Durban is the largest city in the Zulu Nation. The current king is a direct descendant of Shaka. He holds absolutely no power in government but does more to combat the spread of AIDS than the people who are actually supposed to do something about it. Durban is famous for several things I do not care about and has some of the best beaches in the republic. I generally spend very little time at beaches.
Durban also has the largest shopping mall in Africa and the Southern Hemisphere. Supposedly. I can believe it is the largest mall in Africa, but I have to assume Australia has a larger mall or two. I have no doubt that Pi Chi has seen larger malls. I know that I have.
We spent an entire day in this mall because that is Pi Chi style. It is home to a wide variety of crap I could not care less about and Pi Chi’s favorite juice stand in the world. That is saying something since Pi Chi has lived her entire life in a country that has at least one juice stand every five feet. It also has a very nice Superspar where we bought entirely too many groceries. Despite not having a car in which to take them away.
We rented a car for Kruger because not having one would have put us at the mercy of drivers and guides who know what they are doing but tend to charge money for their time and services. They also have schedules that are hard to keep when traveling with Pi Chi. And we stayed outside of the park, which would have added extra complications with regard to said fees and schedules. We rented a car in Cape Town because our lodging of choice was not entirely in the CBD, or Central Business District to you and me.
We chose not to rent a car in Durban because we stayed relatively close to the Indian Ocean and not too terribly far from the pop and parties. This left us at the mercy of taxi drivers since Durban, and indeed most of South Africa, has virtually no public transportation. There are no metro systems anywhere, the buses rarely follow any schedule or route, the kombis are shared taxis that go wherever the driver wants to go and there is no guarantee that he will speak any language that you speak. Visitors are discouraged from using most public transportation since the system makes sense only to locals. Cape Town is slightly better since it has a local train system, but the trains only go around half of False Bay. This may be why renting cars in South Africa is much cheaper than anywhere else that has international chains and a highly developed highway system.
The taxi driver who picked us up at the airport told us that he could take us wherever we wanted to go for the duration of our stay for a very reasonable fee. This seemed too convenient for comfort, but it turned out to be standard practice since almost all visitors either rent a car or rely on taxis. Somewhere along the line, the taxi drivers realized that repeat business was more profitable than picking up random strangers. Much as I did when I met Pi Chi. Another benefit was that where we stayed seems to be very hard for anyone to find.
Built for the 2010 World Cup
Rather than stay at a traditional hotel in the CBD or something more expensive on the Golden Mile, we chose a guest house in a quiet suburban neighborhood which was a few rooms above someone’s garage. But it was so much nicer than that sounds. From the outside it looked like a few rooms above someone’s garage. From the inside it looked like a small house with an average size bedroom, living room, dining room, very large closet and changing room next to the bathroom, and one of the best kitchens I have ever used anywhere in the world. It was not the largest kitchen, but it had everything we needed and was very comfortable. Like the rest of the loft, the kitchen was almost completely surrounded by windows. The living room and bedroom had floor to ceiling windows with sliding glass doors that opened to the wrap around stoep. The sunlight penetrated every inch of those rooms like something not vulgar even though only vulgar similes are occurring to me right now.
The owners of the loft were a friendly old couple, much like the owners of the rondavel in Hazyview. Except that instead of showing any interest in birds, they were endlessly fascinated by military history. The small library in the bedroom was full of books about the Boer Wars (or Freedom Wars, depending whose side you are on), Voortrekkers, the British Raj and Churchill’s entire History Of The English-Speaking Peoples. The owners were also Hungarian, so bereft of that goofy South African accent.
When we arrived at the loft, the kitchen was stocked with enough food to tide us over, all the condiments, herbs and spices we could need and even a chilled bottle of wine. We appreciated the attention to customer service, but I do not drink and Pi Chi gets drunk before finishing a single glass. Lamentably, she is not an entertaining drunk, so I like to discourage her from imbibing. But I like to visit the local grocery stores wherever I stay, and since we had that great kitchen, I was determined to use it. We were going to call our airport taxi driver, but the Second Mr Owner offered us a ride to the nearest store, which he claimed would more than suit our needs. And it did.
