The Road to Bulungula Lodge, Wild Coast, South Africa. (24 total images, 1 video)
“Rufus is a very strong man,” says Maya, a local Xhosa woman we just picked up from a village on the Wild Coast of South Africa. “Even in his old age of 80 years he is still able to procreate and have many children,” she says.
We’re all headed to the Bulungula Lodge where Maya works and we’ll be visiting. Rufus is our driver.
***
The previous night, Kelly and I were sharing a jacuzzi with a few travelers at the Amphitheater Backpackers in the Northern Drakensburg mountains. A couple had just returned from Bulungula and were speaking of the place in a dream-like manner. “It rained the entire time we were there, but it was still amazing,” said the Czech boyfriend. His girlfriend nodded. “I would go back there right now if I could.”
I had previously read about the Lodge — in fact, there was a beautiful picture of it in my Rough Guide — but had yet to meet someone who had actually been there. In fact, I couldn’t even find the nearest city or town in any of the four maps we owned. The closest sign was a squiggly brown line that symbolized an “unpassable terrain” all the way to the Indian Ocean.
That night, I called for directions. The staff refused to explain it over the phone saying it was best to print out the map from their Web site. I didn’t have access to a printer and the Amphitheater staff considered it a sissy move to print out directions of any sort. “Well, then, what you want to do is somehow make it down to Mthatha, and then find the Shell Ultra City just outside of town. Hang a right at the sign for Coffee Bay Road — but don’t actually go to Coffee Bay. Instead, after about 10 mins or so, you’ll find a small convenience store called _____. Go in and buy the map there. Make sure you buy the map first and don’t go beyond the store without it! It should be no more than a rand or two.”
Now, that was all fine and well but I was in goddamn Africa and the distance between where I was and where this supposed tin-roofed store existed was the equivalent of New York City to Toronto.
But we weren’t to be deterred, especially when our new German friends, Thomas and Sabine overheard the excitement and decided to tag along. We’d figure it out.
***
Our journey began at dawn in the breathtaking Drakensburg Mountains with an on-again and off-again rain. We passed farms, green hills, and countless riverside villages with “Hippopotamus crossing” signs. At townships, we saw dozens of people walking on the shoulder of the road. There was no such thing as public transportation and people were required to walk dozens of miles to get to school or work. A lucky few rode bicycles but most held up their thumbs in soaking clothes. We felt terrible but had been strictly advised not to pick anyone up — neither mother’s carrying babies nor the elderly — as there was always that random case of armed robbers using an innocent bystander to lure in unsuspecting travelers. Not that we could pick up anyone else even if we wanted to as our backseat was now occupied by Thomas and Sabine.
Occasionally, we came to a town with only one paved road filled with dozens of discount shopping stores and always that one Kentucky Fried Chicken. It could’ve been Jamaica, Queens, except for that decapitated horse being scavenged by a pack of stray dogs off the side off the road.
Several hours later, we made it to the Trans Kai region, the area separated by the famous Kai river where blacks were segregated to during the Apartheid. Nelson Mandela could’ve been the tribal ruler of these parts had he not sought bigger ambitions and gone to jail for 27 years to unite the Rainbow Nation. An unexpected surprise came when we saw signs for iXopo, the small farming village that was the setting for the classic Alan Paton novel, Cry, the Beloved Country. Kelly was currently in the process of re-reading the book so we awed for a moment and then moved on.
We were driving out of the rain so the mood was good. For lunch, we stopped at a gas station and bought spicy samosas and sampled some of Thomas’s kudu biltong (jerky). It tasted funky to me but Thomas ate it up like it was chocolate. We played Radiohead and The White Album, the entire time discussing our lives back home, Thomas and Sabine’s year-long around the world tour, and all the things we’ve done and seen in Africa so far. Somehow eight hours flew by and we were in Mthatha, and not a single person in the car could get that goddamn Lion King song out of their head.
After that, our maps became useless and we were left only to our instincts to guide us to this so-called “Shell Ultra City.” It actually turned out to be the biggest Shell gas station — complete with a bank, restaurant, and about 500 pumps — I had ever seen. It was clearly the place to be in town.
