It is Monday morning, early. I have been driving for 3 hours and have entered a different world from that I inhabited when I awoke. I am following the motorway from Durban northwards up the coast. Buildings, shopping malls, casinos and rush hour traffic have given way to rolling green hills peppered with small settlements and round, thatched huts. To my right, when gaps in the hills allow I catch intermittent, tantalising glimpses of the Indian ocean sparkling on the horizon. Soon the hills give way to vast Eucalyptus tree plantations which line the road for mile after mile. The motorway drops from 3, to 2, to 1 lane and finally a sign admits that it has now become merely a road. I turn off the air-con and open the window – the air is dry and hot, at least 30 degrees. It feels good. The frequency of huts and informal settlements increases rapidly and I know I must be approaching my turnoff. Sitting somewhat incongruously among them is an upmarket hotel. A sign advertises the room p...