I would have loved to have stayed in this little gem of a town for another day two, hiking the beach and beach road, or wandering up the lush river trail, but there wasn’t any surf and we were anxious to get to the Transki (pronounced trans sky, now called the Wild Coast) because we had heard so many awesome reports about it. After an hour of walking the beach and a bit of the delightful river trail, we had a really good breakfast with our hosts then left Kidds Beach by 9 AM. We stopped to shop in the city of East London where we stocked up on several days of food supplies in case we end up staying in the Transki for a while. Apparently there aren’t many towns or grocery stores. The Transki used to be a South African Homeland, a bit like an Indian reservation in America, but a bit more independent, almost like a country unto itself. The homelands were all absorbed back into South Africa around 1994 after the end of apartheid.

 

Driving through the early stages of the Transki we were impressed with the lovely beauty but with rugged hills and lush forests. However, it very quickly gave way to miles upon miles of rolling, severely overgrazed hills devoid of all life except goats, sheep, cattle, rondavaals, and millions of black Africans who have lived in the Transki for centuries. Since at least four people we’ve talked with along the way have raved about how “unspoilt” the Transky is, we were rather surprised to see the denuded hills with nary a tree in site. We assumed that once we turned off the main highway and headed the 50 miles back to the ocean on a potted old tar (black top) road that we would come upon the pristine loveliness we had painted into our heads by South African we talked with about it.

 

We arrived at a small village called Coffee Bay by late afternoon where we checked into a backpackers lodge. The countryside was as barren as ever and the little village of Coffee Bay is very indigenous. There is quite a bit of litter, skinny, big-titted dogs, and 99% of the faces are black and don’t seem too friendly. of Bambvu Backpackers only had one room available that wasn’t in the dormitory and it was a room that isn’t used often. The other backpacker facility is also full and the one hotel in town is too expensive. The bed is lumpy bed, the old rondavaal we are housed in doesn’t have much paint left on the concrete floor, the bathroom is 40 yards away and shared with 20 or so young, mostly European back-packer types (aka hippies). Without any other choice we took the room and made the most of it.

 

After a brief look around the fenced grounds of Bambvu Backpackers we went looking for the surf spot we’d heard about. Obviously the gnarly, rocky bit of ocean in front of our facility wasn’t it as it didn’t look like it would produce surfable waves very often. We got a bit lost looking for the real Coffee Beach and thought we were wandering through a campground next to Bambvu. Apparently, however, we had wandered onto a nature preserve/campground that we weren’t supposed to be in. We were accosted by a very drunk black man who was quite unhappy with us being there. He was quite loud and rude but then another, not so drunk, woman understood that we were lost and she and the drunk fellow nearly came to blows with each other as she defended us. I was quite sure she could take him, if need be, but we broke up their argument because we were running out of day light. Nancy then led us to the public lands and showed us Coffee Beach. I wasn’t impressed with the beach but enjoyed the walk back to Bambvu on a trail that the locals use. Nancy stuck with us and showed us the way on local trails. She held my hand most of the time, which was good since I was able to help keep her from falling. Every time we stopped she had to pet my hair, and she really wanted the batik dress from Indonesia that I was wearing. I bought a bead and shell necklace from Nancy for way too much money but we enjoyed our little adventure and appreciated her help.

 

After dinner I went to bed early, feeling a bit disappointed with the Transki, Coffee Bay, nor our none-to-clean room. Occasionally a mist of homesickness settles over me and clouds my perception of things. I was feeling a bit scared and out of sorts. Bob was too but he stayed up for the drumming session and to have a beer in the bar. After a few songs he came and rousted me from bed and made me join him.

 

Of course I ended up thoroughly enjoying the local men playing their African drums, with considerable expertise. and though we still plan to leave first thing in the morning, we shall cautiously considered sticking around for a little bit to see if there might be any substance to the rumors that the Transki is magical and unspoiled. Perhaps the sun will shine tomorrow and things will appear differently.