Grape Expectations

After two lazily-paced weeks in and around Cape Town, we embarked upon a drive to South Africa’s renowned wine country for the weekend. Our accommodations at the Le Quartier Francais boutique hotel in the upscale hamlet of Franschoek had come highly recommended by Cassandra who had even gone so far as to secure for us a suite at the exclusive Four Quarters wing at a 30% off-season discount. Despite some initial trepidation, Vik was coerced into doing the driving (on the opposite side of the road, to his chagrin, in a country with a formidable contingent of aggressive drivers). Fortunately, with a map in hand, we were able to make the one hour northeasterly journey with relative ease.

After passing by the prison where Nelson Mandela was transferred after his incarceration on Robben Island, we arrived in Franschoek at ten in the morning. Once on the Le Quartier grounds, we assumed that we would merely drop off our bags before soliciting some local advice on which vineyards to visit. To our surprise, however, we found that our room was ready and that we were able to check in immediately. Once we entered the threshold of the more 1,000 square foot suite with separate living and sleeping quarters, heated floors, old-fashioned fireplace, double plasma televisions and mini-bar stocked with complimentary bottles of local wines, ciders and champagne, it took all of our collective willpower to even consider leaving the premises.

After a scrumptious lunch (included in our nightly rate), the lush winelands nestled in the nearby valleys of several rugged mountains range beckoned us. Over the proceeding afternoon hours, we sampled reds, whites and even schnapps at several Franschoek vineyards, all within a twenty-minute drive of our hotel. We found that we enjoying our stay to such a degree that we extended our stay for an additional night in order to have the entire weekend to enjoy and explore the picturesque countryside.

That evening, we made our way to Haute Cabriere to enjoy the gastronomical delight of a delectable three-course meal paired with the perfect bottle of red wine. Upon leaving the vineyard, we looked up to behold the brightly-shining stars in the crystal clear southern sky. As we stood gazing at the unfamiliar constellations of the Southern Hemisphere, we both noted that we had never seen such an impressive and brilliant array of stars. Walking back to the rental car in the brisk evening air, we greatly looked forward to returning to the warmth of the blazing hardwood-fed fire in our room.

The next morning we arose to a private breakfast on the balcony and a lazy day in the suite. Despite the secluded nature of Four Quarters, the hotel grounds were situated near the town’s main street. We took a leisurely stroll down Huguenot Street, listening to the street musicians and poking our heads into various boutiques. For the remainder of the day, the arsenal of DVDs available had us engrossed in quality movie after quality movie, including Born Into Brothels, Little Miss Sunshine, Bobby and Hotel Rwanda. Primarily to give our weary eyeballs a rest, we went out for a quick dinner that didn’t quite compare with its predecessor.

When Sunday arrived, we bid a fond farewell to our suite. On the way back to Cape Town, we stopped at a few vineyards in Stellenbosch (although several others that we drove to ended up being closed on Sunday). Our short drive back passed without incident and Vik let out an audible sigh of relief as we pulled into the rental car return lot. Our romantic weekend had been a perfectly-relaxing and satisfying getaway.

Points of Contention

After enduring a weekend of rain, the 14th finally arrived and we nervously awoke to survey the weather. When the verdict proved to be slightly overcast but absent any rain, we breathed a huge sigh or relief and caught a Rikki to the Victoria & Albert Waterfront. We passed through a modestly-sized mall before reaching the Nelson Mandela Gateway building. Soon afterward, we boarded a ferry boat to make the 45-minute voyage through the choppy Atlantic to Robben Island. Our water journey proved memorable as our boat was tossed from side to side by one imperious wave after another. With a vantage point on the outside deck, we were quickly chilled to the bone by the crosswinds and blistering spray. Despite being seated away from the outside rail in the center of the deck, Kaberi still managed to be the only person on the boat to become drenched when a rogue wave set its sights on her pants. She was not amused.

