Two Wild Coasts

From the Bulungula Lodge website

Magge and I had never heard of South Africa's Wild Coast before coming to this country, but after reading about it we were eager to visit.  Located on the southeast in a section formerly known as the Transkei, this rural and poor area receives far fewer tourists and backpackers than the more famed Garden Route.  This lack of British and German 19 year olds was actually a drawing card.  After a little research, we decided to stay in two places: Bulungula Lodge in the small village of Nqileni, and the Coffee Shack in Coffee Bay.  They ended up providing very different experiences.

Bulungula was not an easy place to reach.  After driving for seven hours on the paved N2 highway east of Tsisikamma, we turned off onto a narrow, dirt road (actually, after being rained on all day, it was a mud road).  For the next two and a half hours, we averaged twenty miles per hour while driving around cows, goats and people trying to hitch a ride.  Luckily, we were accompanied by some beautiful pastoral scenery.  While the Tsisikamma area reminded me of the Pacific Northwest, the incredibly green rolling hills here reminded me of the Shire from The Lord of the Rings.  I don't know if I've ever seen hills that are so perfectly curved.  I told Magge that I thought their outlines looked as though they'd could be graphed with a mathematical function.  She told me I'm a nerd.  Dotting the hillsides are round houses with conical roofs called rondavels, the traditional style of homes of the Xhosa people that have inhabited this area for the last 400 or so years.  We eventually reached the coast and found the lodge.

With Bulungula Lodge, the majority owner, Dave, has achieved something special on many levels.  Its location is breathtakingly perfect, sitting on top of a hill at the mouth of Bulungula River, which bisects a wide, golden beach.  In the distance, more green hills plunge to the water's edge.  Magge says it is the most beautiful place we have seen on this trip, and while I disagree, it does make my short list.  We spent hours during our first day at the lodge walking the beach and rocks at low tide, picking up shells and looking at the life in the tidal pools.  We did not see anyone else the entire time except for a few local women who were gathering mussels for dinner.  If we've been to a more secluded beach over the last year, I cannot think of it.

The lodge is definitely the most eco-friendly place in which we have stayed.  Nqileni is far from being on a power grid, but solar panels provide all the energy the lodge needs.  Showers are heated by a cleverly designed stove-like contraption that gives seven minutes of hot water using one cup of paraffin.  Thanks to these implementations, Bulungula's energy costs are only about 10% that of a typical hostel's, according to Dave.  Additionally, compost toilets are used in order to preserve the community's precious spring water from being contaminated.

The most impressive asset of Bulungula Lodge is its integration with the community.  Dave, a white South African (I wouldn't normally make a point of ethnicity, but this country's history and current still-palpable racial tension makes it relevant, in my opinion), owns 60% of the lodge and the village of Nqileni owns the remainder.  In an area of the country that is subject to grinding poverty, this enterprise provides a huge boost to the locals, yet Nqileni avoids the pitfalls of the typical small tourist town, which we definitely experienced later in Coffee Bay.

Magge and I took a walk around Nqileni one afternoon and were continually greeted warmly.  As we walked by women performing chores, we would wave and say, "Molo", the Xhosa word for hello.  Without fail, they would smile, wave back and reply, "Molweni".  Children followed us, giggling and practicing their English.  We crossed paths with an old man on crutches, and gave our standard "Molo" greeting.  He replied, "Molweni.  Kunjani?".  Asking how we were, I said, "Ndiphilile, enkosi.  Kunjani?".  That was the extent of my Xhosa skills, but he didn't care and proceeded to try to have a conversation with us.  He could see (I think) that we didn't understand a thing he was saying, but he continued anyway.  He eventually laughed and waved goodbye.  We saw him again twenty minutes later on our way back to our room, and he must have thought we had picked up some new Xhosa phrases, because he tried to have a second conversation with us.  Instead, he got more of the same dumb but smiling faces, and he laughed and waved goodbye again.

All the available activities are 100% owned and operated by locals.  There are enough activities to keep a person busy for a week, from horseback riding on the beach to fishing with a local fisherman to experiencing a day in the life of a local woman.  We signed up for three: canoeing up the Xhora River, a village tour, and a visit to a traditional herbalist.

The Xhora River is the site of the biggest disaster of our trip.  Molwa met us at the lodge and then we walked forty-five minutes through the hills to the river launch site.  The first half of our ride on the water was peaceful, beautiful and uneventful.  However, after a quick stop to take a muddy trek to a nonexistent waterfall, we got back in our canoe and had a hard time getting off the rocks.  The wind started picking up and we weren't able to get our canoe turned to face the wind head on.  As we finally pulled into deeper water, a strong gust of wind capsized our canoe.  Magge's Nikon camera and our newly purchased binoculars, not placed in any waterproof bags because the water until that point had been very still, accompanied us into the water.

