Sure Travel Journey 5.4 Spring 2019 | Page 36

The captain of the doomed cruise ship
Oceanos, which went down just off the
village, was the first survivor to reach dry
land. He infamously declared his early
departure from the sinking vessel at the
Hole-in-the-Wall Hotel, apparently so as
to better organise the rescue. There’s a
bit of memorabilia from that drama at
the hotel, but we were more interested in
ridding ourselves of packs and boots and
getting into the sea. With the swim over,
we took a five-minute walk to the wall with
the hole – so familiar from photographs,
but we were not prepared for its powerful,
brooding presence.
After that, we checked into our
accommodation. Paul had booked us into a
self-catering unit within the hotel complex
and, while comfortable and clean, it was
decidedly “old South African” in style,
with camouflage-clad guards patrolling
under security lighting. Our middle-aged
cynicism had been softened at Coffee
Bay, and we remembered the backpackers
from the previous night (dreamcatchers
and all) rather fondly. Partying was muted
that night: we had an 18 to 20 km walk in
the morning, and the wind, sun and hills
encountered on the 8 km “doddle” had us
reconsidering our capabilities.
Our guide, Andrew, arrived early and
amused himself with some pre-walk
physical jerks while we ate a tense
breakfast, all very aware that at best we
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golfer despite the Wild Coast resembling
a spectacular links course. After a final
kilometre of beach walking and a river
crossing in an outrigger canoe, we were
there. A soft rain had begun to fall as we
crowded inside to a warm welcome and,
I contend, envious looks from the lazy
people who had arrived by shuttle.
Bulungula is remote, situated on a
point by the mouth of the Bulungula
estuary, with no road link to the interior.
A shuttle fetches and carries guests to
and from a trading store at the nearest
road end. My wife smiled happily: we
had a rondavel to sleep in with a genuine
mud and dung floor. Bulungula prides
itself on its eco-friendly footprint, with
“
A shuttle fetches
and carries guests to
and from a trading
store at the nearest
road end. My wife
smiled happily:
we had a rondavel
to sleep in with a
genuine mud and
dung floor.
“
had a long day ahead of us. Andrew didn’t
put a foot wrong, keeping his distance,
giving us time to check out the sights,
judging our energy levels nicely when
setting the pace and choosing cool and
pleasant spots for rest breaks. Except for
his damnable press-ups and star-jumps
at odd intervals, we couldn’t have hired a
better guide – and a guide is a worthwhile
investment, cutting out the dead ends and
retracing of tracks I seem to get into with
my ’Berg-walking friends.
Our destination and accommodation for
the next two nights, Bulungula, eventually
came into view, although we still hadn’t
answered the nagging question of why the
Transkei has never produced a world-class