26. In-Between Journeys

I have always loved exploring new places and meeting new people. Growing up in a multicultural environment fostered my deep curiosity about different ways of life. In my early twenties, I wholeheartedly embraced the “YOLO” (You Only Live Once) mindset, which fueled my desire to experience the world firsthand. 

Fortunately, family connections also gave me the perfect opportunity to spread my wings and discover my roots. While I was in Germany, I realized I was just a stone’s throw from Switzerland, so on a whim, I decided to cross the border and visit some of our extended Swiss relatives.

I hitched a high-speed ride on the autobahn straight to Zurich, spending the night on a bench near the station. The next day, I set out to find 'Aunty Agnes'—a relative my mother was named after, though the exact relation was fuzzy. Armed with her address, I showed up unannounced on her doorstep on the western shores of Lake Zurich. She warmly welcomed me in, and we spent a couple of hours over coffee and cake swapping family stories before I headed back into the city.

I took a train to Bern and checked into a youth hostel, hoping to visit ‘Sahli,” the Lanz family farm near Kleindietwil where my maternal grandmother, Hannah, had her roots. The picture above was taken in 1890 with her father's family in front of the family home. In town, I managed to cross paths with Uncle Fritz. Despite his limited English and my German, we struck up a conversation. He warmly invited me to stay the night and the next morning, we visited the farm together.

My great-grandfather, Johan Lanz, had immigrated to South Africa and eventually became the storekeeper on Robben Island back when it served as a leper colony - long before it became the infamous political prison where Nelson Mandela was incarcerated for 27 years. Johan and his wife, Barbara, raised a large family on the island, including my grandmother Hannah. Once the children finished school, most returned to the family farm in Switzerland for a year to complete either military service or finishing school. It was during this time that Hannah trained to become an expert seamstress. When the family eventually left Robben Island, they moved to a home on Piers Road in Wynberg. They named their new house “Sahli” - a clear tribute to the Swiss farm that remained a cornerstone of their identity and roots. 

The original farmstead was large and showed its age, featuring a traditional split layout: one side for the family and the other for livestock and fodder. During my stay, I enjoyed Bircher muesli made with warm, freshly milked cow's milk.  It was intriguing seeing the cows lined up with their tails tied high ready to be milked. The Lanz family members living in the house were actively engaged in farm chores and I didn’t see much of them, though they acknowledged the South African connection. I spent the evening with Uncle Fritz, who proudly showed me his private pistol-shooting range in his basement. 

On another occasion, a group from the Victoria-Linden rugby club invited me to join them on a trip to Kiel, a port city on Germany’s Baltic coast. We stayed at the home of one of their friends. Ten of us comfortably found places to sleep, played cards, and swam in the heated indoor pool. The following day, I decided to head further north by bus and ferry to Copenhagen. In those days, South Africans could cross European borders without any trouble. My plan was to visit one of my university professors, Dr. Conrad Consalvi, who was then lecturing in Copenhagen. However, he was out of town, so I took a ferry across the Baltic Sea to the port of Malmö in Sweden instead. While I didn’t have much time to explore, I thoroughly enjoyed the ferry ride and the coastal scenery, chatting with other students along the way. After a full day of traveling, I rejoined the group in Kiel. One of the couples then gave me a lift back to Hanover, with an overnight stay at their place along the route.

By February 1971, I was ready to head home to Cape Town, but I wanted one last adventure first. I traveled to Berlin and stayed in a vibrant youth hostel full of students. The next morning, I caught a train from Friedrichstraße station—where the famous Tränenpalast (Palace of Tears) Border Crossing stood—to cross into East Berlin. My passport was briefly taken and returned with a polite "Welcome to East Berlin!" but no other questions. I barely remember if it was even stamped, which, on reflection, could have caused me major trouble back in South Africa.

The morning was quiet. A few young people approached to exchange currency, but as usual, my pockets were nearly empty. I wandered through an unmemorable museum, felt a lingering sense of being watched, and quickly decided there wasn't much to see. 

I retraced my steps back to West Berlin, blissfully unaware of the severe geopolitical rift between the two sides. I just knew one side felt lively and the other did not. 

After booking my flight to South Africa, I decided to take the scenic route through Basel, spending the night at a hostel in the Black Forest (Schwarzwald). Along the way, I caught up with Paul—an acquaintance I’d met in Berlin—over coffee. I then made my way to Luxembourg to board my flight to Johannesburg. Arriving in the City of Gold, I hopped on a bus to the train station. That two-day journey gave me the perfect opportunity to reflect on the trip and contemplate my next steps.