Half past five in the morning is a healthy, virtuous hour to be awake. But if you have abhorred the first rays of the sun all your life, then 5.30 am is likely to find you buried under sheets (or blankets). That’s how I deal with mornings in Delhi.
But Delhi is not on the Indian Ocean. Durban is. And its mornings are different. Seagulls announce the arrival of dawn in a sing-song manner. The sun, mellow and almost unrecognisable, works its way into the horizon like a sleepy schoolgoer. And the crispness of autumn hangs in the air like the sprinkling of cinnamon sugar on your cookie.
Standing at the window of my 16th-floor hotel room — a stone’s throw from one of the world’s three largest oceans — I begin to acknowledge that mornings may not be so bad, after all. Surfers are headed out to sea. Skateboarders are putting the promenade to good use. A café on the beach — Durban’s North Beach — is ready with hot chocolate and muffins. And carts selling bunny chow, arguably the Indian diaspora’s most significant cultural contribution to South Africa, are set for brisk business.
About six hours later, after cups of rooibos tea and some
The next hour is a lesson in the joys of fuel-free travel. I pick up pace and confidence as a fleet of Segways proceeds down Golden Mile. Apart from the blue waters, peppered with bobbing yachts, catamarans and ships, I ride past walls with graffiti, colonial-era buildings, casinos, restaurants, hotels and malls. Seabirds keep flitting in and out of vision while the breeze, as constant as a supportive mentor, ensures that we don’t sweat under the overhead sun. For a weekday, the stretch, or the people on it, appears enviably relaxed. No one is in a hurry to get anywhere. Colas and ice creams seem to be top priority, followed by selfie sessions at the pier. I get my fix of photos too, using the lens to admire fit-as-a-fiddle surfers as they walk the spotless beach. By the time I make a turn for where this ride had started, Arthur declares that I can cross traffic signals without help.
The sea at Durban clings to my senses even as I move away from it. At Karkloof, about an hour’s drive from the city, the Indian Ocean is a distant entity. I am in the midst of thick forest canopies I am supposed to travel through. My (un)fitness quotient sets off panic buttons in the head as the surly ziplining instructor sizes up the group I am part of. I don’t grudge him the surliness — imagine being named Asia in Asia, or Siberia in Siberia. Africa, as he is called, has probably borne the burden of an n number of ungainly amateurs, and seems less and less inclined to humour more of the tribe. In the end however — over two hours — Africa and his colleagues manage to take our group of 10-odd journalists flying along steel cables strung across the forest. There are eight stretches, varying in length from 40m to 180m. The instructors promise us a glimpse of birds and animals. I admit I see little of either — mostly because my eyes are shut due to a fear of heights. But the few waterfalls I see along the way make up for it.
Dinner is at Umhlanga Rocks, a “trendy, upscale resort town north of Durban”, according to Google. And it looks its part. With restaurants and pubs galore, it is clear why half or more of Durban — locals and tourists alike — has descended here for a night out in the middle of the week. The Pakistani joint I stop to buy cigarettes from is packed to the gills. The friendly owner suggests I walk down to the other end of the long, undulating road (Chartwell Drive) for more dining options: Asian, Greek, French, steakhouses, beer cafés, whisky bars, seafood et al. Very helpfully, he adds that the Indian vegetarian restaurants are only around his place. That is incentive enough for me to spring to the nearest taxi.
Over a bottle of pinotage (a red wine variety synonymous with South Africa) and grilled sardines at Mythos, a pretty Greek-cuisine restaurant, I surrender to the stories and questions of my attendant Temba. A Zimbabwean who moved to Durban for work, his heart throbs for Kolkata Knight Riders. He wants to know why I live in Delhi instead of the city his favourite IPL team is named after. I tell him that my reasons for doing so are also related to work. “Sad,” he declares before returning to the kitchen for my baklava. I shake my head in disagreement. It’s also work that brings me to Durban. I ain’t sorry about it.
(The writer was in Durban at the invitation of South African Tourism)