Cape Town, Day 1
I left Maine on Saturday September 7th, early in the morning. I’d spent a week with my family up in Bethel , but I was ready to begin this next adventure. It’d been too long since I’d left the country, hell, it’d been too long since I’d left the state. I wasn’t looking forward to the long day of travel ahead of me but it would be worth it once I arrived, I was sure.
I had a full day of travel, subjectively, most of it spent on the single transatlantic flight from New York to Johannesburg, called Jo-burg by everyone here I later learned. It was 15 hours on the plane going through something like 22 hours of subjective time. I finally had a chance to catch up on a couple of movies I’d missed during the past year, as well as try and grab some sleep. It was hard though, because of both the coffee I’d had earlier on the flight and because of the excitement slowly building.
All through the previous weeks and months of preparation, I’d held off feeling excited about this new trip. I had a list of things to do and another list of things to bring and I went about my life ticking things off of both, letting the slowly approaching travel date simmer in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to jinx things somehow, or build it up to something that could only disappoint upon arrival. But now, with the Atlantic flying below me beneath the too-quickly setting sun the full brunt of my decision hit home and I was once again in the grips of anticipation, waiting to get that first full breath of a strange place’s air.
We arrived in Johannesburg at 10 in the morning, although it felt more like two or three to me. Watching the ground slowly approach I was struck by the color of it all, a dusty tan and orange that, of all the possibilities seemed like it fit the idea of Africa most perfectly. It reminded me of the approaches I’d had into Denver or Las Vegas, but the shape of the land, the pitch of the buildings, the movement of the cars on the roads all served to emphasize the differences. I was landing on a continent half a world away from anywhere I’d been before.
It was a mostly uneventful transfer in Johannesburg, although rechecking my luggage for my final leg to Cape Town turned out to be more of a hassle than originally anticipated. Apparently the conveyers from the rechecking stations were broken and I had to go up to the ticketing check in to get them back on the plane. While I was waiting in the line I had my first real chance to observe the people around me, the mélange of different colors, shapes and languages that was my first introduction to people in this country.
The flight to Cape Town went quickly, and although exhausted and missing sleep more than I think I would have five or even three years ago, I made it through customs and regained my luggage with little difficulty. I met with Hayley on the other side of security and I was off into the city. She had rented a car for this first couple of days of my trip, and it was fascinating to me, perhaps influenced by my sleep-deprived state, to watch the manual transmission in action on the other side of the car. We left the airport, merging into the hectic city traffic and began to drive back to the flat which would be home for the next two and half months. The cars zooming around us moved much faster, it seemed, and more erratically than back in the States, although not, perhaps, as haphazard as in Thailand or the more rural areas of China.
It was a relatively short drive, and after too little time to nap I found myself standing outside the flat. It’s a two level building, although from the street you would only guess one. The upper rooms were being used by first the owners of the building, then once they left on holiday to German by Angelo who would be minding things for them while they were away, it was explained to me. Before approaching, however, we first needed to unlock the heavy green metal fence around the property. I watched as Hayley pulled out a ring of keys and demonstrated how first the metal gate, then the side wood door leading down the steep shaded stairs to the back yard. The keys themselves, aside from the first gate key, were like something from a period drama, with odd looking heads and long thin shafts, all held together on a heavy ring. After dragging my luggage down the steps and locking both gates behind us I waited as Hayley then unlocked the front door of our rooms. It was another heavy wooden door, although not as difficult to open as the stair gate, after which I was confronted by a final door of metal bars. I looked around and noticed matching bars on all the windows on ours and the surrounding buildings. Seeing my observation, Hayley remarked that one way to know if we were in a good neighborhood was if there were bars on the windows or gates outside the houses. It was only when the properties were ungated that we had to really start to worry.
My observations were quickly arrested, however, by the view from the yard itself. There, silhouetted against the blue sky was Table Mountain, large as anything. The peak known as Devil’s Peak was closest, followed by the rest of the mountain trailing away into the distance. My companion showed me around the flat, while small by her and her husband’s standards, I couldn’t help but feel that it was palatial compared to my current accommodations back in Portland. The kitchen/dining area alone was larger than three quarters of my whole apartment. The room I would be staying in was the living room by day, sleeping room by night, while Hayley would be next door in the proper bedroom. There was also a spacious bath with both a tub and a shower, the height of luxury. And the first shower after my trip felt luxurious, cool water notwithstanding. After I remarked on it Hayley told me that power was still at a premium here, as well as water, and the hot water heater was turned on for a few hours in the morning and again in the evening only.
After the bracing shower, however, I felt ready to go out and see the city, my weariness for the moment washed away. After a brief discussion we found directions to a upscale pizza place near the ocean and set out in the car. I was given the task of navigating, although how good I job I did verses how lucky I ended up being I couldn’t really tell you. The terrain itself was slightly intimidating to someone who was used to moving at the speed of my own two feet. The streets, barring the major highways were cramped and busy, with traffic moving in unpredictable patterns. The city is bisected by Table Mountain, leading to a tiered feel, weaving up to the kloof (the Afrikaans word for valley) between Table Mountain itself on one side and Lion’s Head and Signal Mountain on the other. On the one side is the city proper, spilling out into the valley and out to the plains below, on the other side a thin strip of land crowded with shops and restaurants and some houses and then beaches and the ocean.
We found the restaurant with only a little trouble, and the meal was delicious to a hungry traveller like myself. Afterwards we walked along the shore, as I asked after Hayley’s time that she’d already spent here and what the plan would be in the ensuing days and weeks and months. Mostly though, I was breathing deeply of the salt air and watching the sun slowly sink behind the ocean, a sight I hadn’t seen in far too long. At one point I walked to the surf and stuck my hand into the foaming Atlantic. It was hard to believe that not a week previous I had walked on the other side. Truly a new, fascinating adventure was beginning and I could only imagine how sweet this one would taste.
