If It's Tuesday, It Must Be Cape Town

We started off early, or so we thought, by waking up somewhere after 7am. A quick peek out of the drawn curtain proved that Table Mountain was clear of its Cloth and, thus, a fine day for a hike. Suddenly, the rush to get going passed. Susie and I sleepily pulled on our identical orange, Smartwool ankle socks and slathered on the sunscreen. Then leisurely made our way to The Backpack cafe, where only hours before we'd enjoyed a nightcap, to order breakfast. Eventually, we asked the front desk to call us a cab. By now, it was nice toasty outside, but at least our water bottles were full.

Just as so many did before him, the cab driver assured us that the climb up Table Mountain was "easy" and should take two and a half hours, perhaps another hour to get back down. He had done it a few times and it was a beautiful, clear day for it. Still, Susie and I had developed a quick back up plan (in interest of saving time) to ride the cable car to the top of the mountain, take in the views and quickly walk back down the trail. I love a good plan.

Upon arrival at the cable car station, we learned that the queue of people was because the cars weren't running this morning: too windy. No worries, we'll just hike it instead. The nice uniformed men sent us down a smoothly paved road, assuring us we'd find the trail head in just a few minutes. The walk to the trail head is simply stunning. Cape Town is sprawled out in front of you, beneath hills of grasses dotted with more and more proteas. The Atlantic Ocean is sparkling happily. Table Mountain, with its flat, gray and red stones, looms behind you.

Ten minutes later, we come across a small shack. Inside, another attendant assures us with an entirely new time frame, "No problem. Under two hours to the top, maybe forty minutes back down."

I found it hard to take this man's word. It looked to me as though he'd never hiked in his life. But he was happy enough, smiling a generous toothless smile, with a day's worth of food stored in little tubs tucked beneath his seat (the only furniture in the room). Fair enough. It's his job to encourage tourists such as ourselves. We thanked him and hit the Platteklip (flat rock) trail.

Oh. Shit. Rita's in trouble already.

This is no ordinary trail, people. This is stairs carved out of rocks and, often, held in place by thick, wire mesh. Normally, I can fake my pathetic out-of-shapedness and get through any old day hike. This is because, normally, there tend to be flat spots, downhill zones, or silly little things like SHADE. But this is Africa. Table Mountain and its infinite stairs offered only blazing sunshine with a steady incline at about fifteen inches per step.

Ouch.

I tried, though, I really gave it the old college try. Susie was my champion, coaching me up that mountain. She helped me channel Spearhead songs, she distracted me with stories of her own hiking mishaps. She assured me it wasn't a bad thing that senior citizens and tiny children were passing us at a steady rate. I had the ultimate cheerleader This tactic actually worked for a little while. I took frequent breaks, was a reckless water drinker; I truly wanted to conquer that mountain and catch the awesome views. It was a perfectly clear morning and I could do this thing for Susie, dammit!

I think we were at it for over an hour when I got wobbly, reporting nausea and lightheadedness. The Stairmaster Challenge proved to be too much. At this point, former Outward Bound leader Susie decided to call it by turning me around and pointing me back from whence we came. All the way I'm blubbering at her, declaring how my love for my friend is growing until my heart bursts. Still, my delirium couldn't keep me from filling my pockets with little Table Mountain rocks. "Souvenirs, Susie, these are gifts," I exclaimed as she urged me to stop weighing myself down.

By the time we reached the bottom, our guard friend was outside smoking a cigarette. "Already you are finished?" He couldn't believe it. Honestly, I don't recall whether or not we confessed our failed attempt. But, I'd like to believe he's telling the story, right now, of those two badass American women who made the round trip under ninety minutes.

Susie fed me a Cliff Bar while I sat on the curb recovering. The nausea had subsided but things still weren't quite right. I was conquered by Table Mountain that day. Assuring me that we'd merely started too late for such a hot day, Susie blazed on ahead of me, full of steam. Eventually, I caught up at the cable car station, which was now up and running with a four hour queue for a turn to ride to the top.

A wild cab ride later (in a red, London style cab with a loud television that we shared with four other people along the way), we found ourselves at The Backpack again. It wasn't even noon.

A brief, but necessary, rest period followed by a cold shower and I'm feeling like a new woman. Table Mountain, who? We made plans to meet up with Hannah, who had to work most of the day, in the late afternoon. She recommended we try a restaurant called Royale for lunch; so, we did. It was literally a two block walk away on Long Street. This is the trendy spot for young tourists in Cape Town, and it's somewhat obvious once you're there. Sort of crowded and a little messier, funkier. All the travel books recommend that you avoid booking your lodging there if what you are after is a good night's sleep.

