Phew, I recognize myself in the mirror! The nightmare is almost behind me. First every hour, then every two, now only every four hours eye drops.

We book two tickets for our last trip to Robben Island via internet. Fredi drives us there. Halfway there, the traffic becomes denser and then comes to a complete standstill. Police cars everywhere. Our ferry leaves soon! After half an hour we reach the top of the traffic jam, where a small passenger car has taken on a large truck. The truck is lying on its side while the car has only lost its nose. Luckily we reach the ferry and arrange to have dinner with Costas after our three and a half hour tour.

The catamaran with the unpronounceable name "Sikhululekile" resembles a giant airplane and also has room for 300 people. We spend the next half hour sailing across the sea towards the thin strip of island on the horizon. On the front of the safety instructions (analogous to the airplane) we notice for the first time the size of the island as it presents itself from above: Big! We are curious.

After a somewhat chaotic reception, we end up after a more or less guided walk in a cell of the Plitian prison. Our guide, a former ANC member and inmate during his time here, tells us about his life. All tourists follow the explanations spellbound. I am also impressed. We then visit the cell of Nelson Mandela and the various prison areas.

The second part of the tour includes a ride across Robben Island in one of the waiting buses. A young 'Colored' tells us (somewhat rehearsed, but with the many recitations perfected) about the island and its few still living inhabitants (120 relatives and employees of the museum). We are more interested in the many cute rabbits that have found their paradise here without natural enemies - and multiply like rabbits. A penguin brings our caravan to a halt. Crosses calmly the road and on we go.

At the northernmost point of the island we are asked to get out and take the most famous vacation photo of every South Africa trip: Table Mountain from the most photographed angle in front of the black stones in the surf. But soooo beautiful... Admittedly also my photo has become what. We, that is the bus driver must hurry that we reach the last ship back to the mainland.

In the harbor, the thousands of birds on the harbor wall await us again. I am impressed once again by the sheer quantity of birds. The return trip resembles a roller coaster ride, as the weather worsened and the wind piles up high wave crests. Much to Corinne's delight at the high ups and downs. (Just wait until you're back on the plane...)

Costas pick us up on time in the port and we go together one last time fine, eat out. Because tomorrow Sunday we want to go to bed early to catch the early plane on Monday. We are good at planning. Yes, yes. At the waterfront a lonely glider sinks silently in the evening sky from Signalhill. I try not to envy the pilot. Has no thermals anyway, is only a short flight anyway and with the cloud cover no view anyway. Sniff. I don't care.