I’m an old white guy

It’s our last full day in “Plett” as the locals call Plettenberg Bay. We’ve had 4 nights at this place which was supposed to be, on paper at least, the nicest one on the Garden Route that we’ve been traveling on since Cape Town. The room itself is quite nice with view of Bitou River from deck.

Food is quite good too but there’s a vibe here that is very different from other places. Everyone’s pleasant but cool. The manager is the only one who will try to strike a conversation but I find it’s quite superficial. Seems like he wants it to end even before it’s started. Other places have bent over backward to be warm and welcoming; enquiring about where we’re from, travel plans, any arrangements they can make. Over the top, really. This place wins the “most easily forgotten “ award.

Although not a golfing trip, we thought we’d have 2 or 3 games and our last was yesterday. We actually managed a few good hits but the most striking thing to me was my whiteness. Both at the golf course and here at the lodge, all patrons are white and, like me, generally older. All clerks, waiters, caddies, ground crew, etc are black and, I’m telling you, it feels really strange. Even in Vietnam where ancestry is quite different from mine, I did not really think about this at all. Here, it’s constantly in your face.

Today’s hiking trip at Robberg Nature Reserve was a bust as Nancy has described although very beautiful area.

We bailed and headed a few km east to another National Park to enjoy a pretty well deserted and magnificent beach with huge breakers rolling in.