We got out of the car to stretch our legs and I went in to refill my cell phone minutes. I asked a few random people in line for the bathroom if they had ever heard of Bulungula Lodge (“No.”) or where Coffee Bay Road was (they gave me five different answers). It would soon be dark and the last thing we wanted was to be stranded in one of the poorest and most remote parts of the country.
But then, as it always seems to happen during these types of travel, a miracle occurred. Kelly went to ask directions from the attendant who pumped our gas one final time.
“Do you know where Bulungula Lodge is?”
“Bulungula? Yes, they’re here.”
“What? No, you don’t understand. We’re trying to get to Bulungula. Do you know where Coffee Bay Road is?”
“Why don’t you just ask the guy who’s from there. He’s right there!”
And there was Rufus and his awesome weather-beaten 4WD truck.
Rufus’s ride.
My ride.
It just so happened that he was at the gas station to pick up his final passengers that had arrived via the Baz Bus. He greeted us with firm handshakes and a constant grin. Every time we asked a question or said anything, his reply always seemed to be, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Good. Good. Good.”
We peeked into the back of the truck and said hello to the bus passengers who would soon be our new friends. Then it was time to drive the rest of the 80 kms to the Lodge.
As we were about to leave, Rufus got out of his truck and poked his head inside my window.
“Can you follow?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“How fast can you drive?”
It was on.
Five seconds after we left the gas station Rufus was already passing cars on the one-lane road.
“Is he serious?” someone asked from the back seat.
It was unclear if Rufus was toying with us or if that’s just how he rolls (my guess would be the latter), but his truck was unmistakable even when he was hundreds of yards ahead. Our small fear of being lost and stranded had now turned into an adventure, accentuated by a road that had more potholes than a leopard has spots. Later, we would meet some Brits at the Lodge who weren’t so lucky and ended up driving lost for five hours until Rufus ultimately rescued them as well.
After an hour of playing Tortoise and the Hare with Rufus, the paved road gave way to dirt. We rolled into the parking lot of a hospital where we were to leave our car and ride with Rufus the rest of the way.
The back of the truck was packed so Rufus asked if I wanted to ride up front with him. “Hell yeah!” I cried, and then strapped a 24-70 lens to my 5D. The rest of the photographs are through the dirty windshield of Rufus’s wild ride.
When I asked Rufus how this crack the size of a tangerine came to be, he became very defensive. “No. No. A big truck was coming and he hit a rock — big like THIS — and then POOF!!! Hahahahaha.”
Rufus makes this drive twice a day so he’s well-versed with the extreme conditions. On our return trip, it stormed like crazy and the roads flooded so our initial trip was actually a pleasant ride. Unfortunately, I sat in the trailer with the rest of the group on the way back so wasn’t privy to any further documentations (much to the relief of my camera’s warranty program).
If the horizon looks tilted in a lot of these shots, let’s be clear it wasn’t a creative decision on my part.
The Nqileni village owns 40% of Bulungula Lodge and are an integral part of daily life there. The Xhosa people of the village offer services such as forest medicinal walks, village tours on horseback, canoe and fishing trips, full-body massages, pancake sunrise breakfasts (future blog post to come), and so much more.
The route to Bulungula Lodge is basically any way, any how you can get your ass there, even if that means creating a couple of new lanes along the way. Many of these trails were probably carved by Rufus himself.
The Bulungula staff greets us with open arms (and moments later an open bar).
Meanwhile, Rufus begins his trek home to a village an hour away. He must cross the river before the tide becomes too high — and does.
And this will be our home for the next few days.
The Xhora River “where kamikaze fish may jump into your boat and Malachite kingfishers hunt in the forested cliffs upstream.” This will also be our constant view and private beach. On our final morning, sharks from the Indian Ocean were spotted on the river itself, much to the horror of early morning swimmers scrambling for shore.
(Stay tuned for a follow-up post on our stay and activities at Bulungula.)
[Video produced by Kelly L. Phillips]
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gorgeous, as per ush
favourite = first of the longish series, the kid and the van shadow and the rearview mirror and the reflection/dirty window(?) that looks like a sun streak..
Thanks. He’s totally got that “what the hell is that enormous piece of glass poking out of the window?” expression on his face.