Cape Town to Barcelona:
21 days on the Norwegian Sky
via the West Coast of Africa
at 25+/- Miles an Hour
Part I
The whole reason to be in South Africa in the first place was to take a cruise from Cape Town to Barcelona. Three weeks. Repositioning. $2,500.00! The deal was too good to pass up and at this point in my life the reality of slogging through both sides of Africa isn’t all that great. So we slapped down the money a year ago and in mid-May 2025 found ourselves in this part of the world. I could see no reason to go that distance without seeing something beforehand. Or at least afterwards.
I’ve written about this before, but here it is again. When I was in 7th grade, some kid brought in a pen some well-traveled relative had given him. In it, was a trans-Atlantic cruise ship floating in water. I was fascinated by it. Not so much the pen, but that someone had done this, crossed the ocean. In 8thgrade, one of the priests in the church my Catholic school was linked to spoke to us about being somewhere in the world doing mission work and telling us about time zones and how air traffic was hard on the body. In 9th grade, my family took a three-day cruise from Miami to Nassau. On our first night out, we hit a storm. I was the only one not sick. I hit the casino, gambled, won $15.00 and never told anyone I was only 15.
Perhaps that was the seed of Odysseus that was planted in me that was to grow within me for the lifetime of travel that was to come.
What the sales pitch for West Africa did no say in the summer of ’24 was how expensive it was get to South Africa, just how far it was and all the additional costs for a cruise to such exotic ports as Senegal, Ivory Coast and Sao Tome.
Nobody wanted to go. I’ve grown very accustomed to that. Finally, Steve, who doesn’t like to travel but does like cruises said Yes. And off we were.
We met in Cape Town on a rainy autumn day in May. Leaves were at full peak color and being there just felt weird. May. Mother’s Day. Fall.
We did the normal tourist stuff—Table Top, Botanical Gardens, and a bus tour to Cape Point—the southern-most point of Africa. That was cool. We also saw penguins swimming off a beach in a ritzy Cape Town neighborhood—the only penguins on the African continent.
Day 1
Cape Town, South Africa
-33° North
May 14, 2025
I always feel safe below the equator. It seems as if all the crazy stuff in the world happens in the Northern Hemisphere. If a bomb were to drop in the above the equator, there might be a fighting chance of staying alive.
The safari over (big sigh), I found myself in Cape Town, SA on the afternoon of May 9th. Steve was in the air and would not arrive until the next day. It was raining when I arrived, and was raining the morning of the next day. All of which was ok. It was a good excuse just to stay in and try to neutralize myself. I’d been way over stimulated for days, so a day of doing nothing was a good thing.
Day 3
Walvis Bay, Namibia
-22°57’ South
May 16, 2025
Namibia gets very high marks with tourists who’ve dared driving on the left side of the road. I’d spent several days in Chobe with two Dutch couples who’d just spent 2 weeks touring the country in a rental car. Vast, open spaces, sand, desert, modern, small cities, raves all around.
I have long realized that traveling via a cruise ship is no way to see a country. An island nation is ok, but not a country.
We joined a tour group off ship, visited one of the massive million+ year old sand dunes, saw salt production then headed to the lovely little city of Swakopmund. It was one of the those times that the traveler says, Where am I? Bavarian architecture, signs in Germans, wurst on the menu. It wasn’t an unpleasant place to hang for a while.
We also visited a “township.” That’s a word I learned from the years on South African apartheid. This is where the poor—always black—live. One wonders where hope lives in a place like this? How do you rise above this, get out? Is it no wonder so many people want to emigrate to 1st world countries?
That night, the sky was black and moonless. I could see the Southern Cross, the last time I’d see it before returning to the Southern Hemisphere.
Days in deep heat and intense sun knocked me out early. I suppose my body was still in recovery mode. I shut my eyes early. Tomorrow was a sea day.
I slept almost ten hours.
Day 6
Luanda, Angola
8° 50’ South
May 19, 2025
I have seen poverty in my life, and Luanda was full of it.
50% of the population is unemployed. There is no social net. People slept under palm trees, on the beach, and in tent-communities in the botanical garden.
We were at 2° latitude south, 2 degrees from the equator and it was suffocatingly hot and humid. We lucked out joining an off-shore tour. For five hours and $55.00, we were in the presence of 2 enthusiastic and knowledgeable young women were more than happy to share their country with us. Good ambassadors.
At the end of the tour, I asked Jessica, the young tour guide, to steer me to a place where I could buy some Diet Coke. She went way out of her way and became my hero of the day.
What I saw that day raised the question once again. What is it Americans think they want with our current political situation? Americans have no idea what they have. None. This is why short-term missions like the Mission of Hope are good for some people. It opens their eyes to the “other”—those who were not born into our good fortune. I don’t want to waste my energy on these people who vote against their own best interests, but, as one person told me a year ago, “If Trump wins, Americans deserve what they get.”
And they’re getting it and it ain’t over yet.
Day 8
Sas Tome
0° 20’ North
May 21, 2025
Earlier in the day, sometime between 2:00 am and 4:00 am, we crossed the equator. I was really hoping that it would be done during the day so I’d be able to experience it. Of course, I could have gotten up and waited out the passage over this imaginary line, but I didn’t. the day before, there’d been a fun thing pool side. Neptune. His consort. Dousing of water. Crossing the equator was a big deal with sailors back in the day. Everything got turned upside down. Men dressed like women; women dressed like men. Passengers kissed ugly fishes and got wet. This little ceremony was pretty tame compared the stories I’d read. God forbid a man dress like a woman in these days of lunacy.