With Magge's camera out of commission, my drawing skills will have to fill the void

Barefoot because the canoe guide had us take off our shoes to avoid tracking mud into the boat, we walked our canoe back to shore, slicing our feet on sharp rocks.  With open cuts on my feet, I was nervous about walking in the mangrove muck.  If I've learned anything from Bear Grylls on Man vs. Wild, it's that mangroves are home to terrible diseases, including flesh eating ones.  We got back in the boat and paddled as quickly as we could to get back to the lodge and try to salvage the camera and my feet.  Back at the lodge, Magge put the camera in a bowl of rice (some people swear by this method to rescue water-damaged electronics) and sat it out in the sun.  She didn't have too much time to mourn as she had to clean and bandage my feet before our village tour in the afternoon.  We were never able to revive the camera, much to Magge's heartbreak (it was her first nice camera), although we dried out the binoculars enough so that they are usable, although they are less clear than they used to be.

The standard village tour consists of a visit to a traditional healer, often called a sangoma, time spent with the village headman, or chief, and a trip to a shebeen to drink some home brewed traditional beer.  Five minutes into the tour, we found out that neither the healer nor the headman were home and that the shebeen had no more traditional beer.  Calling an audible, the guide brought us to some women who were making bricks used for building rondavels.  These bricks are made of mud and are sundried.  As we watched a woman collect mud and pile it into a rectangular mold, the guide told us we would make the next bricks.  No problem, we thought.  Then we watched the women go to a bucket of thick, brown liquid, collect some in her cupped hands, and then rub the liquid on the bricks.  "What is that?" Magge asked nervously, but we both knew the answer.  "Cow dung.  It makes the brick smooth," answered our guide.  Magge went first, filling the mold with a few heaps of mud and then walked to the bucket of dung.  Without flinching, she thrust her hands in, walked back to the brick and then spread the smoothing agent.  When my turn came, I tried to be as brave as Magge, as I could feel the local women's eyes on me to see my reaction.  I think I succeeded, although it is possible my face told a different story.

One blog review put it best when it said that it's the kind of place that you don't want to talk about to other people so that you can keep it all to yourself.  However, it does so much good for the community that it is impossible to be selfish.  As Dave told us, the residents of Nqileni are determined to lift themselves out of poverty through hard work and innovation, and not by expecting handouts from the government or visitors.*

Coffee Bay could match the scenery of Bulungula, but little else.  The landscape here is actually slightly more rugged.  The rolling green hills remain, but some of the hills had partially fallen into the ocean long ago, leaving sheer cliff faces facing the water.  Unlike Nqileni, though, Coffee Bay is a tourist town through and through, with a handful of hostels and restaurants that cater to young travelers who come here to party.  The affect on the locals is very noticeable.  Children beg for sweets and small change, men bother you every ten steps to buy marijuana or mushrooms (given the clientele, I assume they do brisk business), and women hassle you Southeast Asian style to buy their beaded necklaces ("Hi lady, buy something from me?  Maybe later?  Ok, my name is Grace, don't forget.  I'll remember you").

The women with necklaces were particularly relentless.  Our first day in Coffee Bay, Magge was hounded by a gauntlet of saleswomen, and Magge promised one, the aforementioned Grace, that she would buy something later.  Afterwards, each time Magge walked past her (which was necessary to get from our rondavel to the hostel's main building), Grace told her not to forget her.  One morning, Magge and I took a walk along the hilltops and settled down on a soft patch of grass to look out over the ocean.  After five minutes of relaxing under the sun, two women ran up the hill with their wares.  I don't know how they sniffed us out since we were well out of sight from the village, but they wouldn't take, "We didn't bring money with us," as an answer.  Fortunately, Grace also sniffed out the situation and ran up the hill to shoo them off and protect her future sale.  Magge did eventually buy two necklaces.  Although I understand the reasons behind the begging and the badgering to buy drugs and beads, and sympathize, it makes it no less annoying and is a far cry from the inclusive community feel of Nqileni.

* It's definitely worth mentioning the Bulungula Incubator (www.bulungulaincubator.org), a non-profi organization that incubates and helps launch development projects for the area.  Dave spearheaded the endeavor and sits on the board.  It just serves to further underscore the impact he and his family (his wife and mother also live in the village and teach at the preschool) have had on Nqileni.