Riding Reclined: Cape Town Transport Tales

Cape Town Adventures

Last week, Cape Town reached the climax of preparations for the 109 km Cape Town Cycle Tour 2026. The weekend before saw Cape Town Pride, with us all congregating after the march at the Green Point Track. What a beautiful day it was.

However, I bring up cycling because something about our Uber rides around Cape Town reminds me of recumbent bicycles: those reclined, lumbar-supported seats that seem to make a statement rather than suggest healthy reasons.

The Recumbent Tendency

I haven't seen one around town, but this tendency has caught my attention. I sit behind drivers when travelling with Brian, and I have noticed that nearly all of them recline their seats as far back as legally permitted. It makes me think they want to be riding recumbent bicycles.

To my memory, only one driver kept their seat upright; we rode with him last night. You might assume the reason for reclining seats is to accommodate larger drivers, and some could do with weight management.

However, even the apparently fit and trim have adopted this relaxed habit, reclining comfortably at the expense of their passengers. I could ask the driver to adjust their seat, but I would rather have a comfortable driver enjoying their music and being happy with their settings than interfere and create an awkward situation. It is within my rights to request this, but I prefer not to.

MyCiTi Bus System

Beyond Uber, our main transportation option, we tried the MyCiTi mass transit bus system for the first time. We travelled from Woodbridge to the Waterfront. The bus took its own route, avoiding traffic, which was a marvel. It was safe and comfortable, and as I boarded, someone gave up their seat for me.

All it required was tapping in at the bus station and tapping out when we alighted. I suspect adventure might take us to other places as we explore the different bus routes around Cape Town. The MyCiTi system does not yet serve Pinelands, but Brian pointed out that bus stop signs indicate that the service is coming this way in the not-too-distant future.

Coastal Exploration and Train Journey

On Tuesday, which turned out to be the hottest day of our sojourn (bar yesterday, when residents were advised to stay indoors), we went out to Muizenberg. Starting from Sunrise Beach, we walked all the way down to Muizenberg Beach. After a meal, we continued past Rhodes Cottage Museum to St James.

Just seeing the traffic on the main road was dispiriting enough to rule out hailing a cab back home. The ticket office was closed as the train arrived. Without any clear knowledge of the network, we boarded a clean, though busy, train all the way to Observatory, as it was the only place we recognised on that route to Cape Town.

We kept track of our journey using Google Maps as the train indicators were not working. Nineteen stops it was, and it would have cost us ZAR 12. Unfortunately, there was no one to either check tickets with or purchase them from, so it became a free ride. [ZAR - South African Rand ($1 = ZAR 16.59) (£1 = ZAR 22.20)]

As we alighted at Observatory, I saw the penalty notice: ZAR 40 for not having a valid ticket. We had a good excuse. The St James ticket office was open longer hours on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but on other weekdays, it closed at 13:30. We boarded that train at 17:28.

Final Thoughts on Public Transport

Getting on both the bus and the train has been something we have considered during our previous stays, but reviews of the services suggest dangerous and safety concerns for non-residents.

In our experience, it was safe, comfortable, and affordable: something worth trying where the service exists, especially during the day. At night-time, though, I would have my misgivings.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXVI

Getting some perspective

You may wonder why I am writing about the Coronavirus, having written the last in my series of Coronavirus streets in Manchester way back in June 2024. Obviously, there was also the minor distraction of dealing with Men’s things, my prostate taking on an unregulated growth spurt that was trammelled with blasts of radiotherapy.

Then you consider I was out grocery shopping today and one of the passengers on a bus I boarded had a facemask on, you do not see that about quite often, though a lady who attends my church whose full face I have never seen dons a facemask almost as a fashion accessory, a shade of brown, but quite distinct from her South Asian skin tone.