That morning, we arrived on the small island nation of Sao Tome. (Country #107!) Equatorially hot, humid and poor. There was, about the island, a gauntlet of suffering among the people.
Hundreds of people selling almost nothing on the street. A towel on the pavement, some ginger and a few tomatoes at one place, packs of cigarettes at another. Poverty. Steve was taking photos and I glanced at a woman on the ground furious with him, ready to pelt him with a coconut. I tugged on his shirt and told him to put the phone down. No international incident needed on this trip.
Tourist infrastructure was limited and it was the only country in the world since Vietnam in 2000 that didn’t sell Diet Coke. Imagine! No Diet Coke. Not even in the supermarket.
Because of time constraints, we were not too adventurous. We had to be back on the boat by 3:00 pm and had only gotten off at 11:00.
The day was short, but that was ok. A bit of late lunch, hot tub and a nap pretty much wound down the day.
Day 10
Abidjan, Ivory Coast
May 23, 2025
I do not like to complain, but this was the singularly worst port experience I have ever had in my life. First off, cruises are no way to see a country. I’m sorry, for 8 hours in Helsinki does not really qualify as a visit. Yes, I was physically in Finland, but can hardly say I saw the even the city.
But Abidjan, Ivory Coast takes the cake. First off, it was a 20-minute ride from the port to the city, NCL, which gives nothing away for free, at least provided buses into the city. In this case, the “city” was a craft market in the middle of nowhere. Vendors were aggressive. No eye contact could be made nor any questions asked. From there, the bus continued onward to a mall, again on the fringe of the city. No one dared to go anywhere because we’d been told the city was a) dangerous and b) the traffic so bad that we’d never get back to the boat. People tried Uber and even that failed.
So here we were, sitting in the Moka café, in the capital of the Ivory Coast, checking our email. By now, we’d made friends with others on board, so we each to commiserate with.
There was no reason to linger. We got back to the boat, lay in the sun and lounged in one of the hot tubs and called it a day.
It’s highly unlikely I will ever revisit the Ivory Coast, but I least I chalked up country #108!
Day 13
Dakar, Senegal
14° 72’ North
May 26, 2025
We were on the edge of the Sahara Desert and the day was hot and dry. Gone the deep of humidity of the previous stops close to the equator. Our final African stop was Dakar, Senegal—a democracy on paper, apparently well-ordered, regularly subverted by irrational chaos. A place where I felt instantly at home.
We exited the boat, negotiated a car, driver and guide ($75.00 a person x 3. Karen, an Australian woman, joined us.) Falou, the “guide”, had a plan.
He called me “Papa,” Karen “Mommy.” Who Steve was in the mix we didn’t know. He was confident and experienced and we knew right off the bat the $225.00 was never going to be enough.
Churches and mosques. We navigated narrow streets. The Islamic holiday of Eid was approaching—the time when the Islamic world celebrates Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac to honor God—and stalls of sheep of were everywhere. “Sheep week,” I’ve called it ever since I got stuck in Kusadasi, Turkey years ago when all transportation had come to a halt. Imagine trying to move around home during the week of Thanksgiving, although the two holidays have nothing in common.
It was hot and dusty. Fine particles of sand, invisible to all of us, filtered the air. No grass grew. Gone was the verdant jungle of sub-Saharan Africa. This was travel that I enjoyed. Women carried baskets on their heads. I bought an orange from a boy selling them on the street. Karen, our companion, was quiet. At one point, Falou had the driver bring us to a market. It was a ploy. We got out of the car on a chaotic street selling all sorts of stuff that look nice but are totally useless—bolts of brilliantly patterned fabric, wholesale items for the tourist retail market. We were led up three flights of stairs. Men were busy stitching shopping bags, caftans and assorted carved African wildlife in tiny workshops. The owner was aggressive. I caved. Steve and Karen were firm. No. He’d found his sucker and it was me.
He wanted $50.00 for a tee shirt of cotton shoulder bag. I said $20.00. He scoffed. I walked away. He followed. $35.00. No. $25.00. He scoffed again. I walked away.
He followed, then thrust them in my hand in pretend disgust. Ok. $25.00. I’m sure I still paid far more than I should have
How I will get all this stuff him is still a mystery.
Teeming, hot, dry and full of noise and color… Such was Dakar. The day ended too soon. Falou had more plans, but our 4 hours was up. We demanded to be let off at a restaurant within walking distance to the pier.
“Quick,” I whispered to Karen. Get out of the taxi fast and get in the café. Steve piled out last. He’s very good at what happened next. More money. Angry words. Broken promises. Steve held firm then walked off.
Suck are things in these parts of the world.
I was energized, wanted to stay longer. I lingered at a craft market. It was prayer time and groups of men and women prayed separately. Still, Islam permeated the day. Men, finely robed and women in glorious Senegalese hajibs–the myriad colors of Africa.
I reluctantly boarded the ship. A day was not enough. I was back in air con, and in the presence of fat, white tourists.
That evening the sun set before we left port. The sky was a smoky yellow haze, sand from the Sahara muting the sharp clarity of a sunset over clean, clear skies of Namibia three weeks earlier.
That night, the ship headed far out to sea. We began rounding the bulge of Africa. The NCL Sky pushed against a stiff northern wind. Not more than a half a mile away a black freighter, almost like a ghost ship against the darkening sky, passed us going south.
The next two days were sea days and African ports had come to end.
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