This trip stems from a promise that El (my better half) and I had made to ourselves - when her exams were over we would take off for a while, travel the world, have a little fun. The aim was to do a wide variety of stuff – some touristy things, some mountains, see some friends and family. Most of this journal dates from notes I took in the evening - I have allowed hindsight to creep in in some places though...

Another early start – 6AM – why do all buses have to leave so early in Africa? We regret leaving Botswana so soon as we feel there is more to see. At the end of our trip, time is running out.

More delays at the border crossing, due to power failure taking the computers down and rude people pushing in this time. The bus heads into rural South Africa, big farms and more corrugated iron shacks, poor looking black people milling around white owned groceries. Not much evidence of change here either, as far as one can tell from the window of a bus. El notes that it looks like films of the US in the sixties.

We get a brief look at Jo'burg as we go in and out on buses – a big city feel, skyscrapers, lots of concrete and traffic. We'd elected not to stay in Jo'burg as everything we had heard or read said that we wouldn't be able to walk around and would have to get bused in and out of malls. No thanks.

We also get a long look at Pretoria train station (or what's left of it after exasperated commuters burnt down the listed building a little while back) as we wait an hour for our pick up. The hostel is nicely equiped, even if the managers are a bit sullen. We use and abuse the bath tub, after what feels like months since our last bath.

It's Saturday night so we experience a bit of Pretoria night life when we head out for some food. The restaurant is rugby themed but the food is good. Bizarrely, as we're waiting for our order a yellow mini with a black stripe pulls up with smoke pouring out of it. Three guys jump out of the car and sprint towards the bar for a bucket of water which they pour into the bonnet of the car. It seems that the car has more or less spontaneously combusted, cause unknown. Nobody is hurt but the driver has inhaled fumes and is given milk to drink.

While we're having breakfast, a couple of solitary travellers hear us talking French and come over to say hello. They don't fancy exploring Pretoria on their own, so ask if they can come with us. The Flemish guy, Nick has got an interesting story to tell. He's a geographer, and has been studying white poverty in South Africa at Bloemfontein University. Not a politically correct or widely understood issue, and not on the same scale as black poverty, but interesting to hear about nevertheless.

We cover the whole of Pretoria on foot, highlights being the Union Buildings, the Cultural Museum. Lowlights include the pap for lunch (although El enjoyed hers) and the amount of rubbish in the parks. There are few white people in the city centre, and even fewer walking around. Not that many police either, unlike Cape Town. The city centre is very small and immediately outside turns into large tower blocks, also with a lot of litter around. One piece of graffiti reads 'beware drug dealers' but it's Sunday afternoon so we don't see any of that. Still it's a dispiriting kind of place with an atmosphere that is not particularly friendly. The two guys with us seem to be of the same opinion as they are not keen to be separated from us. Back at the hostel for the evening, we play with another friendly Boer Bull, clearly a breed that belies its name.

Erasmus, our guide for the day, arrives at 9:00 and we set off on the drive north to Mthalupaland province. It's quite a distance – we talk about Ndebele history and oppression on the way. One detail that seems to have rankled with Erasmus is the habit of the Afrikaners, when they were unable to pronounce the Ndebele names, of giving them 'christian names', hence Erasmus. In general though, the message of reconciliation is still strong. At one point he states

'I cannot go to a white person and say your father is rich, mine is poor, give me a loan – we have to look to the future.'

Another long drive past burnt wheat fields and then more cattle as we approach KwaNdebele. New government housing is being built – identikit houses, most with the toilet outside, but still a vast improvement on what they are replacing. Interestingly, the king of the Ndebele still occupies a position of some power and is a rather rich man. Wife number one is a Swazi royal princess, wife number two is an MP.

The focus of the next section is the Ndebele art; we go to the homes of two artists and one cultural foundation. The painting is geometrical and colourful, painted entirely freehand, with the designs being essentially at the discretion of the artist. One of the local artists, Esther Mpalunga, has achieved some notoriety, decorating a BMW for the New York MOMA, and showing her work in a number of countries worldwide. Erasmus' mother is also an artist of repute, the village church, painted under her direction, is particularly stylish. As well as the paintings, there is quite a bit of bead work for sale. We settle for a couple of Ndebele egg cups and El gets a disused weaver's nest from Esther's garden.

We pass through the student area of Pretoria, Hatfield on the way back, to my mind the only place we saw in Pretoria with a bit of life in it. Somewhat selfishly I refuse to walk to a shop in town to buy a Zulu hat – too knackered. Frustatingly for El she can't go on her own, it's just not safe.

Heavy traffic on the way to the airport means no Zulu hat for El. None at Durban airport either. Fortunately for me, fate intervenes to give us an extra shopping day.

We wait for my parents by arrivals. 12:20 and several flights come and go, but no parents. I reread the paper with their itinerary a little more carefully and discover that they leave on 2 September but arrive on 3 September. Arse – we're at the airport a day early. The silver lining to the cloud is that it gives us the afternoon in Durban. On the bus into town a Durban resident coming back home after a year travelling describes Durban as fifteen years behind Cape Town. It certainly looks more like Dar es Salaam than anywhere else we have been in South Africa.

The town has a slightly rundown, seedy air, as does our hostel, resembling an open prison or a mental asylum for mildly dangerous inmates, with its bars, peeling brightly coloured paint and tiny rooms. The hostel is next to 'Sonia's executive massage and escort services' and we fear for the worst as three out of the first four people we meet caution us against walking at night and carrying valuables in the day. In any case we only have time for a look round a mall in an old factory building and a little bit of the centre. The street markets start packing up from 16:00, which is perhaps a sign. We do get time to get a bright red Zulu hat – El's last shopping mission for the trip accomplished, we can now return with dignity.

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