and cambers.  I had no need of the ipod here - the rich notes of the engine were a grand soundtrack.  The road required plenty of attention, but was more rewarding than whole days of some regional routes.  I filled my boots, and rode swiftly all the way to Port Edward.

A bit further up the coast I caught up with Andy at his own hostel.  I was only around the area for lunch, and then planned to head inland towards Pietermaritzburg.  The land will be at higher altitude and the temperatures colder.  However, as a convenient jumping-off point, I'll be well place for venturing into some more exciting terrain on the way up to Johannesburg.

Stay tuned...   (and check back on the new movie footage I have posted for the 'Little Karoo').

Mirror image?

PS,  Here's a update of the mini map for the last few days:

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