Thanks to Ian Reinders, our tour guide in Cape Town, we kept to our schedule, somewhat. Ian had our whole day laid out for us. Early start down the coast, lunch in Simon’s Town, see the penguins and head to Cape Point.
But you know about the best laid plans, right? When they coined that phrase, they had us – three women with very Jamaican sensibilities — in mind. I mean, we are on holiday, yah? So no need to rush, man!
And there was something to see around almost every bend. Ian was a good sport, though, he’d nudge, he’d cajole but there were three of us against one of him – no contest. It was hardest for him to get us away from vendors. Especially Judith, the shopper, who in true Libra fashion, would get so dazzled by everything she saw, could not make up her mind about anything.
We arrived in Simon’s Town just at the time we would have had lunch – if we had kept our original schedule. A quaint town, it reminded me of English seaside towns I’ve seen in pictures. The buildings look like those I used to see lining the square in small towns in Jamaica when I was growing up. (That one in the middle reminds me of the old Doric Theatre in my town.)
We were undecided about whether to go to Cape Point that Sunday, as Ian suggested, but now I can’t remember why.
On a map of Cape Town, Ian showed us the route he had outlined for us to take from the city to the Cape of Good Hope, the south westernmost point of the continent. We would be passing through Camps Bay, Hout Bay, Chapman’s Peak Drive, Simon’s Town and Cape Point. A scenic route, that took us west to east and down to the Cape of Good Hope.
We stopped at each place and took photo after photo.
Camps Bay, with it’s stunning vistas, is home to Cape Town’s affluent. No surprise here.
Camps BayView of the bayCamps BayTable Mountain’s tablecloth seen from Camps BayBeautiful!Tablecloth
By the time we got to Chapman’s Peak and looked at Hout Bay, the clouds had begun rolling in.
Clouds rolling in on Hout Bay (seen from Chapman’s Peak)
It was a hauntingly beautiful sight….
More clouds on Hout Bay
Between the colorful striations in the rocks along Chapman’s Peak Drive and this interesting canopy above, we were thankful that Ian was behind the wheel as we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the view.
After being on a schedule for more than a week, we had welcomed a free day to do whatever we wanted in a leisurely way. The good thing about being on a schedule is that we got things done. The bad thing is that once we get off the schedule we became so lax about time, we almost got nothing done.
Today was no different. We slept late, hung around the apartment until near lunchtime then we spent more time than we should have in the African store. Only our stomachs forced us to leave – and caused us to change plans: now it was lunch at Mama Africa, then shopping at Green Market Square after.
Mama Africa, Cape Town
Seeing the sign to Mama Africa made us feel like we had discovered an oasis in the desert. We quickened our steps and arrived to its door before we realized it wasn’t open. We could taste our disappointment. Luckily, Cape to Cuba, another restaurant was opened so we went there instead.
Cape to Cuba
Cape to Cuba felt tropical and inviting. Located on the second floor of a three storey building, it opens out to a small balcony with a few tables and chairs. The décor is an interesting mix of Spanish Gothic, beautiful tiles, glass chandeliers, palm trees, murals, the Cuban flag and photos of American celebrities in 1950’s Havana. The wait staff wore Che Guevara’s signature beret and shirts with the Havana Club (Cuban rum) logo. Seeing such an open celebration of Cuba outside of Cuba was surprising until I remembered that the embargo in place against that nation is a U.S.-only construct.
They had probably just opened as, except for a man who was dining alone, we were the only patrons. We selected a table near the balcony and ordered drinks from the bar. While we waited, we checked out the view of Long Street from the balcony.
Long Street, Cape TownLong Street from Cape to Cuba
When our server arrived, Judith and I ordered prawns and rice, Sandra the fish. We watched the bartender mix our drinks as we talked among ourselves. The drinks looked refreshing but when my mojito arrived, it was too tangy so I sent it back and asked him to add more sugar. Judith’s strawberry daiquiri, on the other hand, was perfect.
It seemed like forever before our meals arrived. We joked that the fish was probably still on the plane from Havana. We were dying for some appetizers but had been so focused on the meal that we hadn’t even thought of ordering any so we nursed our drinks hoped our order would come. Every time we noticed someone coming up the stairs, we felt sure it would be our meal, but it wasn’t.
Finally, it arrived but instead of bringing two prawns and a fish, our server brought two fish and a prawn. At first, she insisted the order was correct, then she checked her book and offered a weak apology. The first order had taken so long to arrive, I was tempted to stick with the fish, but it wasn’t what I wanted so I returned it and waited, fingers crossed, for her to bring the other prawn.
Sandra took a taste of the fish and rice and made a face. It was so dry, she asked for butter or gravy to soften it. I know if she hadn’t been so hungry, she would have returned it. We definitely considered it but the prospect of going out and finding another restaurant and starting all over was as appealing as her unsatisfying meal.
