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Sat May 17 2003 (Knysna to Cinsta)

I emerged at a more civilised time than yesterday, but still pretty early, grabbed some cereal in the hostel and chatted to the Dutch couple who'd been watching the footy with us last night. They've been travelling around the world, and have been keeping incredibly neat and detailed hand-drawn maps of each country they've visited, really smart.

I didn't hang around too long, quickly checked out and headed off in the rain towards Port Elizabeth and started texting Emma & Sara. I wanted to make sure they left early enough as I didn't fancy driving in the dark after I'd picked them up as planned from East London. I knew they had spent the night at Addo Elephant Park to the North of Port Elizabeth, although unfortunately they hadn't arrived in time for the night safari. Both of their phones were both running out of power, so comms were a little stilted. The last thing I wanted to do was arrive at the car hire drop-off point before them as that would be a bit pointless, especially as I'd driven hard to get in a position to meet them at all today.

On the way out to Port Elizabeth, I was listening on the radio to Walter Sisulu's funeral up in Joburg. The ceremony started in a stadium with speeches from Nelson Mandela, President Mbeki and Archbishop Tutu. Sadly I missed Mandela's eulogy, but Mbeki's was very good and Desmond Tutu's truly inspriational. I've always liked Tutu, through the darkest times he always seemed to carry a vibrant air about him and I've never failed to be bludgeoned by his enthusiasm for life into liking the guy.

He made much weight of the fact that Walter and his wife, Albertina, were very much a team effort, a true partnership that survived strains and stresses that would rip the heart out of most relationships. He described their half-century together as a genuine love affair that refused to die in spite of the obstacles laid out before them. He related a story about a particular US Secretary of State that was campaigning strongly against sanctions meant to punish the Apartheid government. The politician was visiting South Africa and spent an afternoon with Albertina. At the end of that afternoon, he was completely bowled over by her attitude and later confessed to Tutu that he had fallen head over heels in love with her approach to life. He returned to the US and vigorously campaigned in favour of sanctions against the Apartheid system.

Walter Sisulu had 5 children, something like 30 grandchildren and a handful of great-grandchildren. This is before you take into account the children that he and Albertina adopted. He loved kids and we were next entertained to a story about Walter's driving style after he passed his test, late in life. Archbishop Tutu had a light-hearted whinge about how whenever he had a lift with Walter, he knew the journey would take much longer than normal. Whenever there were kids in the road, rather than giving a blast of his horn to get them out of the way, he would stop the car, get out and gently shoo the children to the side of the road before getting in the car and carrying on. This would continue every few hundred yards until they eventually arrived at their destination.

Towards the end of his speech, Tutu turned on those who might undermine the sacrifices that Sisulu and many others had made to force the changes that have taken place in South Africa during the last 10 years. He virtually screamed into the microphone that the fight for freedom had not been undertaken so that a country of criminals and car thieves could emerge. Although I've only been in SA for a few days I've attained a reasonable grasp of what Tutu was referring to. This country has the potential to be one of the best in the world. At present the progress is visible, but all this could be wiped out if those lacking patience and respect for others are allowed to stomp all over the wishes of the masses.

The weather continued to be fairly poor but I made good progress to Port Elizabeth, where I stopped for a bite to eat in a retail park. I nipped into Checkers (large supermarket chain) to get an electrical adaptor and some snacks for the journey. I gave Em a quick call and found out they were closer to East London than I realised, due to some iffy advice from the Leeds bloke at the Peregrin. So rather than lagging behind, they were probably ahead of me.

On hearing the news that the ladies were beating me in the race for East London, I jumped back into the car and left the not-so-impressive environs of Port Elizabeth (although all I'd seen was an over-sized service station). Pretty soon I was into a series of lengthy road works controlled by traffic lights. Each section was several kms long and the sign warning of a possible 20 minute wait at the entrance to each stretch wasn't inspiring too much confidence. Nevertheless I managed to catch the first few pretty well with only a few minutes wait at each one. I was convinced I'd catch the girls up and soon enough, part way through a newly surfaced portion of road, I overtook a car and looking back was pretty convinced it contained the Brit babes. I tried phoning to check, but their entire collection of mobile phones was switched off and by now there were several cars between me and them, so I just carried on at full pace.

