From Cape Town, to the Cape of Good Hope...

Greetings from Simons Town, South Africa. I’m about 45 minutes south of Cape Town, at the beginning of the cape, which eventually meets at the point of the Cape of Good Hope, the southernmost tip of Africa.

I arrived in Cape Town, a green, sophisticated and beautiful city on the western coast of South Africa, filled with colonial, Dutch architecture. Table Mountain, a huge, flat mountain, looms behind the city, grabbing the clouds as they drift by.

It’s winter here, and the people are dressed in layers of sweaters, scarves, and hats, and the weather is a constant topic of conversation. Folks are apologizing left and right for cold temperatures, asking us to return in the summer, when it is truly pleasant and welcoming.

It’s 60 degrees, and I’m wearing a t-shirt. I’m thrilled to be away from the DC summer.

Yesterday we found our way to the base of Table Mountain, where we were expecting to take a cable car to the top, promising magnificent views of the city and ocean below. Unfortunately, the winds were whipping, causing the cable cars to shut down – which seems to happen quite frequently. So, Jane and I walked down the road, seeking a trailhead, which we found about a kilometer down the road. We turned in, and started up the path. At first it was a walk, then a hike, and then an outright climb, passing waterfalls, cliffs and overhangs. We were about halfway up the mountain, when hikers starting climbing down, warning of the approaching “tablecloth” – storm clouds rolling in, promising extreme weather. We climbed up a little further, and found a trail cutting across the mountain for about 2 kilometers, eventually bringing us back down where we started. We touched back down, and the skies opened. Perfect timing.

From there, we took a cab back downtown. In chatting up the driver, we learned that he was from Rwanda. I wanted to know about him, but wanted to be respectful of what would be, undoubtedly, a sad story. He opened up after learning that I work for the World Food Program, telling us of fleeing his country, losing his family, living in a refugee camp in the Democratic Republic of Congo for over a year, and then finally moving to South Africa six years ago, where, miraculously, he was reunited with his wife and daughter. For more than a year, all of his meals came from WFP. This made up for every bad day I’ve ever had…

Last night we rented a car and drove south to Simons Town, where we are staying with Hilda Barry – a close family friend of Cath Byrne, from California, via Johannesburg (Hi Cath! We’re having a great time with Hilda! Thanks for putting us in touch!).

Today we drove… first to Boulder Beach, home to thousands and thousands of African, or “jackass,” penguins. They roam along the beaches, burrowing holes in the sand where they lay eggs, and warm their newly hatched babies. They’re smaller than I expected, about 2-1/2 feet tall, and the male penguins “bray” (hence the name “jackass”) to defend their nests. At one point, we came to a clearing, where there thousands of penguins gathered on the shore, lobbing from side to side, and diving into the water.

The rest of our day was spent driving south, to the Cape of Good Hope – the southernmost tip of Africa. All I can say is that this area is a land of big weather. Big clouds, big winds, big bursts of torrential downpours, big sunrays streaming through big cracks in the sky, and big rainbows, stretching out from the peaks of big, craggy mountains tumbling into the sea.

We encountered ostriches along the road; graceful reminders of our location. Arriving at the Cape of Good Hope was difficult for my mind to digest. A man chased baboons away with a stick, as we started our way up the hill, to a lighthouse that stood at the end point where the Indian and Atlantic oceans meet. The wind was whipping and lashing, tearing away anything that wasn’t connected to my body. It was a moment to just stop and be still. Sometimes I worry that I can’t be impressed anymore – and I’m always so happy to prove myself wrong.

I’ve received a few emails with questions about post-apartheid Africa. I’m intrigued, and (I know you’ll find this surprising) am asking questions along the way – but I’m not qualified to talk about race, history and South Africa. Cape Town is a very white city, and the thoughts and opinions I’ve gathered have been from white South Africans. It has been 14 years since the end of apartheid, and in many ways it's been *only* 14 years since the end of apartheird. I expect that I will have something to say toward the end of this trip. People seem not to speak too deeply about race, yet there is a quiet “something” that is acknowledged – a tension. The radio plays tributes to Steven Biko, offering reminders to relieve yourself of the burdens of inferiority and oppression.

Tomorrow we head east of Cape Town to some of the vineyards. This should prove interesting; wine tasting, while driving on the wrong side of the road...

I hope you’re well!