Thrilled to be on solid ground once again, we boarded a bus on the Robben Island pier and set off on a tour of the island. The island first began as a leper colony and a leper church and cemetery were the first stops of our tour. Making our way around Robben Island’s southern coast, we came to the house where anti-Apartheid activist and Pan African Congress founder Robert Sobukwe's was imprisoned in isolation for years without a trial. From the Sobukwe house, we drove to the complex’s Maximum Security Prison where Mandela was jailed in a claustrophobic cell the size of a miniature tool shed. At this point, we learned that our tour guide was, himself, a former prisoner. We were further astonished to learn that island tours were led by both former prisoners and former wardens. The thought of being a prisoner and returning to the island to give tours side-by-side with one’s captors seemed unfathomable.

The ever-gloomy skies overhead and frigid crosswinds seemed an entirely appropriate backdrop to our visit. Learning of the conditions that the political prisoners endured – including inadequate clothing, boots, bedding and nourishment – proved to be a sobering experience. We walked through the cold, bare cells in one bleak, squat building after another. In one area, we saw signage indicating how prisoners were rationed food based upon their race. Stepping outside, we couldn’t help but notice the proximity of the shoreline, yet another aspect of the island to invariably torment the prisoners. Returning to Cape Town, we both felt seared and haunted by the excursion.

The following day, on Indian Independence Day, we retained the services of Shah (the friendly driver who originally picked us up at Cape Town airport) to drive us past Chapman's Peak and to Cape Point, the southwesternmost point on the African continent. As both an Indian and a native South African, Shah gave us a candid and compelling perspective on post-apartheid South Africa. His thoughts reinforced in our minds the unique position South Africa holds as a country where power transitioned from a colonizing minority to a native majority without a wholescale retreat or civil war.

Shah shared with us his belief that, in exchange for considerable financial consideration, a few prominent former political prisoners colluded with Afrikaaner officials to keep the country’s economic power in the hands of the white establishment. He went on to suggest that the otherwise well-intentioned ANC government was being set up for failure by its undemocratic predecessor and by entrenched white economic interests. In turn, the ANC fomented the mess through scattered incompetence and corruption. Shah also lamented the relatively-slow pace of change and unequal income distribution and presumed that future bloodshed was inevitable.

As our discussion unfolded, we enjoyed the passing scenery. We first drove to Hout Bay to see sea otters frolicking near the waterfront. Afterward, we advanced to the entrance of Chapman's Peak Drive, which was barred due to the threat of falling rocks loosened by recent rainstorms. Taking a different route through the wealthy Kommetjie area and through its neighboring township. The township was congested with corrogated tin shacks interspursed with a few concrete houses built by an Irish businessman cum philanthropist. Our observations of the stark contrast between the lives of the wealthy and the poor in such close proximity gave us much to consider in conjunction with our conversation with Shah.

A short drive later, we reached the end of the Cape Peninsula where savannah ended with rocky outcrops fronting dark green seas. We first jumped on the funicular railway to the old lighthouse at the peak above Cape Point. Alighting, we hiked around the major peak that dominates the landscape before discovering a smaller peak about 100 meters further south. We then hiked the path to an overlook to a smaller, second lighthouse at sea level where we were the only two looking out over the crashing waves below. After enjoying the peaceful surroundings, we made our way south to the Cape of Good Hope to join our fellow tourists in posing next to the prominent sign. The stark natural beauty of the area was undeniable. Our afternoon at Cape Point proved to be a welcome respite from the prior ten days of uninterrupted urban life.

Es-Cape-ades

The next day in Cape Town, our plans to visit the looming Table Mountain were dashed when we discovered that it was closed due to poor visibility and high winds (a subsequent visual inspection revealed a large circle of ominous gray clouds hovering at the peak). Thereafter, we called for tickets to Robben Island (where several prominent ANC political figures including Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned) only to discover that tickets were unavailable until the 14th. Rolling with the flow, we changed our plans midstream and decided to continue exploring more of the city itself. We confidently boarded our trusty local minibus and ventured to Bo-Kapp, a Muslim part of town identified by distinctive, pastel-colored houses. A resident of the area served as an informative guide and gave us a tour of the Bo-Kapp Museum before we made our way through the neighborbood on foot.

