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.

Wine Country

It felt early when I woke up from a solid night of wrestling with wacky travel dreams. Susie was still sacked out with her arm over her face; so, I grabbed my journal and parked it on the bench just outside our room. It was already a hot one, sort of like a Santa Ana day in Santa Barbara without the irritating wind. From my perch at The Backpack, behind a giant wall, the city can be heard and smelled. Within my sight is more of that familiar flora: jacarandas, birds of paradise, date palms, all sorts of stuff I don't know the names of. Mostly, I'm captivated by a steamy-thick cloud creeping over Table Mountain, trailing off into the clear blue sky, like the smoke from dry ice. They call it the Table Cloth, very clever, no?


By now, it was clear to us that we were not going to have time to fit in everything we wanted to do in Cape Town. But one thing that everyone insisted was not to be missed was Stellenbosch, Cape Town's wine country. This was our plan for Monday. But I was still so sleepy after journaling and a shower that I went back inside to rest my eyes, just for a minute. Hannah's phone call wakes us at 11 o'clock and we're both shocked to find ourselves still asleep. At least we had jet lag to blame it on, plus we're fast to get out the door. Before we knew it, we were piled into Foxy and on our way to pick up Hannah's friend, Charles, my backseat buddy for the rest of the day. Once again, there was an instant, easy familiarity. I had such a great time talking with him about all that's wrong and right with this world that I missed all the scenery between the city and wine country.

Our first stop was Spier, probably the most well-known wine farm in the area. It was big, well-manicured; it was ridiculously crowded. And have I mentioned yet that it was damned hot? Neither Susie nor I were properly caffeinated, so we took care of business and waited for Seanagh and Merle to join us. Once they did, we made a quick stop at the restaurant (Moyo) to partake in the attraction where women paint white dots/flowers on the tourists' faces. I loved my face dots and the ladies who painted me thought my French pedicure was interesting. There was also a very cool display of artwork/crafts at this place. Incredibly original and beautiful stuff. It seemed like most of it was made from what we'd call trash or recycled materials. I especially loved the curtains made from plastic bottle caps. Here's where I found Bob's first wire basket, of which he is now the proud owner of an official collection (ahem, public declaration: my man did, indeed, promise me that he'd get rid of his freaky statue collection in exchange for a collection of baskets...now you all know and must hold him accountable!).

The highlight of Spier was a behind-the-scenes walk, guided by Charles. He's an interesting, hep cat who works for an eco-architect. At Spier, Charles helped build these eco-structures. The details of why they built them are leaving me (it was for an eco-convention at Spier? It was educational, anyway...see what happens when I don't write things down?). Anyway, check them out. They're amazingly cool. Built from bio-harvested eucalyptus trunks (a foreign species in South Africa, pretty much a pesty weed at this point), bamboo and cement...meant to be sustainable, and they were still standing! Don't you just want to throw a party or teach some kids about the environment in these things? They even built bathrooms.

Pretty soon, we'd all had enough of the touristy Spier; so we went in search of a smaller wine farm. We tried out Lanzerac, which looked exactly like some winery I've been to in Santa Ynez, but it was a tad formal for our crowd. So, we moved on to a more remote one called Muratie, which turned out to be the oldest privately owned wine farm in Stellenbosch. Their thing was enormous, dusty cobwebs and a gorgeous garden, which we enjoyed for quite some time (joined by a giant german shepherd named Frank Zappa).

Susie got all kinds of brave and decided to give driving on the wrong side a try. She owned it for a good fifteen minutes, along a stunning drive on the N310, until something started to go horribly wrong with the gears. Hannah took the driver's seat again and all was not lost. We had a quick drive-through tour of Pniel, where Charles grew up. I spotted several avocado trees. Charles told us that the town was where slaves, who worked in nearby mines, used to live; so, there were many fruit trees planted to provide food for themselves and their families. The town had, yet again, that familiar feel. This time, it reminded me most of residential neighborhoods in Mexico with colorfully painted homes with wrought iron over the windows, old men smoking on the front porch waving at the cars, and packs of children freely playing soccer in the streets.

I love being guided around. Charles and I are in the back seat talking conspiracies, and next thing we know we're in a little town called Franschhoek for dinner at the French Connection. This town has a Huguenot heritage and felt somewhat fancier than other places we'd been that day. Dinner was fabulous, out on a back patio. Susie even tried a bite of Seanagh's Impala steak. I thought about it, but decided to stick with my green salad and couscous with butternut (LOVE the butternut on everything, by the way).

