I've arrived Safely in Cape Town. I'm nearly settled into the beautiful flat here in Sea Point. I am in a bustling area a block from the beach. I've spent the last week unpacking, establishing a bank account, getting internet and working on getting a car. I've had a wonderful and fully proper Cape Town welcome by many friends here, who have all been instrumental in helping me get settled.
I don't have pictures yet but will post some soon. I've added a couple of new blogs on my adventures thus far. I miss everybody and will be in touch.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Revisiting the V & A Waterfront
Monday was a beautiful day. I arrived a little more than 48 hours ago and I can feel the fuzzy-headedness induced by jet lag beginning to fade away. Although I only had about four hours of sleep, I felt it would be remiss to allow the day to pass without taking full advantage of it. I had learned from friends that minibus taxis run along Main Road in Sea Point, a block from where I stay, and that it can take me to the Victoria and Andrew Waterfront in ten minutes for five rands (about 80 cents). I decide to venture out and reconnect with one of my favorite old haunts.
As I approach, it appears I am going in through an entrance I have not been through before. But I am comforted because it is an entrance to one of my favorite parts of the waterfont: the Red Shed Craft Market. However, as I approach this entrance looks a bit like a back entrance. I study it for quite some time as I approach the building. It is next to the receiving area, but there is a sign that says “no deliveries here”. But still, I don’t see anybody walking in or out. Above the door is a big sign that says “ENTRANCE”. I’m thinking to myself that this may not be a good idea; it doesn’t really look like an entrance. But my alternative is an entrance all the way around the building, and the jet lag has made me lazy. Besides, the door says “ENTRANCE”… so it must be ok.
Finally I reach the building. Standing before me are two very large sliding glass doors. I tug on the left door. Nothing. I tug again and still nothing. I look inside the oversized doors and see three men inside. They are watching me. I then deliberately look up at the sign above to confirm that this is indeed an entrance. Then, I give it a hard jerk to the left, throwing some muscle into it. Ah-ha- it slides open with a jerk. I feel triumphant over the giant doors.
Immediately as I slide the door open there is a jerk and then a very loud sound of metal hitting cement. Oh Crap! The door suddenly stops and the sound of metal ringing after bouncing on the hard cement fills the air. The three men, now directly in front of me about fifteen feet continue to stare. The sound seemed to echo through the warehouse-style craft market. I look down and I had clearly dislodged a metal rod that was placed between the doors to lock it. The metal rod, which continues to lay ringing on the floor, apparently was supposed to be in a metal-lined hole in the cement floor where then two metal loops on top of the rod held in place a large lock. The lock wasn’t on, but the metal loops had been place over protruding metal on the door. Ummmm… I’m pretty sure this isn’t an entrance.
The men still stared, looking incredulous, as I giggled and said “oops!”. I tried to engage their stare in attempt to point out the humor of the situation. I had no luck. The stares only hardened. I started talking to myself, providing step by step instructions on what to do next. That is what I usually what I do when I am nervous and in situations like that. “Okay, let’s put that metal rod thingy in the hole”. “Alright, now let’s close the door.” I look up and the men’s glares bore into me.
It was at that point that I decided it was a futile effort to recover. I grab my purse, stand straight up and head towards the men, which at this point is the only way out. I walk as deliberately and purposefully as I possibly can. I pass the men, not stopping to explain. I turned the corner of the market walkway and don’t stop until I am well around the corner out of sight. I head directly out of the Red Shed Craft Market and straight to the waterfront. There people are buzzing everywhere. I walk into the square and hear the wonderful tunes of a marimba band. I sit down and take a breath and soak in the sounds and smells of one of my favorite places in Cape Town. I do love this place.
As I approach, it appears I am going in through an entrance I have not been through before. But I am comforted because it is an entrance to one of my favorite parts of the waterfont: the Red Shed Craft Market. However, as I approach this entrance looks a bit like a back entrance. I study it for quite some time as I approach the building. It is next to the receiving area, but there is a sign that says “no deliveries here”. But still, I don’t see anybody walking in or out. Above the door is a big sign that says “ENTRANCE”. I’m thinking to myself that this may not be a good idea; it doesn’t really look like an entrance. But my alternative is an entrance all the way around the building, and the jet lag has made me lazy. Besides, the door says “ENTRANCE”… so it must be ok.