From Bo-Kapp, we stopped in at the Gold of Africa Museum to see the famous Golden Lion, which proved to be a little over-hyped in our humble opinions (the lion was roughly the size of a baby head of lettuce). We then walked over to the Slave Lodge where Kaberi took in the history of the slave trade as well as the memorial for slaves held in the lodge itself. From the Slave Lodge, we worked our way down Long Street to the South African Missionary Meeting House Museum (the first church to teach literacy to blacks) and the Palm Street Mosque (which we could only admire from the outside as it was closed to the public).

As we wandered along Long Street, Kaberi indulged in her desire for souvenirs, rationalizing that we were in the final stretch of the trip and could carry any purchases for the duration (Vik disagreed but was summarily ignored). We soon poked our head into the overwhelmingly-cheesy Pan African Market before finding a slightly more upscale retail venue. Vik staunchly opposed prospective purchases of beaded wooden fertility dolls or recycled soda-can toy cars, leaving Kaberi to furtively search for one or two items that would pass muster. We capped our day with a drink at the lazily-named Long Street Bar before catching a minibus back to Sea Point at dusk.

We awoke the following morning to a spectacularly-cloudless, sun-drenched day, and subsequently made a bee-line for Table Mountain. Having been closed to the public for several weeks for annual maintenance, Table Mountain greeted us with a seemingly mile long queue of apparently every other tourist in town. Despite arriving at 10:00 a.m., it wasn’t until noon when we finally managed to buy our tickets and stand in a second line to board the revolving cable car heading up to the mountaintop. Upon arriving at the peak, we were met by a fierce wind and incomparable views. We soon set off on an easy, two-hour hike to different vantage points of the sprawl below encompassing the city center and waterfront, Robben Island, Signal Hill, Lion’s Head and the Twelve Apostles mountain range. We were stunned by the beauty enveloping us and reveled in the picture-perfect weather conditions for Cape Town’s top attraction.

The next day was not nearly as clear as its predecessor, but we still chose to visit the Kirstenbosh National Botanical Gardens. As we arrived, we were dismayed to see the clouds rolling in behind us. Without missing a beat, the skies opened just as we were commencing our tour. Our guide was completely unfazed, however, continually jumping in and out of our golf cart to pick leaves and blossoms for us to feel and smell. We soon learned that South Africa’s oldest botanical garden housed one third of the world’s floral species and represented the first botanical in the world to be designated as an UNESCO World Heritage site. The most striking flower of the several that we saw was a colorful one named for Nelson Mandela. However, our favorite part of the outing came after the tour concluded, when we raised our body temperatures by sampling mugs of the Kirchenbosh Tea Room’s sinfully-rich hot chocolate.

On a slightly overcast day later in the week, we took the local train down to Simonstown to see the African penguin reserve. Unbeknownst to us, we chose to make the journey on a national holiday, National Women’s Day, and soon found that rail service was interrupted. Our train stopped in Fish Hoek, several towns north of our final destination, from where we were shuttled to Simonstown on an impossibly-crowded coach bus. From the bus stop, we walked through the center of town to Boulder Beach, an outpost located on the outskirts of town. While we admired the penguins in their natural habitat (especially the furry babies), we were overwhelmed by their stench. We sought olfactory relief on the walk back into town before stopping in at The Meeting Place for an upscale casual lunch. When the threat of rain from foreboding, overcast skies mounted, we quickly returned to the bus stop to reverse our course. The return journey seemed longer than we remembered, but our kindly fellow passengers reassured us that we were headed back in the right direction.

One of the most pleasant surprises of our stint in Cape Town was interacting with the locals. We found ourselves constantly chatting with friendly fellow passengers on various transport modes including trains, Rikkis (British-style fixed-rate shared taxicabs) and minibuses. The locals (of all skin colors) we encountered were exceedingly personable and helpful, and helped put our minds at ease about our reception in a former Apartheid state. We also managed to patronize a number of the restaurants recommended by local benefactors. We found that the city’s culinary scene did not seem to boast a fusion culture, but rather, focused on preparing a number of distinct cuisines well, including sushi at Tank, Indian at Bukhara, pan-Asian at Haiku, fresh continental at Savoy Cabbage, and African-influenced international at Five Flies, the restaurant where we belatedly celebrated our fifth anniversary. In Cape Town, we soon came to learn that neither a friendly face nor a satisfying meal were very hard to find.