The N2 gradually became slower and less well-maintained, then it climbed into cloud and passing slow vehicles became virtually impossible. At this point I realised I wouldn't make East London, let alone the destination for tonight (Cinsta) before sundown, and worse than this the girls were some way behind. The weather continued to deteriorate and by the time I exited the N2 at East London the rain was becoming torrential.

I texted Sara to find out where the car hire place and got the reply that it was at the airport. Bugger! Wish I'd known that before I left the N2 and drove around randomly. Managed to find my way back to the motorway and continued down for a few junctions to the airport turn-off. I filled up with petrol at the bottom of the slip-road and had a chat with the pump attendant about the upcoming game in Durban and the growing chaos in the Bafana Bafana camp. Apparently the South African FA had promised to field the strongest side but the coach wanted to only use players that were with local clubs. This was a bit extreme as it meant leaving out Lucas Radebe, captain of the side, one of the stalwarts and great advertisements for South African football, and also who had announced his international retirement following this game.

I continued towards the airport, which turned out to be around 10km from the motorway. By now the rain was bucketing down and the roads were covered with standing water so that I couldn't see a single marking. This made things like Stop signs and mini-roundabouts interesting as I generally only noticed them just after I'd passed them. I made it to the airport in one piece and after an initial scare that Budget was closed (large Budget sign above a locked compound as you enter the airport), I found the drop off point and waited in the rain.

I'd arrived at around 6pm, about 2 hours later than planned. The girls turned up 45 minutes later. It was great to see them and they'd managed to get the rain to completely stop just as they arrived, which made swapping their luggage into my car much easier. Up until this point my little car had been nice and tidy, no chance from here on in. Em & Sara seemed to have a huge assortment of suitcases, packs, plastic bags and various crap including, bizzarely, matching cheese boards (I didn't even bother asking). On top of this, they insulted my small but trusty steed as they had been used to creature comforts such as an automatic gearbox, aircon, CD player, leccy windows etc. I was quick to point out that I had overtaken them and got 45 minutes ahead of them during today. In spite of all this, it was nice to see friendly faces and I could even put up with Em scrubbing my head with her knuckles every once in a while (first time she'd seen my shaved bonce).

We set off back down the N2, busily yacking about various things we'd seen and done, and then realised we'd completely missed the Cinsta exit. A quick swing round at the next right turn (I resisted Em's urges to U-turn the thing in the middle of the motorway in the dark) and we made our way towards Cinsta. Emma was reading out instructions as best she could from the guidebook, but they didn't match up too well with what we could see on the road. After passing a particular Presbytarian church for the umpteenth time we went back to the motorway and started all over again, this time Em equipped with a torch.

After 16km driving down the side roads and a dirt track we made it into Buccaneer's retreat around 8.15pm, and went straight into dinner which Sara had booked for us. It was a big communal affair with long wooden benches seating 10-15 people. The food was traditional for this region (Transkei): beef; sweet potato; butternut; maize and some other stuff that I can't remember, washed down with wine. My table had a mix of people, a fair few from England although not going to the game (huh?), and a couple of Swedish girls.

When the meal was done we checked in and realised we didn't quite have the beach hut that we'd envisaged. The girls were in a twin room, someone else was in a double, and then there was a dorm containing bunks and a single where I was. Thankfully there was no-one else at the moment in the dorm, but the dorm was part of the living area where the kitchen was. Marvellous, my bed was facing the front door and everyone had to go past to get in or out of the bungalow.

I had ordered an England shirt (for £60) with 'Africa 03' written on the back that was supposed to be delivered on the launch day of the new shirt, which was the day of the Turkey game at the Stadium of Light. It didn't turn up. All my friends bought theirs when we arrived in Sunderland, from sports shops near the stadium for £25. Mine still hadn't turned up several days later so I phoned them and they claimed there was a shortage of the number 3. I cancelled and then spent weeks trying to find another. No luck, completely sold out in Southampton and Leeds. Just before she left, Emma had sorted me out with one in London and brought it to SA for me. So finally, in Cinsta, I got hold of my new shirt. (Ta Em!).

I gave Emma & Sara their presents from Cape Town which went down a treat. Em was as amazed as me about the QPR bottle, and Sara seemed well pleased with her giraffe painting. I also showed them all the daft stuff I have taking up vital weight and space in my pack. Another long day today, well over 600km.

Photos from today