Left to our own devices to explore, we chose today to tackle Cape Town’s big two. First stop: Table Mountain. After an early brekky in the hotel, we headed for the convention centre again to board the bus to Table Mountain. When we arrived, the queue looked horrendous but wasn’t nearly as bad as it appeared. After about 10 or 15 minutes we were at the platform waiting for the cable car to take us up.

When the doors opened on the capsule that probably holds about 30-40 people, much the same as the large cable cars at European ski resorts, we rushed in to get the view down the mountainside as we ascended.  To no avail. The floor of the cable car capsule actually rotates 360 degrees on the ascent to ensure everyone gets a view from all angles. It is safe to say that Dan wasn’t enamoured of this revelation – he had readied himself to look down from above but the rotation saw him stand well back from the edge. As we watched the climbers make their way up the goat tracks, stairs and what appeared to be almost sheer rock faces with few barriers for protection, we were also glad we had considered hiking up the mountain either.

When we arrived at the top, we exited the housing of the cable way and stepped onto what could have just been a grassy field, albeit with quite a lot of stone paths running through it. That was until you looked over the edge at the views of Cape Town city, the Waterfront, Camps Bay and the national park beyond. While this is not to be missed for views of the city and just the experience of walking across the mountain itself, like the Empire State building in New York, views of the skyline with the mountain in them are much more impressive than the view from it. Having said that, the 360 degree views from the mountain  were still impressive and it gave you a good opportunity to get your bearings and realise just how high Table Mountain is. (Highway to Hell -AC/DC – While I have a healthy appreciation for AC/DC, I am definitely not the biggest fan I know that honour is split between a friend of mine from high school who listened to nothing else and insisted I experience their entire catalogue and the German guy I met in my 20s who chose Australia for a diplomatic posting because he wanted to drive a V8 and go to AC/DC’s homeland.)

We walked around the summit for a while taking photos of the views amongst hundreds of other tourists and then made our descent for the long red bus trip around the Camps Bay route (again) as we headed for the waterfront and part two of our big two: Robben Island. But first we stopped for lunch where we grabbed rice paper rolls (and a seaweed salad for me) and sat and rested in the shade while we ate. There was a band playing African raga. They were so good I bought their CD for $10.

The regular ferry to the island was out of action so the Robben island people had hired what can best be described as a yacht rock party boat to take visitors to the island. The luxury cruiser was pristinely white and shiny with white leather seats and a bar operating for the journey. The juxtaposition of this against what we were on our way to see was quite jarring. Just like the very flashy Nigerian couple posing for selfies (he even combing his hair before taking the shot.) We did see a whale playing in the harbour on the way out to the island.

When we arrived at the dock, and made our way past the thousands of birds on the breakwater, we boarded buses to take us for a tour of the island before visiting the prison. We heard some interesting facts. For example, well before apartheid – the only prisoner to escape the island did so in the 1700s and was sent to NSW as punishment. It was also used as a mental institution and a leper colony. The prison dogs were given military ranks and if prisoners kicked or struck the dogs they could be charged. Robert Sobukwe was the only prisoner to be detained on the island after release from prison elsewhere – he didn’t reside in the prison but in a small house constructed especially for him. There was also a settlement where those that worked on the island – in the prison, helping lepers and the mentally ill – were housed. We also drove by the quarry where Mandela had toiled during his years here grinding sandstone to make roads. There were two features that were pointed out to us – the cave where the prisoners would eat lunch and go to pee while they were working (and where they discussed politics) and the pile at of stones at the front of the quarry that was built when the prisoners went back for a reunion after apartheid ended. Visitors were no longer able to get off the bus because people had souvenired the stones, and more disturbingly, peed in the cave. After this part of the tour, we stopped at a kiosk at the end of the island to take a break. It felt a bit like the stop was to draw the tour out a bit.

Eventually we got to the prison where we were met by one of the former inmates. This was the part of the tour that was the most interesting. We went into one of the dorm cells (which wasn’t where they kept people like Mandela) and our guide explained about the conditions which originally consisted of a mat and blanket on the floor until the red cross supplied bunk beds. The menu too was harsh – mostly cornmeal but the most disturbing part is that the food was rationed according to racial profile with blacks receiving less than coloured and coloured less than white. It wasn’t enough that they were imprisoned for being anti-apartheid? Our guide had been imprisoned here for five years. He had been inspired by the 1975 protests in Soweto and had been part of similar protests in Port Elizabeth as a young student. This gentle unassuming man seemed like the life he endured had taken its toll, yet there was also a joy within this man that what he and others endured had finally made a change in South Africa. You also got a sense that being able to tell his story and those of other political prisoners here gave him a sense of pride and purposefulness, making sure that the world knew what happened here and that the stories of others, who may not have had the profile of Madiba (Mandela) but who nevertheless played an important role in the struggle against apartheid. (Nelson Mandela – The Special A.K.A – while the tune has been covered by many artists over the years, it was one of the greatest ska bands of the 80s who wrote and originally performed it. A multiracial collective of musicians who awakened an interest in injustice in me.)

The next stop was the garden Mandela tended during his prison stay and then the row of identical cells, including the one prisoner 466/64, destined to become South Africa’s first black president, inhabited. You are no longer able to enter Mandela’s cell but it is quite confronting seeing just how small and stark the cell was. With just a bed on the floor and a small table, it must have been demoralising to spend such a long time here. It’s hard to imagine how they kept going without their will being broken. I have thought quite a lot over the time we have been in South Africa about the Marxist philosophies of the anti-apartheid movement.

From here. We walked back to the dock (and the inevitable gift shop). And then onto the yacht rock cruiser for the journey back to the waterfront. Again, we spied whales on the way and a very smelly (and aggressive) pack of seals on the dock.

We decided that as we were already at the waterfront, today might be a good day to have dinner at the waterfront, which I decided should be preceded with a dozen oysters. Our original plan was to head to the Greek restaurant but we came across an African themed restaurant. I took the chance to try Cape Malay Cuisine. I was a bit squeamish about babootie, which is a curry topped with baked egg so I decided to give the babootie spring rolls a go, followed by a Cape Malay lamb curry. It was all a bit sweet for me. Dan went with calamari, which while good was a bit fishy for him and another game platter. We caught a taxi back to the hotel – it was easier than an uber and the taxis are quite safe in Cape Town.

I am not sure whether it was the slightly dodgy tasting ham in my breakfast omelette, the sheer amount of oysters I had consumed, the seaweed salad or the fact that the Cape Malay curry was too much for me but the next two days were lost in a haze of food poisoning hell, broken only by an evacuation in the middle of the night because some idiot had smoked in his room and Dan’s medicine deliveries and tales of the fort and the Hoe Down (with free beer) that the hotel hosted in its rooftop bar to celebrate five years of being in business. (Dollar Dance -Hepcat – I am probably one of Hepcat’s few fans – after discovering them at the Warped Festival at Ulladulla some years ago, I got into their laid-back version of ska.)