We were sure we had been served leftovers from the day before. And when mine arrived, towards the end of Sandra’s and Judith’s meals, it convinced us we were right. Mine was freshly cooked and very tasty. The prawns soft and succulent, the rice smothered in a light sauce. It tasted delicious and it wasn’t because I was hungry. I felt badly that Sandra’s was so inedible – Judith’s was only a little better. Normally, we’d rave about our meal and share but I didn’t have the heart to talk about mine and even though I offered, Sandra was too upset to try anything else. She just wanted to leave.
We complained, of course. The worst part is, no one even offered a dessert or drink to compensate for the lousy meal.
After our server brought our bill, I concluded that she must have been having a bad day — and her luck was not about to change. When I checked, I noticed there was no tax included and pointed it out to her. She insisted it had been but I double-checked and it wasn’t. At that point, I wasn’t about to point out her mistake. We paid the check, sans tip from Sandra, and left.
As we headed back towards the V&A Waterfront, we noticed people going into Mama Africa. Without even a second thought, we followed.
A much bigger restaurant than the one in Victoria Falls but with a different menu and the same African vibe, Mama Africa Cape Town boasts an impressive bar area with an unforgettable painting of a snake wrapped round the edge.
Although there were quite a few empty tables, we decided to sit at the bar. We ordered drinks and appetizers while we chatted with the bartenders. When they found out that we were Jamaicans, one of them offered to take us to Mzoli’s but we weren’t up to it. We had an early start the next day.
I’m not sure how long we were there before the band, Abavuki, took its place and started warming up. A lively group of between nine and eleven musicians, Abavuki plays African Jazz and African and American soul. Their music was so infectious, it made us want to get up and dance and sing along to the American songs we recognized.
At one point, I noticed a nun – a very tall nun – walk through the door but paid no attention. When I returned, the nun was talking to Sandra and Judith – figures, right? Turns out, this was a nun in drag selling tickets for a concert the following day.
Don’t remember how this happened —
No sister of mine!
By the time we left Mama Africa, it was near 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. Green Market Square had long closed and Long Street was turning into the hot spot that it becomes on weekends. We called for a cab and headed for home.
Originally, we had set aside the second day for Table Mountain but our guide, Ian Reinders, insisted we go that first day following our visit to Robben Island. His reasoning was simple: the weather was good and if we waited, it might change and we wouldn’t get to see the mountain. Since we had only 5 days in Cape Town, we didn’t want to take any chances so we agreed.
When we woke that morning, we were both happy and relieved that we had been flexible and listened to Ian. Clouds covered the city and a light rain fell intermittently.
Even on a cloudy day, it’s hard to escape the almost sterile beauty of Cape Town. Some places look so new, so clean, they feel as if they were just built.
After a late breakfast, we decided to head out and explore the city on our own. Tony, a friend in Cape Town, had sent us a list of places to see and eat and our friend, Lorraine Klaasen had recommended Mzoli’s Place, so food was covered.
We wanted to visit the Slave Lodge, a museum, and go to the Green Market Square, a shopping area we had heard good things about. Everything, it seemed was on or near Long Street – the heart of the city – so we asked directions and headed out on foot.
Cape Town walkway
The streets around the V&A were almost empty, as if everyone had left town. I wondered where they could be, where the residential areas were and how far away the townships – and the action — would be.
Don’t get me wrong: we saw people – at the V&A Waterfront, at Table Mountain and Robben Island, and on the streets. But even during the week, I never saw anything that rivaled the hustle and bustle of Johannesburg.
News of the day
Nevertheless, Ian kept reminding us to be careful and we’d remind him that we live in New York and also get the same warnings each time we visit Jamaica so we knew how to keep our guards up. The evening before, Judith and I wanted to use an ATM that was inside the mall at the V&A. Ian insisted on accompanying us and warned that we stand guard behind whoever was using the machine. I felt he was being overly protective but I figured it’s his city, he’d know it better.
But apart from a woman with a child who approached us in the mall asking for money — unfortunately, living in a large city like New York, we’ve become inured to people like her and spotted her a mile away — no one bothered us and we felt completely safe.
Along the way, we noticed a cab driver and asked him to take us to Long Street. He told us we were only 10 minutes’ away so if we wanted to, we could walk. He even gave us directions to get there! Okay, we’re definitely not in New York!
Sure enough, after a leisurely walk, we noticed the sign for Long Street. Right away, the energy felt different – still not as bustling as Johannesburg or New York but definitely livelier than before. People were hustling about and there were lots more cars, buses and noise.
It was hard not to miss the first shop we stumbled on. Life sized African figures, wooden carvings and furniture marked the entrance to the small store that was chock full of stuff: jewelry, fabric, sandals, carvings and more decorated the walls and sprouted from either side of the narrow walkway. We had to be careful not to knock anything over but despite that, we ended up spending nearly 2 hours browsing, haggling, and socializing with the Nigerian owner, who told us he was a prince back home (aren’t all Nigerians princes back home, a friend asked me when I related the story) before hunger pushed us to look for lunch.