By the time we were delivered to The Backpack at the end of the day, I was ridiculously excited. For me, the day's conversations were the catalyst to renew my hope in humanity, in happiness, in general. To travel so many thousands of miles across the world, to a continent/country enormously full of grief and conflict so unimaginable to me, and to meet people who share such similar global perspectives...well, it pretty much floored me in the best possible way. It makes me excited that people in my (and future) generations -- no matter what our educational/personal backgrounds -- are willing to consider perspectives beyond our own. We want to spread awareness of self- and community-sustainability. Somehow, there is love and hope for this life business. Maybe it's just my slow-learner syndrome, but I am humbled immeasurably by my inexperience. This simple day, this complex trip altered my perception of the human experience forever.

You know, it was sort of peculiar to come back to The Backpack all pumped up like that. Our only reasonable outlet was to play a few games of pool on the crooked, red table with the tiniest cue ball of all time. We enjoyed more vacation drinks, listened to the mosaic of accents surrounding us, and laughed at the "so five years ago" American pop music on the radio. Before going to sleep, we even remembered to set the alarm clock. We had a date to keep with Table Mountain.

Brunch, Penguins & Picnic an Easter Sunday Make

It's pretty much a trip guarantee: waking up in a strange room that first morning is a time warp. "Wait, what? Where am I? We slept till when?"

It was shaping up to be one clear, bright, hot ass day when Hannah chauffeured us back to her nearby place in Sea Point, a cute residential neighborhood where all the houses on the block have high walls around the front yards, for safety. It makes the street look very organized.

Anyway, she lives in an incredible home (with a couple, Karen and Barry - the girls, who met in grad school, are both real, live working artists) with hardwood floors, high ceilings and little kitchen garden in the back. Oh yes, and an adorable doggy whose name I've forgotten and somehow didn't take a picture of. Sticking with the "it all seems vaguely familiar" theme, the energy in the house instantly felt like we'd been coming over to visit forever. Also, Karen wore a very cool shirt covered with a brown butterfly pattern over which Susie and I were both properly envious.

Our hosts had sympathy on us weary travelers and kept pot after pot of yummy coffee a-flowing. Plus, there was an impromptu Easter Brunch in the front yard with pastries, chocolates and champagne (oh and some healthy stuff). Karen taught us her German family's tradition of knocking hard-boiled eggs together, each in turn: whoever has the last unbroken egg wins (that was Miss Susie, who I believe still owes us all a round of drinks for that victory!). We never made it back to their home after Easter, shame, but we'll remedy that next trip, eh? Here's a shot of Barry and Karen with the beautiful spread (check out over Barry's shoulder, that's the neighbor's avocado tree!).

No time to linger after eating because there were PENGUINS ON THE BEACH to track down, people! Back in to Foxy and we started making our way down the Cape (but don't ask me to point out the road we took on a map cause I won't be able to show you) towards a beach called Boulders. Well, apparently, we weren't the only ones with the brilliant idea to go for a drive on Easter Sunday; but the traffic's pace made for longer conversations and a more thorough absorption of the the scenery...which, again, was familiar yet different. The sea is there, but wilder. The rocky mountains are there, but are square. The bushes along the road are in the form of delicate pink proteas in bloom. The sky...is huge.

You know how you build something up in your mind that you run the risk of disappointment once it arrives? I can't imagine this ever happening as a visitor to South Africa. It doesn't matter what you imagine, the experiences will absorb your every moment until they bubble over and form a deep pool around your body. The place is too big, too interesting to leave any time for disappointments.

Not even when you hit the uber-tourist penguin beach on a holiday. Cause, it's penguins! On the beach! In eighty-degree African sunshine!




Now that our lives were complete with beach penguins, it was time to for more food. Hannah, a girl after my own heart, had filled Foxy's trunk with bags and coolers containing my idea of a perfect picnic: homemade hummus, fruits, cheeses, breads, wine. "Let's drive to Cock Bay and see if my friend Shawna's up for joining us." I soon learned that we, in fact, were on our way to Kalk Bay to meet her friend Seanagh. Details, details. This photo is Hannah and Susie carrying our picnic down Seanagh's street.