Finally I reach the building. Standing before me are two very large sliding glass doors. I tug on the left door. Nothing. I tug again and still nothing. I look inside the oversized doors and see three men inside. They are watching me. I then deliberately look up at the sign above to confirm that this is indeed an entrance. Then, I give it a hard jerk to the left, throwing some muscle into it. Ah-ha- it slides open with a jerk. I feel triumphant over the giant doors.
Immediately as I slide the door open there is a jerk and then a very loud sound of metal hitting cement. Oh Crap! The door suddenly stops and the sound of metal ringing after bouncing on the hard cement fills the air. The three men, now directly in front of me about fifteen feet continue to stare. The sound seemed to echo through the warehouse-style craft market. I look down and I had clearly dislodged a metal rod that was placed between the doors to lock it. The metal rod, which continues to lay ringing on the floor, apparently was supposed to be in a metal-lined hole in the cement floor where then two metal loops on top of the rod held in place a large lock. The lock wasn’t on, but the metal loops had been place over protruding metal on the door. Ummmm… I’m pretty sure this isn’t an entrance.
The men still stared, looking incredulous, as I giggled and said “oops!”. I tried to engage their stare in attempt to point out the humor of the situation. I had no luck. The stares only hardened. I started talking to myself, providing step by step instructions on what to do next. That is what I usually what I do when I am nervous and in situations like that. “Okay, let’s put that metal rod thingy in the hole”. “Alright, now let’s close the door.” I look up and the men’s glares bore into me.
It was at that point that I decided it was a futile effort to recover. I grab my purse, stand straight up and head towards the men, which at this point is the only way out. I walk as deliberately and purposefully as I possibly can. I pass the men, not stopping to explain. I turned the corner of the market walkway and don’t stop until I am well around the corner out of sight. I head directly out of the Red Shed Craft Market and straight to the waterfront. There people are buzzing everywhere. I walk into the square and hear the wonderful tunes of a marimba band. I sit down and take a breath and soak in the sounds and smells of one of my favorite places in Cape Town. I do love this place.
South African sequens
I have to admit that I have, on more than one occasion, chuckled at the complaints made by Capetonians about the frigid winters. I was particularly amused when I was repeatedly told before I left Seattle to bring very warm clothing because Cape Town was experiencing one of its coldest winters ever. I checked on the weather: Highs in the low 60’s and lows in the low 40’s. Sunny. Humph- that sounds a lot like Seattle’s summer this year… except without the sun!
I’ve been here three days and I am in the flat after running some errands. I have on a T-shirt with a sweater over it and am wrapped in a soft, lime green throw and I am freezing. I walk outside. Yep, probably about 65 with the bright South African winter sun beaming from the blue sky. However, I still chilled nearly to the bone. I now realize something I underestimated: central heating. Most homes in South Africa don’t have central heating and the most common form of heat is an electric heater that, at best, warms one room at a time. Lesson number one: Cape Town winters really are cold and no more making fun of subtle complaints by South Africans anymore.
Realizing that I still have a few hours of sunlight, I heat some water in the kettle and decide to take my laptop outside where I have a little brick veranda with a plastic table and chairs awaiting. I fill a beautiful zebra-print tea pot, stuff in a couple of Rooisbos tea bags and head outside into the sunshine. I pour the hot tea into a matching zebra-print coffee mug and settle down to bath in the sun’s warmth. I feel myself warming from inside and out. The sun is warm and the tea is lovely.
After about my third drink of tea, I notice something in the bottom. A bug? Maybe a piece of glass? At a closer glance I notice four opalescent sequins at the bottom of the mug. I smile thinking that the owner of those sequins is watching over me now. I finish that cup and debate to myself whether or not I should take them out of the mug. I leave them at the bottom and pour myself another hot cup of tea, allowing the warmth to fill me.
