Jozi and the Pussycats

With our time in Cape Town coming to a close, we prepared for a two-day sojourn in Durban, South Africa’s third largest city. Durban is known primarily as a subtropical beach destination as well as the hub of South Africa’s Indian culture (Gandhi honed his philosophy of nonviolent resistance of satyagraha here). The day prior to our flight (when Vik’s ability to secure two nights of midweek accommodation proved surprisingly difficult), we learned that all the rooms in the city were sold out for a librarians’ convention. Left with little alternative, we truncated our time in Durban by an entire day. While Vik spent the next few hours questioning the need for librarians to convene (he could only imagine the scintillating Dewey Decimal conversations conducted in hushed tones), Kaberi chose to castigate Vik for devoting undue attention to fantasy football draft preparation. Suffice it to say, our respective positions were not in accordance. Our twenty-four hours in Durban unfortunately proved to be rather unmemorable. Our guesthouse was located in the staid Berea neighborhood above the city center and we did not have enough time to devote to exploring the city’s more redeeming cultural locales. We did, however, manage to find Kaberi some inexpensive traditional Zulu beaded jewelry and sample Durban’s trademark delicacy of bunny chow (Indian bhaji served in the center of a hollowed-out loaf of bread) before whisking ourselves back to Johannesburg. Our jubilant return to Joburg (or Jozi as it is affectionately called by its denizens) began with dinner with Kgomotso at the Portuguese Fish Market in Melville. We had a lively night of conversation recounting our Cape Town exploits before turning in early, knowing we had a full week remaining to enjoy each other’s company. The next day, Kgomotso and Cassandra took us out to the Newtown district to partake in a quintessential part of Jozi’s renowned music scene, the Joy of Jazz festival. Cassandra’s uncle’s college roommate happened to be the bassist for the night’s featured act, the Count Basey Orchestra. Despite having never met him before, Cassandra first managed to usher five of us backstage with one of the band’s saxophonists before procuring complimentary tickets to the show. Figuring that we were already playing with the house’s money, Vik shamelessly led us to front row dead center seats in a sold out venue. For the next ninety minutes, we enjoyed the Count Basey Orchestra’s inaugural South African performance. Even Vik, who admitted to not being much of a big band fan, was blown away by the musical virtuosity onstage. After sleeping in the following day to recover from our eventful night out, we indulged in an afternoon of mindless American filmed entertainment (the Steve Carell vehicle Evan Almighty). That evening, we made our way to a yuppified part of town for a westernized African meal and another night of live music at Moyo. One of our dinner companions was Kgomotso’s friend C.J., a transplanted South Side Chicagoan who identified himself as an African born in America. C.J. brought Vik up to speed with his notions of scientific socialism while concurrently sharing some of his distinctive new-age pronouncements (Vik’s favorite: “I’m totally in me right now”).  We used the better part of the following day to make travel arrangements for our subsequent two weeks in Europe. By the time we finally purchased discount airline tickets and booked hotel rooms in Lisbon and Dublin (a slower process than one might expect with an intermittent network connection), it was two in the afternoon and time for lunch. Kgomotso and her ex-husband Matthew then took us out for a memorable meal at the landmark Nambitha’s restaurant in Soweto (South West Township). Filled with almost exclusively with black South Africans, the restaurant offered an authentic atmosphere in which to sample samp, pap and a host of other traditional dishes. On the way home, we drove by the Nelson Mandela homestead in a preview of our forthcoming Soweto tour. Early the next week, we successfully relocated to a Melville guesthouse after a little bit of drama (the Afrikaaner owner of our first choice lodgings basically told us to go elsewhere when we mentioned that the much-advertised wireless Internet connection did not work). Having promptly complied, we found ourselves thoroughly exhausted a few hours later after walking all over Melville with our bags in tow. After we finally settled into Tama Rumah in the late afternoon, we enjoyed a late lunch/early dinner before resting on our hard-earned pillows. Later in the week, we explored three different Melville hipster spots for a combination of meals and boutique shopping. We had soon worked out a system whereby we’d enjoy a meal together at a trendy spot. Thereafter, Vik would patiently sit and read while Kaberi mainly window shopped. By the time evening rolled around, Vik could plead for time off for good behavior. One evening, Vik successfully begged off on hearing Angela Davis speak locally at Wits University. Attending the lecture together, Kaberi and Kgomotso agreed that it was only appropriate that they were listening to Dr. Davis speak more than a decade after their days of on-campus activism at Carleton. In so doing, they both reaffirmed a friendship that picked up seamlessly where it had left off in a prior life.

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.