I had a full day of travel, subjectively, most of it spent on the single transatlantic flight from New York to Johannesburg, called Jo-burg by everyone here I later learned. It was 15 hours on the plane going through something like 22 hours of subjective time. I finally had a chance to catch up on a couple of movies I’d missed during the past year, as well as try and grab some sleep. It was hard though, because of both the coffee I’d had earlier on the flight and because of the excitement slowly building.
All through the previous weeks and months of preparation, I’d held off feeling excited about this new trip. I had a list of things to do and another list of things to bring and I went about my life ticking things off of both, letting the slowly approaching travel date simmer in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to jinx things somehow, or build it up to something that could only disappoint upon arrival. But now, with the Atlantic flying below me beneath the too-quickly setting sun the full brunt of my decision hit home and I was once again in the grips of anticipation, waiting to get that first full breath of a strange place’s air.
We arrived in Johannesburg at 10 in the morning, although it felt more like two or three to me. Watching the ground slowly approach I was struck by the color of it all, a dusty tan and orange that, of all the possibilities seemed like it fit the idea of Africa most perfectly. It reminded me of the approaches I’d had into Denver or Las Vegas, but the shape of the land, the pitch of the buildings, the movement of the cars on the roads all served to emphasize the differences. I was landing on a continent half a world away from anywhere I’d been before.
It was a mostly uneventful transfer in Johannesburg, although rechecking my luggage for my final leg to Cape Town turned out to be more of a hassle than originally anticipated. Apparently the conveyers from the rechecking stations were broken and I had to go up to the ticketing check in to get them back on the plane. While I was waiting in the line I had my first real chance to observe the people around me, the mélange of different colors, shapes and languages that was my first introduction to people in this country.
The flight to Cape Town went quickly, and although exhausted and missing sleep more than I think I would have five or even three years ago, I made it through customs and regained my luggage with little difficulty. I met with Hayley on the other side of security and I was off into the city. She had rented a car for this first couple of days of my trip, and it was fascinating to me, perhaps influenced by my sleep-deprived state, to watch the manual transmission in action on the other side of the car. We left the airport, merging into the hectic city traffic and began to drive back to the flat which would be home for the next two and half months. The cars zooming around us moved much faster, it seemed, and more erratically than back in the States, although not, perhaps, as haphazard as in Thailand or the more rural areas of China.
It was a relatively short drive, and after too little time to nap I found myself standing outside the flat. It’s a two level building, although from the street you would only guess one. The upper rooms were being used by first the owners of the building, then once they left on holiday to German by Angelo who would be minding things for them while they were away, it was explained to me. Before approaching, however, we first needed to unlock the heavy green metal fence around the property. I watched as Hayley pulled out a ring of keys and demonstrated how first the metal gate, then the side wood door leading down the steep shaded stairs to the back yard. The keys themselves, aside from the first gate key, were like something from a period drama, with odd looking heads and long thin shafts, all held together on a heavy ring. After dragging my luggage down the steps and locking both gates behind us I waited as Hayley then unlocked the front door of our rooms. It was another heavy wooden door, although not as difficult to open as the stair gate, after which I was confronted by a final door of metal bars. I looked around and noticed matching bars on all the windows on ours and the surrounding buildings. Seeing my observation, Hayley remarked that one way to know if we were in a good neighborhood was if there were bars on the windows or gates outside the houses. It was only when the properties were ungated that we had to really start to worry.
My observations were quickly arrested, however, by the view from the yard itself. There, silhouetted against the blue sky was Table Mountain, large as anything. The peak known as Devil’s Peak was closest, followed by the rest of the mountain trailing away into the distance. My companion showed me around the flat, while small by her and her husband’s standards, I couldn’t help but feel that it was palatial compared to my current accommodations back in Portland. The kitchen/dining area alone was larger than three quarters of my whole apartment. The room I would be staying in was the living room by day, sleeping room by night, while Hayley would be next door in the proper bedroom. There was also a spacious bath with both a tub and a shower, the height of luxury. And the first shower after my trip felt luxurious, cool water notwithstanding. After I remarked on it Hayley told me that power was still at a premium here, as well as water, and the hot water heater was turned on for a few hours in the morning and again in the evening only.
After the bracing shower, however, I felt ready to go out and see the city, my weariness for the moment washed away. After a brief discussion we found directions to a upscale pizza place near the ocean and set out in the car. I was given the task of navigating, although how good I job I did verses how lucky I ended up being I couldn’t really tell you. The terrain itself was slightly intimidating to someone who was used to moving at the speed of my own two feet. The streets, barring the major highways were cramped and busy, with traffic moving in unpredictable patterns. The city is bisected by Table Mountain, leading to a tiered feel, weaving up to the kloof (the Afrikaans word for valley) between Table Mountain itself on one side and Lion’s Head and Signal Mountain on the other. On the one side is the city proper, spilling out into the valley and out to the plains below, on the other side a thin strip of land crowded with shops and restaurants and some houses and then beaches and the ocean.
We found the restaurant with only a little trouble, and the meal was delicious to a hungry traveller like myself. Afterwards we walked along the shore, as I asked after Hayley’s time that she’d already spent here and what the plan would be in the ensuing days and weeks and months. Mostly though, I was breathing deeply of the salt air and watching the sun slowly sink behind the ocean, a sight I hadn’t seen in far too long. At one point I walked to the surf and stuck my hand into the foaming Atlantic. It was hard to believe that not a week previous I had walked on the other side. Truly a new, fascinating adventure was beginning and I could only imagine how sweet this one would taste.