Saying his prayers

The bus out of the city centre towards Salford, where I planned to board another to my intended destination, presented nothing of great significance apart from wheezing and many with coughs that might indicate something more serious than portends. On that sampling alone, we are easily a nation of the unfit, the infirm, the unwell, and qualitatively unhealthy.

However, it was the bus ride within Salford towards Cheetham Hill that offered much to amuse or intrigue. It was first an unkempt man sitting on one of the priority seats. In what seemed like a headbanging the bar in front of him, I soon realised it was an unconventional approach to Muslim prayer as he was muttering, clasping hands, and then bowing in obeisance to the Sallah edict.

The bus was driving eastward but I could not suggest his heading was facing Mecca, but who am I to intrude on the religiosity of an adherent faithfully saying his prayers before Goosey Goosey Gander takes umbrage?

The fiery Ijebu wars

At Ade’s Cash & Carry, of the many designations it has, at the checkout till, there were conversations going on in Yoruba, the tiller with facial scarification I would have mistaken for an Ogbomoso indigene, but with the brutal nose strike, so that might default to Ibadan.

Two tubers of water yam, quite different from Puna yam, were being weighed on the tiller scales, but they did not have the hairy fibres one would expect on that species I was accustomed to. As I voiced my misgivings, an engagement began about where I was from.

Answering Ijesha-Ijebu, the man interjected, Ijebu-Ijesha, a different place some 197 kilometres away. That confusion between my village and the other town, in entirely separate states and they do not remotely speak the same dialect. It so happened that the customer being served was also an Ijebu-man, he knew where Ijesha-Ijebu was and began to converse in Ijebu that I have never deigned to master.

My excuse is that I was born abroad, and I pleaded innocence by volunteering. One of my names is Adetokunbo, and the crown was brought from overseas. That was the beginning of our schism, he is from Ilishan-Remo and has been advocating the creation of an Ijebu State with Sagamu as the state capital. Let’s just say as the boundary between the real Ijebu-land headquartered at Ijebu-Ode and Ijebu-Remo, which is a few kilometres west of my village, the idea falls on its face with infeasibility.

It is totally unlikely that the Ijebus aligned to Ijebu-Ode and the expanse of the 16 Agemo masquerades of Ijebu-land would subsume themselves to the leadership of Ijebu-Remo that gained prominence out of the colonial chicanery of divide-and-rule. We would seethe with disdain and disparage any such advocacy to chop Ogun State into hamlet fiefdoms.

While I would rarely feel challenged with Yoruba expression, I was clearly found wanting facing a son of Ijebu soil. Other interesting banter ensued, and we shook hands, and I left.

The Yorubas have occupied

On the bus back to Salford City Centre from Cheetham Hill, I must have been transported to some place in Yorubaland, I half expected the only Caucasian on the bus to burst out in Yoruba song as literally every else on the bus was speaking in Yoruba.

One even had a playback of some Yoruba-speaking event on the speaker of his phone and some of the narrative did cause stifled giggles without anyone wanting to reveal they knew what was going on. I could see from my vantage point that everyone was straining to listen even as one or two mobile phone conversations cared nothing for the public space they were in.

I sometimes forget some parts of north Manchester have been colonised by Yorubas; I could be one of the exceptions that lives in the city centre. Now, that Ade’s Cash & Carry has stiff competition in Salford on range, quality, and price, apart from ready-made stews, it won’t be long before these interesting Yoruba engagements happen closer to home.

The Coronavirus is still out there, and I had my 7^th booster in November before jetting out to Cape Town. Nine vaccinations and boosters altogether mean we all must be careful, five years on.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXVI

People are outside

Out on my walk this evening, as I approached a bus stop, a lady with her mask on was frantically waving down the double-decker bus to stop, I am sure the driver saw her, but he did not stop, the driver had forgotten to change a sign on the destination indicator on the front of the bus, ‘Bus Full’, or something to that effect, it should have said.