The local Kwikspar was only slightly larger than a large 7-11, but instead of dead open spaces and a bunch of stale Chinese crap, it was packed with fresh produce, fresh bread, fresh pasta, and a variety of African and European food. It was within walking distance of the loft, but carrying uphill all the groceries we bought would have been a chore. We were grateful for the free ride and surprised when Mr Owner II apologized that he would not be able to give us similar rides in the next two days as he had previous engagements. But we had more than enough food and noticed more than a few restaurants during our short trip down the hill. We also planned to go out on the town from time to time and thought it unlikely that we would starve.
Yet again, these African innkeepers were displaying hospitality unheard of in Asia. They were treating us like their guests.
The hardest thing to get used to at the loft was the housekeeper. Employing domestic workers is common amongst white middle class South Africans. The fact that all of their housekeepers, cooks and drivers are black does not seem to bother anyone. Everybody is used to the system that has been in place for generations. It was only when the black population started to make more money and wanted their own help that things got awkward. I have never met a single African who had a problem with black people serving white people, but some find the idea of a black person serving another black person unnatural. And a white person serving a black person would probably cause the universe to crack.
I am not comfortable with domestic workers of any ethnicity. I cannot see my home as a workplace for someone. Home is where I can take off my shoes, close my eyes and blast music until the neighbors bang on the walls. Living amongst Chinese, home is the only place in the entire country I can go without anyone staring at me. Unless Pi Chi is home. Chinese people are endlessly fascinated by whitey. And rightly so. We are an unusual breed.
Hotels never feel like home, but they are the closest thing applicable whilst traveling. And even then I do not like being in the room while housekeeping is keeping house. It just seems wrong to be lying on the bed and defacing the Gideon Bible while a middle aged woman is on her knees scrubbing the toilet. Unless you are into that sort of thing. Who am I to judge.
The loft’s housekeeper was an older Zulu woman who lived in Mr and Mrs Owner’s house. We were determined not to give her any extra work to do, but one day we left the loft in a rush with a dish or two in the sink. When we came back, the dishes were washed, dried and put in their proper receptacles, and the entire sink was scrubbed spotless. We had been told beforehand that Betty would be more than happy to satisfy our laundry needs for a small fee paid directly to her, but since there was a washing machine in the kitchen we decided to be self-sufficient. However, as often happens on vacations, we had better things to do and ended up giving her a pittance to do our mentionables. We returned to find our clothes neatly folded in the changing room and cleaner than they have been in a very long time.
Betty was also an incredibly friendly person who proved invaluable during our stay. Mrs Owner was called away on family business just before we arrived and Mr Owner was not entirely sure how things worked around his home. He had his own semi-retired business going on and the loft was Mrs Owner’s project. Betty knew where everything was and how it all worked. When the heater in the bedroom chose not to cooperate, it was Betty who brought in a portable device. Winters in Durban are not exactly cold, but when one lives with thirty degrees year round one tends it find it a bit nippy at ten. Pi Chi puts on a coat at twenty.
After our second or third taxi ride, we assumed that the driver who picked us up at the airport would be our driver for the duration of our stay. He seemed more than happy that we not use his competition, and he was very prompt in the beginning.
I originally assumed that while Pi Chi was at her conference I would be free to do whatever I wanted to do. This is usually how we operate. But the taxi ride to the convention center required going through a neighborhood of Big Black Men. There was never any danger since downtown Durban is relatively safe for a city its size, the neighborhood between us was more working class than post apocalyptic dystopia, and our taxi driver knew where he was going. But Pi Chi is Chinese. So I had to go with her in the morning and pick her up in the evening. This often turned two taxi rides into five since whatever I was going to do was not necessarily anywhere near the convention center. Having our own personal taxi driver was convenient, but renting a car would have been cheaper.