It took 15 years for the third Monday in January to be designated the day we would remember and honor civil rights activist, Martin Luther King, Jr.
The first year we celebrated, I remember the euphoria, the sense of pride, the feeling of hope. I also remember an older gentleman in the building I lived at the time saying that if we didn’t remain true, the day would become like any other, meaning, we’d forget, we’d lose focus or we’d see it as one more day to shop. And I thought then, with all the hardships, all the sacrifice Dr. King and the other activists went through? Never!
Yet, today, I found myself at home doing everyday activities, like laundry. Not in a million years did I think this would ever happen.
I feel guilty. Dr. King’s efforts paved the way for me and countless others. But I’m not sure anymore what the best way is to honor his life, his work and his sacrifice. It is something I’ll have to think about for next year. If you have any ideas, please let me know.
In the meantime, please enjoy this tribute by Nina Simone that a friend shared with me.
Ian was right. Under a dazzling sunshine and with hardly a cloud in the sky when we arrived, Table Mountain was spectacularly alluring.
It seemed to rise straight up out of the ground, then stop abruptly as if something, or someone, had blunted its ascent.
We got our tickets and boarded the funicular that would take us the nearly 3,600 feet to the top of the mountain. Watching the buildings and cars below as they got smaller and smaller, I felt my ears pop in reaction to the change in altitude.
Climbing the mountainCable carTable Mountain welcomeMapping the mountainView from the TableWe’re far from home!Table Mountain flowerMore Table Mountain flowersCity viewMountain viewMore viewsMore mountain viewsCape coastlineRobben Island seen from Table MountainCape Town Stadium seen from the MountainMountain dassie (rodent)Enjoying the mountainAbout the table clothStone monumentKissing the mountain
I spoke with my Aunt Connie, before I left for South Africa. It had been her dream, she told me, to visit Table Mountain. She was so thrilled I was going, she asked that I kiss it for her. After I laid this stone, I remembered the promise I made Aunt Connie. I’m glad I was able to “kiss the mountain” for her. It was a great way to end our first day in Cape Town.
We knew from the outset that one of our Cape Town ‘must-sees’ would be Robben Island so we purchased our tickets before we even left the U.S.
Despite being walking distance from our accommodations at the V&A Waterfront to the Nelson Mandela Gateway, if our guide, Ian, hadn’t shown up when he did, we would have missed the boat – we were so late getting ready!
Seeing Cape Town on our first morning, bathed in the sparkling golden sunlight, was breathtaking. But shortly after leaving our temporary apartment, we were at the ferry terminal.
When I told my 80 year-old aunt that I was going to Cape Town, she replied excitedly, “I’ve always wanted to see Table Mountain but never made it. Please kiss the mountain for me!”
After hearing that, if Table Mountain had not been on my list, it soon would be.
We arrived in Cape Town on a Thursday night, after three amazing days watching game in Hwange National Park and making friends with the team at Makalolo Plains in Zimbabwe.
Now we were about to begin the third leg of our trip in beautiful Cape Town. Ian, our guide, met us at the airport and took us to our accommodation at the Victoria & Alfred waterfront.
Cape Town Waterfront
As we entered the apartment, we were greeted by the most spectacular view of Cape Town harbor. But since we were holding tickets for the 11 o’clock ferry to Robben Island the next morning, we knew we had to get to bed early.
When the alarm went off on our last morning at Makalolo Plains, none of us wanted to get out of bed. The hot water bottles that had kept us warm when we snuggled under the covers the night before were no match for the cold that had now permeated our tent.
I buried my head under the covers, lifting it just long enough to peek at the clock to figure out how long I had before I had to get ready for breakfast.
It wasn’t long. Soon, we could hear footsteps on the boardwalk and Godfrey’s knock on our door.
We dressed quickly. Cynthia and Tracey were in the Main Hall and greeted us as we arrived. Following breakfast, we said tearful goodbyes while Godfrey and Emmanuel loaded our suitcases into the jeep.
Leaving Makalolo Plains
The previous day, one of the Makalolo team had offered to fly us to the airport but we had too much luggage – 6 pieces among us – to accept. Gosh, it would have been lovely to fly back instead of being bundled up as we were. As even with the fleece ponchos and several layers of warm clothes, scarves and gloves we had on were no match for the bone chilling cold.
By the time we arrived at the Main Camp, Sandra said she couldn’t feel her face. None of us could. We were frozen. Thankfully Godfrey had brought tea and biscuits as usual which we ate while he and Reason, our new driver, loaded up our suitcases into his van.
Leaving Makalolo had been emotional but more experiences awaited us in Cape Town and Durban.
