12:30 a.m. February 8, 2007, Cape Town, South Africa

Before you die, you must visit Cape Town. That is the first and most important idea that I must communicate to anyone who reads this.

I arrive on Sunday, February 4th at 7 a.m. and am greeted by UCT transportation services driver as well as two other haggard-looking students-- a plain Norwegian girl and a slim Hawaiian guy. We chitchat about the flight, our home universities, our studies. They look so young. I'm reminded of when I arrived in Sydney for my undergrad abroad program. But once we step outside it is I who become the child.
The blinding sun instantly warms my skin but it isn't scorching and there is not a drop of humidity. Everywhere you go in Cape Town a constant breeze cuts through the radiating heat from the sun and can whip up into a strong wind and nearly topple you or tumble lazily through and lull you into a deeply relaxed state. I can't stop grinning as I stretch my arms out, my skin hungry for the sun. Later that day I catch a glimpse of myself and realize the freckles on the bridge of my nose have reappeared.
The two younger students continue to play it cool, but I hope that they allow themselves to feel the depth of each moment. Soon I begin to realize how Cape Town offers the highest highs and the lowest lows, as we drive through this spectacular city and spot the first township area on the way. It is a patchwork settlement of sheet metal, plywood, and plastic just a small distance from the highway. In the background, the Table Mountains boldly stand against the sky.
We arrive at the first student's house and are informed that we must drop off our bags there in order to make the UCT tour on time. At this point I've been travelling for 33 hours straight (if you don't count the fact that I stopped in Brooklyn for a few hours on my way to the airport in order to complete my vocals for the CD). But I adore the idea of immediately plunging into this new landscape.
There are three coach buses lined up on the street and packed with students. When I board, I know I'm in bad company. Climbing the steps, I face roughly 50 undergraduate American students and as I walk through the aisle to find a seat, the cacophony of "like" attacks my mood. Luckily the Norwegian girl who I arrived with sits next to me... and promptly falls asleep. Still, the disjointed juxtaposition of the scenery and the company proves annoying. Like watching a love story and listening to a horror film soundtrack, I realize these kids are still at home in their tiny dramas, wrapped in their American flag. It is amazing how the experience of travelling-- of living within difference-- can be completely and utterly shut out. Psychologically, we protect-- at all costs-- the stability of our established modes of living, of homogeny. This is natural and I can't fault people for operating in this manner-- I know I have in the past as well. That is why I have some hope for them as well--I see a lot of my younger self in them and know what can develop out of months of living abroad or weeks of backpacking. I owe a lot to my Peru and Bolivia trip. I owe a lot to my friends who have shown me that the beauty of travelling, or wandering, is that there are no wrong turns-- go left or go right, it is always the right decision its own adventures.
So yes, the crowd was disappointing-- although, I did overhear some stories about this guy named Brett, who "like so wanted to be with me but then was like 'You're going away so why don't we just, like, get together or whatever' and I was all like 'Yea, ok'... So I skyped with him the other day and he told me about... I was all like "What?!"...". This would be one of those moments where I turn to face the camera and give a face that basically says "I want to shoot myself in the ears".
After a while though, all the chatter faded into the background. It wasn't so difficult because I lost myself in the South African coast line. I wasn't in a seat on a bus filled with Americans; I was inside the viewfinder of my camera. I was outside of my self-- concentrating on pulling the scenery into focus, into my lens, in my memory-- and wishing for a wider lens and wider eyes to consume this unfettered landscape.
I expected Cape Town to be a beautiful place but I did not expect the unceasing and spectacular power of the land and the water. At the tip of the African continent, in the grips of both the Atlantic and Indian Ocean tides-- the Twelve Apostles ridge dominates the sky. We drove along Chapman's Peak Drive-- 10 km of highway carving the mountainside, hundreds of metres above the thundering blue waves. Maneuvering the curves and crags of the mountainside, we entered Table Mountain National Park, which forms a significant portion of Cape Town and the lower half of the peninsula. The dry and sparse shrubs crawl over the rocky land-- the shape of the plants and leaves are completely alien to me.
At the very end of the park is Cape Point, where we are allowed time to hike up the cliffs to Cape Town's southern most point. I stood atop the crumbly cliff, trying to take in how magnificent this juncture is. With the cold Benguela current from the West and the warm Agulhas current from the East breaking on the rocks hundreds of metres below my feet-- there was little to do but be thankful having such a day, experience, moment, life.