Down at the park as dusk turned to dark that without lights or a reflection, you will not notice anything a few metres ahead of you, the sounds of revelling from all directions met my ears. People in groups of sometimes more than six, sitting on the grass chatting or chuntering away, oblivious of others and the pandemic that kept us sequestered for months.

Signs of change

The rubbish bins stacked and overflowing, empty bottles of all kinds of drinks standing on and around the bin. Bags of rubbish that did not fit in the bins strew around for others to clean up after the many who cannot keep their litter until they get home. I guess that is what our council tax goes towards.

The theatre down the road that has been closed since early March last year has become a beehive of activity, not that there are patrons or theatregoers about. The signs for The Phantom of the Opera that was to be playing this time last year have remained up, you wonder if things would take off from where they left off. Two long caboose trailers without their cabs are parked outside, I think they are preparing for an opening.

Some hotels that have been closed for months now have their lights on, someone or people should be there, for in these observations, you can feel that things are coming back to life, we might not return to normal, but we are setting ourselves up for a new normal and hopefully a better normal.

Holiday Snaps: It is hot in Las Palmas

Formula 1 bus travel

I have always loved visiting Las Palmas the capital of the island of Gran Canaria. In fact, it is known in full as Las Palmas de Gran Canaria and it has that dreamy feel of paradise not too far from home and a wonderful experience.

From Playa del Inglés it is just an hour by bus, buses driven as if Fernando Alonso is at the wheel, you must brace yourselves, but it is nothing like plying the swivelling helter-skelter route to Puerto de Mogan to the West of Playa del Inglés.

The English Cut

I have visited a few museums including the Christopher Columbus residences on other visits but the shopping experience at El Corte Inglés translates to English cut is quite good fun, it is big, basically the Harrods of Spain on 6 floors in 2 buildings with a major road between them.

The driver was kind enough to let me out before the Santa Catalina bus station at the long-wait traffic lights at the junction to the road that leads up to El Corte Inglés.

There is no doubt that I feel quite safe shopping there than any of the other shops down in Playa del Inglés, something about prices being in plain view without the hanky-panky of less-than-scrupulous shopkeepers give a sense of safety and security.

Stripping Spanish notepads

I was able to look for a camera and also get Miquelrius notepads which I have not obtained anywhere else, I am not a Moleskin fan at all, Miquelrius, a Spanish firm just has that right feel about them. It has saved me a trip to Barcelona again, I have wondered how to get the notepads especially when the specific type I bought in November 2007 is no more available – the pictures on the website did not convey as well as sight and touch afforded me today.

The Spaniards never expected to meet the Netherlands at the World Cup finals, they seem to have catered for country strips of all the big footballing nations as France (deplorable), Italy (disappointing), Argentina (overwhelmed), Brazil (expendable), England (unfortunate) and Germany (promising) apart from our Netherlands (excellent). Well, Spain was all over the place with every kind of brand, I just could not think of spending EUR 80- on a polo shirt.

For that slight however, I expect Spain to be punished with the relentless dominance of total football by the Netherlands tomorrow, the little shop outside El Corte Inglés was doing orange t-shirts for a pittance, it was not hard to dip my hands in my pockets for one.

Restaurants closed for a nap

Then a walk up to Santa Catalina to Le Muelle the shopping mall of affordables, if one might put it that way, and how I had forgotten that Spanish restaurants do have breaks during the late afternoons that I had to make do with a snack.

The Port of Las Palmas is quite a busy place, with heaps of containers with supplies for the whole island, though I do wonder why when translated signs are put up no one cares to consult native speakers to ensure the English signs are correct. Oh! I forgot; if the British Center (sic) was anything to go by, I have to forgive all the Spanish mistakes, now, that leaves one rather irked if those whose mother-tongue it is, fail to conform to correct usage.

With it being about 30° Celsius beyond the shade, it is no time to walk along the northern beach promenade, just viewing the city from this high level, the fourth, should suffice as I wait to catch the bus 30 back to Playa del Inglés again.