Kalk Bay is a small, artist community. It's a beachy town with a tiny harbor where big fish are hauled off of small boats at the end of the day. We found Seanagh and her mom, Merle (who had just arrived from England the day before, jet-laggers unite!), up for the picnic. We walked down the block, away from the holiday crowds on the sand, and found some smooth boulders where we drank our wine from Hannah Morris designer coffee mugs. The sea was pounding away a few yards ahead. The company was divine, hysterical, thoughtful, instantly familiar.

Just behind us, at the start of town, was the Harbor House (apparently once visited by Artie Shaw, which both impressed and amused me) where Hannah said we must stop for a sunset drink. This was a good call. Beautiful setting, beautiful views, beautiful time.

(Not to be forgotten, this is also where we learned the great new phrase: landing with your bum in the butter. Also, it was a quite a hot day, which made us feel a little sticky in the bum. These are the important cultural exchanges to get figured out to avoid being caught with your bum in your mouth...ok, so I just made that last one up.)

It was well after dark before we left our new friends in Kalk Bay and found our way back into the city. We found some dinner (the second night in a bizarre trend of finding only pizza to eat...this one had butternut squash on it...slurrrppp). We found ourselves at the bar in The Backpack enjoying vacation drinks, reflecting on the events of the day. Pretty soon, we found ourselves asleep in our room that no longer felt like it could be a strange place to wake up.

And so, It Begins...

Normally, I'm not a fan of our cultural tenancies to use screens (as in television) as babysitters. However, when it comes to passing nearly twenty-four hours of in-flight time, an interactive screen embedded in the seat in front of you that offers a relatively enticing array of movies, international TV shows, games, and flight information...well, it really is a stroke of genius, isn't it? Free baby-bottles of wine (no, not BABY bottles, silly) are pretty nifty, too.

Susie and I drove away from our beloved Santa Barbara in the wee hours of a Friday, arriving in Cape Town, South Africa -- bodies and luggage fully in tact, ready to begin our adventures with gusto -- just as the sun was setting on Saturday evening. Even factoring in the nine hour time difference, in Africa's favor, it really is one helluva long journey.

It's one of life's most comforting gifts to be met by an enthusiastically waving friend of a friend upon landing on another continent. Hannah gathered us into her stylish, protective wings, piled us into Foxy (her 1989 VW), and drove us on the wrong side of the roads into Cape Town straight to The Backpack. We threw our bags into the room (named Simba), brushed our grubby teeth and set out to Obs (the Observatory neighborhood) for dinner at Ganesh, a restaurant serving real South African food, says Hannah. Alas, we managed to arrive the night before Easter, which translates into a long vacation weekend for practically the entire country, including the good folks at Ganesh.

No worries, there was an open pizza joint around the corner. Authentic South African pizza.

You know, there's something about South Africa that I found assuringly familiar (no, it wasn't the pizza cause it was different...and better, quite frankly). Usually, when I travel, I'm constantly freezing in my tracks declaring another moment of deja-vu. That didn't happen to me in South Africa, not even once. Still, with every drive we took, with every friend we made, it was all familiar. And good.

It's not particularly safe to be out and about at night in Cape Town. Cars are at risk for being broken into, stolen. There is a system in place -- sometimes more official than others, depending on where you are -- where men wearing identifying florescent-yellow vests mill around the streets making sure nobody bothers the vehicles. In return, drivers are expected to tip the guards, usually something in the range of a dollar or less.

After pizza, we were followed back to Foxy by a man, slightly wobbling, who clearly had fashioned his own guard vest out of some sort of foam-like material and string. He was friendly enough, chatted us up and kept a non-threatening distance. Hannah gave him a few coins, honoring his presence graciously, and informed us with a giggle that he must have been the most unofficial car watcher she'd ever encountered.

We parted ways with Hannah with plans to meet up in the morning for a drive; we wanted to be big ol' tourists and see the penguins on the beach. Susie and I drifted easily into sleep, thankful The Backpack didn't include a television screen in our room.

Landing with My Bum in the Butter

Just returned from a practically indescribably wonderful (though I'm going to try!) two weeks journey in South Africa. It ranged from Cape Town to the coastal Garden Route to remote a farm to a private game safari. We met interesting, beautiful, like-minded people along the way who helped renew my sense of hope in our species as a whole. I'm so grateful that my life includes opportunities to travel across the world and experience, first-hand, those much needed reminders that this life we live is so much more than the six o'clock news on a forty-two inch plasma.

Here's me with some rhinos we happened upon, spooning, one morning. Stay tuned for more entries about the trip.