I could have spent all day at this spot but soon we were back on the bus, shuttling to the Boulders-- home to an African Penguin Colony (formerly known as Jackass Penguins). Then last along the tour was some time at Fish Hoek. In some ways Cape Town is a bit of a tease, as I've found out that most of the beaches have a very cold surf. Since Fish Hoek is along the eastern coast and is fed by the waters of False Bay, it is one the warmer and more tame beaches. On such a sunny Sunday afternoon, the sand was filled with families and sunbathers. I rolled up my jeans, kicked off my shoes and sunk my feet into the hot sand. I was reminded of the first time I felt the Pacific rush up my ankles in Sydney. Roughly five years later, here I am again dipping my feet in new waters.
When we returned to the university, our housing coordinator gather the three late arrivers to drop us off at our proper residences. My house is located in a quiet and lush residential neighborhood between Constantia and Newlands. It is difficult to describe its character since each house hides behind large walls. This is common throughout Cape Town but is particularly noticable in the posher suburbs where the walls are higher, the dogs bark louder and each house is stamped with a sign for ADT security systems. There are no front yards. There are no bicycles lying haphazardly on the grass. There are no remnants on the street of the chalk from a game of hopscotch. WE pull up to my house where the garage and a tall door is wedged between high brick walls which face our street. We ring the doorbell and I realize there is a camera poised at me. We are buzzed in and enter walkway crowded with lush deep green vines and vibrant pink-purple flowers. I feel I've been let into someone's secret garden. Is it more beautiful because it is hidden? or protected? or because not everyone is allowed to see it? If one lifts a leaf there is only a brick wall to see.
We turn the corner to the side patio/front entrance. The kitchen is bursting with light but each window that can open has bars over it. There is a tree ripe with limes just outside the separate door which leads to my room-- where I have 3 keys on my night table-- one for the door to the patio, one for the gate which closes in front of that door, one fro the door that goes from my bedroom to my study. Beyond that, I carry 6 keys-- in addition to the 2 house keys that are for the back patio sliding doors. Just outside my bedroom winder is a flowering bush that smells similar to lilacs. The owners of the house say the flower is called "Past, present, future". I wonder if it merely smells sweet-- I hesitate to touch it, it may be poisonous yet.
This house is truly charming but there have been more and more moments where I have felt like a prisoner, a victim, a girl who is lost and is trying desperately to figure out who and what to trust.
Over the course of the next few days I will hear official safety talks from UCT, rumors from other international students, horror stories from Cape Town residents-- white, black, and "coloured" as they are called here. I am supposed to share my bedroom with a German girl but she has not yet arrived. I must admit that a part of me is happy to get a roommate-- this room is too large, too empty, too easily filled with my fears. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't ashamed of this thought. I feel like a child who begs for the hall-light to stay on. I check each door and window, fumbling with these unfamiliar keys-- looking for the right fit that will make me relax.
Luckily the first few nights Randy is still in town and I am absolutely spoiled by his presence-- truly the next best thing to having my brother here by my side. I arrive at my house and briefly meet two of my roommates-- Florian, a tall, lean blonde German guy with a strong, square jaw and icy blue eyes. And Kai-- also German, but softer with brown hair and a sunburn. Just as I bring my suitcases in, the door rings and I'm reunited with Randy-- who I haven't seen in over 7 months. But we barely miss a beat as I run up to him like a little kid and jump up into one of his amazing bear hugs. He swings me about and for a moment I forget completely where I am... except that I am with him. We look at each other's faces in amazement.
Soon we are off to the V&A Waterfront, a marina and shopping area with a swinging bridge. Randy's parents have been visiting him for the past week or so and they are kind enough to go off on their own and allow us time to catch up. We have dinner in the outdoor dining area of an upscale restaurant overlooking the water. We share a bottle of wine and watch the clouds creep over the Table Mountains and disappear in the darkening sky. I can't get over the fact that we are in Africa together-- after so much time apart nonetheless. As I said, I am spoiled by his presence here-- he is completely adjusted to this place and I feel totally at ease with him to guide me. We talk and talk-- not able to get enough, not fully filling in each story with the color we normally would but just covering the broad outlines. The time slips through our fingers but we know better now than to try to take hold of it.