I believe I will pay another visit here before I return home in just about 11 days'.

I was asleep, I saw nothing

Motion-induced sleep

A crashing sound, a sudden jolt and I was woken up from slumber just like I was 27 years ago.

I am of the opinion that certain people never grow out of the sensation caused by rocking a child to sleep in a pram, put me in any moving vehicle and I would the king of the Land of Nod in minutes.

It was a weakness my father could not tolerate, a whack in the car and complaints that I am always falling asleep – no one considers that motion might be triggering a soporific effect – sometimes our parents never can try to understand why their children could be different.

The problem with this situation is that I have never been an eye witness to any accident in which I have been involved; I was always jolted awake to witness the effect.

The boss’ kid is a dunce

That day, I had been driven up to Agbara at the brewery for an interview as a laboratory assistant, well, it was not so much an interview, I already had the job, I was the son of the Chief Accountant, but all righteousness had to be fulfilled.

The joke was either going to be the son of the big boss was a dunce or the young boy is quite smart.

After answering questions like defining Boyle’s Law and Charles’ Law, saying a few things about pH and titration, I was introduced to the staff and asked to report for work on Monday.

Whack and bang

As we were returning home the driver ran into the back of a tow truck that was laden with a damaged car and our car was written off. It was our driver’s word against the other with the supposed witness as useless as not being there.

On returning from Las Palmas today, we went into the bus stop which has parking lots that the bus drives into and then has to reverse out before driving off.

I was already halfway into the Land of Nod when as the bus was reversing it ran into the side of another passing bus and broke two panes of glass showering some passengers with debris.

Thankfully, glass in vehicles disintegrate with some controlled order or respect, if that is the word to use; they were moved out of the bus to another, our driver had to file a report and soon we were on our way back to Playa del Inglés where I can say, I arrived safely and managed to keep awake through the whole journey – only just.

All too typically Nigerian

Assaulted on the bus

I happened on a bus journey from Shoreditch through Tower Bridge, though I have now noticed, if my journey involves more than one interchange I hail a black cab.

So, sitting down I found there wasn't much space for my thigh length but I managed all the same, the journey would only be for a few minutes. As I adjusted myself, a lady boarded the bus and chose to sit beside me as she plumbed herself down with her imitation Louis Vuitton bag hitting me in the arm.

Not a word of apology as she pulled her bag away - I would surmise low quality bags induce such poor social manners.

Hardly had she settled, her mobile phone went off in a happy-clappy gospel tone with an ear-drum shattering 80 decibels, mercifully, she answered the phone and began a conversion that could have read 120 decibels in an accent only too recognisable to those who know.

Sentence constructions only typical of Anglophone West Africa, using "locate" for find and so on, my ears ache.

Church titles a-plenty

She was going to a church meeting, where a pastor was to meet another pastor but the former had gone to pick up the apostle and the brother should help the sister get into the free parking space - well, we had a story painted to our hearing, the irritation of it all began to feel like a comedy in its delivery.

The sister apparently required counselling and had been waiting outside the church gates for almost an hour because entering the car parking space would have required a payment. Sometimes, I think people would get better help from secular therapy than spiritualists who feed voyeuristically on matters that require more determined activity than a surgical Jesus and Amen chorus.

As she conversed, another Yoruba conversation began on another phone and I thought he asked for a second name five times also at the top of his voice, oblivious of all surrounding him.

Annoyance in Diaspora

Then as I was getting off, the bravado of one portly man who was trying to getting {this should have been get as highlighted by police's comments} the attention of a lady on the bus with babe, babe, babe - un-chivalrous to the extreme - I was about the ask the lady if she was having trouble with the man.

As I get all the brickbats for this write-up, what I had witnessed was all typically Nigerian - Nigerians in London and these were not integrating themselves in such a way as to be considerate and reasonable in public, I cannot suffer this for too long - back to the black cab, at least, most of the time, the driver only speaks when he is spoken to.