On Pi Chi’s first full day off she wanted to go to the largest shopping mall in the Southern Hemisphere. Supposedly. I had already told her about some of the more interesting parts of Durban I had seen, but a large shopping mall will always be her top priority. Our regular taxi driver was unavailable so he sent someone else. This was not a problem as we were going somewhere famous that any taxi driver should know how to find. Unfortunately, Someone Else could not find the loft. It is tucked away on a tiny street away from any large streets. It is very easy to miss the street. And if you find the street, it is very easy to miss the loft. And that is what the other taxi driver did.
Eventually, we made it to the mall and bought too many groceries. The second taxi driver gave us his card and wanted us to use him, but we felt a sense of loyalty to the first driver and called him when we wanted to leave the mall. He was still unavailable and sent someone else. We slowly realized that we had no idea what this other driver’s car looked like and he had no idea what we looked like. Since this was the largest shopping mall in the Southern Hemisphere, supposedly, there were more than a few cars going and coming and more than a few people waiting. At home it is easy for taxi drivers to find me. Look for the tall white guy. In South Africa there are quite a few tall white guys.
In the end we called the second taxi driver since we knew what his car looked like and he knew what we looked like. He picked us up within fifteen minutes and we decided to use him from then on.
Until the next time we wanted to go to the convention center. Thirty minutes after we called him, we called the first taxi driver. He was unavailable yet again but said he would send someone else. When we reached the point where Pi Chi was going to be late no matter what we did, we called a third driver. Mr and Mrs Owner kept a book of local phone numbers in the loft. There was a page for taxi drivers that they considered reliable. None of our drivers was on their list. So we called one of theirs and he knew exactly where the loft was. He seemed to know Mr and Mrs Owner personally. We thought he was probably the best choice, but Pi Chi wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Whoever showed up first would get our business.
Mr and Mrs Owner’s recommended driver and our second driver showed up at the same time. We chose the recommended driver since he had not let us down. Yet. Our second driver was more than annoyed and felt that he should be compensated for making the effort. I pointed out that had he made any effort we would have never been in this situation. He was uninspired by my logic and gave the impression that he wanted to express his dissatisfaction with life in greater detail, but Betty looked at him and he got back in his car and drove away. Since she was facing away from me, I could not see what she communicated, but I have to assume that she meant business.
The recommended driver took me back to the loft after we dropped off Pi Chi, and I arranged for him to pick us up at the convention center when she was finished. I would make my way there in my own way at my own time. After the arranged time came and went I called him and he said he was on the way. Much later I called him again and he said he was on the way. We took a random taxi back to the loft. That driver gave us his card and said he would be more than happy to drive us around during the rest of our trip. We threw away his card. From then on we called a taxi company that sent different drivers each time. None of them could find the loft and all of them showed up.
Pi Chi likes to shop. I might have mentioned this already. She likes to shop at famous department stores and the supposedly largest shopping malls in various hemispheres. I prefer local street markets. The Gateway in Umhlanga, Pacific Place in Hong Kong, CentralWorld in Bangkok, Sarit Centre in Nairobi and Westside Pavilion in Los Angeles all seem the same to me. At least the CentralWorld did before the Red Shirts burned it down. But Fa Yuen in Hong Kong, Shibuya in Tokyo, Myeongdong in Seoul, der Graben in Vienna and Cuypsmarkt in Amsterdam all have their own character. Pi Chi wanted to do some authentic African shopping, so I took her to the Victoria Street Market. She hated it. There were no department stores, no designer clothes and no ridiculously expensive purses. And it was populated and surrounded by Big Black Men and tiny Indian women.
Pi Chi’s conference was the only reason we went to Durban, and it was the conference that really made it worthwhile for me. While she was busy talking shop, I was able to see the town the way I wanted to see it. And when she had free time I was able to go with her to the things I do not care about. Since she spent several days in her conference, I almost had enough time to visit Durban my way. The more I do what I want to do, the less I bitch and moan about going to yet another shopping mall. At least until I write about it later. Have I mentioned that she made me wait for ten hours at Louis Vuitton in Paris while I was hobbling around on a cane? That has to give me at least a few more years of bitching rights.
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