However, Long Street also comes with Royale and their plethora of truly impressive, truly unique vegetarian burgers. Susie ordered a falafel version and mine had grilled veggies/tofu with spicy peanut sauce...and more, precious green salad! The burgers each received our five star rating. Plus, what a great hippy atmosphere. The walls on the ground floor are decorated with random hats hanging on the wall; upstairs has a groovy night scene with a collection of wooden instruments covering one wall. This is also where we began our espresso with lunch ritual. It sure does help a weary traveler get through a day.

Once perfectly satiated by Royale, we set off in search of a cultural experience. Since we had earlier realized we were so short on time in Cape Town, we concluded there was no time to visit Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was held) or to go on a township tour. However, both Hannah and Charles recommended the District Six Museum as an off the beaten path alternative.

That was our only afternoon on our own in Cape Town. I'm an admitted failure when it comes to navigating in new cities, and my paranoia about looking at a map while standing on the sidewalk challenged us (this was more travel book advice, better safe than sorry, right?). It was fun, though, sort of wandering around -- with purpose -- in what appeared to be a financial district. We cursed the cable cars running at Table Mountain above us, ducking into buildings here and there to check the map. Susie is truly a rock star when it comes to reading maps, though, and she got us to the museum before too long. If we made any wrong turns, I sure didn't know it.

District Six was a coloured part of Cape Town for many years. It was a very vibrant and active area known for being a jazz hotspot. As apartheid began to take hold, the powers that be declared the area to be a "white" zone. By February 1966, they began to systematically, forcibly remove the 60,000 residents from District Six. This amounted to leveling all the buildings, even if people were still living inside, in order to drive them out. It took over a decade before the area was truly abandoned; street children lingered. Only churches and mosques still stand today. The area has yet to be rebuilt. http://www.districtsix.co.za/aboutus.htm

The District Six Museum is one big room with a wrap around second floor looking down upon the ground floor. It contains well-organized artifacts, rubble, personal effects of people who lived in the area; the displays are quite creative and thoughtfully assembled. There are all sorts of newspaper clipping, audio interviews, and photographs from former residents. The museum houses many of the street signs from District Six because the person assigned to disposing them into the bay, in fact, did not follow orders.

This may have been our most "real" experience of the entire trip. The rest of the time, we were really just having a vacation. But this reminded us of the injustice so many South Africans have endured. It reminded us that the grief period following the end of apartheid is still very, very current in the country's -- in our -- history. It overwhelmed me as I gazed down from the second level at the large map, covering the entire ground floor of the museum. It overwhelms me now, to remember. It overwhelms me, too, the beautiful, peaceful power that comes in honoring those who have suffered because of someone else's incredulous rules. It overwhelms me, still, the human ability to continue to hope for brotherhood, for forgiveness and healing.

We left the museum because they made us; it was closing time. After a brief moment of thinking we might not be walking in the right direction, we found ourselves at the edges of the Green Market via a corner of The Botanic Gardens. At this moment, Hannah called to rescue us from the tourist trap. On our way to meet her, we quickly cruised the market (I did some power shopping, including a little successful bartering, which pleased me) and nearly caused an accident when we followed some jaywalkers across the street.

It felt relaxing to be back in Foxy with Hannah leading the way to beer at the Victoria & Albert Waterfront...from one tourist trap to the next! The beer place was Belgian, the Ben Anker Bar & Restaurant, with sweeping views of the water and Table Mountain. Hannah's friend, Michael, met us there; we were also joined by Seanagh and Merle. I had to confess my miserable failure to reach the top of the mountain; everyone was surprised but agreed it was such a hot day, after all. It's good to have friends.

By the end of my beer tastings, which included samples of their five Belgian beers on tap, I started asking our friends to share Afrikaans slang and curse words, since bum in the butter was such a success a few nights prior. This has long been one of my favorite (and most fun) ways of getting to know people from another culture. This launched us into hysterics while Susie filled a page and a half with various terms like snogging and trollied.

At this point, we were getting somewhat trollied. And since none of us had anyone around to snog, we decided to re-group for dinner at Ganesh. Unlike our previous try on Saturday, the restaurant was open, and thank goodness for that! Somehow, this is the only picture I have from Ganesh: their menu. Charles joined us for dinner, too. I drank bottles of Windheok beer (pronounced something like vint-hoke, it's from Zimbabwe) and ordered falafel. Seanagh kept Susie's wine glass full the whole time (she ordered Pap & Veg and I'm still jealous). Basically, dinner at Ganesh was a long, slow blur of laughter, fun and Soul Food.

My spirit was so lifted by our few days in Cape Town; it was hard to believe that was our last night already. We said goodbye to our wonderful new South African family with heartfelt promises to return and enthusiastic invitations to visit us in Santa Barbara someday soon. Creatures of habit, Susie and I rounded out the day with a few rounds of pool at The Backpack. We returned to our room, excited for the next stage of our adventure to begin with the rental car delivery, first thing in the morning.