I’ve been here three days and I am in the flat after running some errands. I have on a T-shirt with a sweater over it and am wrapped in a soft, lime green throw and I am freezing. I walk outside. Yep, probably about 65 with the bright South African winter sun beaming from the blue sky. However, I still chilled nearly to the bone. I now realize something I underestimated: central heating. Most homes in South Africa don’t have central heating and the most common form of heat is an electric heater that, at best, warms one room at a time. Lesson number one: Cape Town winters really are cold and no more making fun of subtle complaints by South Africans anymore.
Realizing that I still have a few hours of sunlight, I heat some water in the kettle and decide to take my laptop outside where I have a little brick veranda with a plastic table and chairs awaiting. I fill a beautiful zebra-print tea pot, stuff in a couple of Rooisbos tea bags and head outside into the sunshine. I pour the hot tea into a matching zebra-print coffee mug and settle down to bath in the sun’s warmth. I feel myself warming from inside and out. The sun is warm and the tea is lovely.
After about my third drink of tea, I notice something in the bottom. A bug? Maybe a piece of glass? At a closer glance I notice four opalescent sequins at the bottom of the mug. I smile thinking that the owner of those sequins is watching over me now. I finish that cup and debate to myself whether or not I should take them out of the mug. I leave them at the bottom and pour myself another hot cup of tea, allowing the warmth to fill me.
My nemesis
On the plane ride over I read an article about Mexico City introducing a program to encourage bicycling for city transportation. The article made a point of stating that one incentive to bicycle is to avoid traffic police, which were described as the “scourge” of the residents there. In Cape Town, it is quite the opposite. In fact, I’m not even really sure we have traffic police here- at least in the sense that I would understand it. In fact, I’ve often noted cars driving past police cars at 120 kilometers per hour in an 80km zone without hesitation. Neither the most aggressive nor corrupt police officer doesn’t rival the real scourge of Cape Town.
They are everywhere and yet you never see it until it’s too late. There are even signs posted announcing one may be around the corner. Yet, those little buggers always seem to be at the right place at the wrong time. It is those damn traffic cameras. They are on every freeway and highway. Some places always have them posted in the same spot, however, most are moved regularly for obvious reasons. Most speed limit signs now have an icon of a camera threatening its presence.
It’s even worse at night. And, unfortunately, that is the best time to avoid the traffic. One can be travelling along at an easy clip of 120, driving perfectly safely down the M3 with a stunning view of Table Mountain on the left and the ocean on the right. One could be enjoying the nice, slightly salty air of a chilly evening heading back home after dinner with friends. Then BAM! A blinding light shoots from overhead like a laser from outer space. Those first milliseconds are bewildering. Am I getting abducted by aliens? Is Cape Town under attack like in Independence Day? Am I having an aneurism?
Okay, maybe it is less like that and it looks more like a snapshot of light, immediately followed by random obscenities, then slam on a the brake and a frustrating sigh because once again I’ve been caught by my nemesis- those damn traffic cameras.
They are everywhere and yet you never see it until it’s too late. There are even signs posted announcing one may be around the corner. Yet, those little buggers always seem to be at the right place at the wrong time. It is those damn traffic cameras. They are on every freeway and highway. Some places always have them posted in the same spot, however, most are moved regularly for obvious reasons. Most speed limit signs now have an icon of a camera threatening its presence.
It’s even worse at night. And, unfortunately, that is the best time to avoid the traffic. One can be travelling along at an easy clip of 120, driving perfectly safely down the M3 with a stunning view of Table Mountain on the left and the ocean on the right. One could be enjoying the nice, slightly salty air of a chilly evening heading back home after dinner with friends. Then BAM! A blinding light shoots from overhead like a laser from outer space. Those first milliseconds are bewildering. Am I getting abducted by aliens? Is Cape Town under attack like in Independence Day? Am I having an aneurism?
Okay, maybe it is less like that and it looks more like a snapshot of light, immediately followed by random obscenities, then slam on a the brake and a frustrating sigh because once again I’ve been caught by my nemesis- those damn traffic cameras.
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