We got to the Cape of Good Hope and took the funicular to the top of the mountain. It was 5pm which is closing time for the shops and facilities. We were lucky enough to catch the last carriage to the top of the mountain. The cliffs are spectacular. At the end of the walk there is a directional pole that indicates how far certain cities are from one another, including the South Pole, New York, and Delhi. While it's the furthest south point in Africa, Craig and I were even further south when we went to Tasmania.
Baboons on the drive to the Cape of Good Hope.
Me at the Cape of Good Hope.
On our drive back, we stopped for dinner in Camp's Bay, an adorable seaside city. We ate dinner on the rasied patio just across the street from the beach. I had a tuna steak for dinner which was actually quite tasty.
Post dinner was drinks at the bar Johann spent most of his time the night prior. We walked in and immediately Forbes asked what was happening, sensing this was a special night. After settling into our table, three very large black ladies with hair almost as large took to the small makeshift stage in the front. They sang a set of songs that included disco and 80s hits. They were really good. Good enough to promt us to ask them later the name of the song they were covering.
The last three songs they did were in their native Xhosa language, also known as the clicking language. There were a number of black patrons in the bar and all were not doing anything to call special attention to themselves. Once the ladies began singing in Xhosa (pronounced KO-sah but with a clicking noise as the beginning), it was as if someone put a quarter in the machine. All at once they all stood from all parts of the bar and began dancing their native dances and singing along. It was shockingly magical. The songs were beautiful and there was an instant light in the eyes of all those dancing.
We stayed out way too late of course. Forbes was doing his best old man badgering, reminding us of our big day tomorrow. We had planned on going to Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela was held prisoner for decades. After the crowd thinned and we were preparing to leave, Forbes decided to chat up a good looking guy. Since we had started to make our exit, Johann and I had one foot out the door and Forbes realized we wanted to go. He unwillingly left with us, though it was his option to stay. We've been hearing ever since that we stood in the way of his good time. We walked ourselves back to the hotel by midnight. It was time for bed.
This morning we got up, had the hotel breakfast again and set off to buy tickets for Robben Island. We were disappointed to learn today was sold out though we were able to purchase tickets for tomorrow which we did.
Johann picked us up as he didn't want to do the island tour having done it several times in the past. We checked out of the hotel and went to our next one which is listed as gay-friendly. Yesterday over the phone, I requested a three bedroom place. As we checked in and were led to our apartment, we discovered it was only two bedrooms. After a quick discussion with the staff, they took us to another house. It is a beautiful three bedroom row house with custom white oak cabinetry, granite countertops, and brushed nickle accents. The patio has a small pool and sundeck. The bedroom upstairs has a full dual-head shower and two patios. The two bedrooms downstairs are smaller and share a bathroom. Upon arrival I suggested that we flip a coin for the upstairs but both Johann and Forbes insisted that I take it as I had traveled the furthest distance. It was very generous of them.
Our apartment.
We lounged around a bit and settled in. Our next stop was the market square where all the typical African wares are sold. Aisle after aisle of artwork, beautiful bowls, handed beaded kitsch, and tanzanite jewelry.
I had made several purchases and was wandering around a few minutes prior to our arranged meeting time. I've heard so much about guarding your valuables and bags but I had not seen any evidence of crime. In fact, every entry to all houses have either a hard-fixed set of bars or a locking gate.
Each window, door, anything big enough for someone to enter is locked and secured, even when you are home. I had started to wonder if it was a bit exaggerated. So as I was walking on the outskirts of the market, a younger black man approached me and asked for some money. I had become accustomed to this and to simply say "sorry". After I offered my regrets, this young man lowered his voice and said "Give me your fucking money or I will cut you with my knife". Though I was fairly certain of what he said, for some reason I asked him to repeat himself. The only reason I can think of for doing that was my mind couldn't gather itself fast enough to provide myself with options.
"Give me your fucking money or I will cut you with my knife" came out of his mouth again, this time much angrier. It had given me enough time to collect myself. His hand was in his pocket as though he were holding his knife in it so I reacted faster than I think he thought I would. I grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him backward as hard as I could and quickly moved to the entrance of the market to find a police officer. He had lost his balance but not fallen down. My heart must have been beating a thousand times per second. Seeing I was looking for help and now in a crowd, he came toward me and said jovially, "Ahh was only joking mahn. Where are you from?" in his African accent. I held my arm out straight in his direction and shouted "Stay the FUCK away from me." This attracted enough stares that he backed off and left the scene. Whether or not he really did have a knife didn't matter; I'm sure this ploy worked on other tourists successfully.
Pure adrenaline. It was still 10 minutes before our meeting time but I had never wished so hard in my life that one of them was early. To my extreme relief, Johann was seated at the cafe having a coffee. I sat down and was shaking. Obviously distraught, Johann asked me what wrong so I explained what happened. Of course it didn't ruffle his feathers as much as I did mine and I could tell from his response that I wasn't the first person to have this happen. He said I did the right thing.
The market where I was mugged.
Unfortunately a chunk of my afternoon was ruined by what happened and I came to realize that one misstep and my life could have been altered significantly. With crime being such a problem in the country, so far I've only seen three of four police cars and no police at all walking on the streets.
After I settled down, we walked through the government complex. We saw the place where the president of the country lives and even there I did not see a single police, and only a 10 high fence with barb wire surrounding it. I asked Johann why there wasn't more security and he said people don't care much about the president and he was most likely drunk already. It is widely known that he's got an alcohol problem.
The presidential palace.
We got back to our house, freshened up and went back to the Manhattan Club, the place we went last night. There is a cafe attached to the club. The food was decent though I've yet to have an extraordinary meal here.
We must have been feeling very festive because we drank like they weren't making beer anymore. I kept pace with the Scot who before dinner attempted to go to the bathroom and nearly walked into a window. He then became so disorriented that he did a 360, saw us sitting at the table, and decided he didn't need to go THAT bad. He played bumper cars with the wall and tables on the way back. Johann and I were in absolute stitches, tears streaming down our faces. He was so gone that he didn't retaliate; instead just sat down again at the table and slumped his shoulders. The patrons next to us joined in our squealing enjoyment at the expense of our friend.
Once the food came, Forbes was adamant he did not order what was presented to him even though Johann, the waiter and I all were certain that's what he asked for. He realized he wasn't going to win this war so he gave up. It must have been good because he ate the whole plate, and half of my pasta.
We retired to the bar area and settled in. After ordering t-shirts from the manager (they are cool bar shirts), we wondered if we would get them. They are out of stock and will be shipped to us. Forbes badgered the poor guy over and over about getting his shirts.
Speaking of the bartender, his name is Job and he's from Zimbabwe I think. Most of the staff is black, including Job. Johann renamed him to Joe because it was simply too taxing to pronounce the "b". Joe didn't mind. Anyway, he's a beautiful man with a rocking body. We convinced another bartender to take off his shirt so we could size them. All three of us forgot what we were doing and just stared at him. We found out that Joe is working part time and going to law school. His whit is incredible and began calling Forbes the Queen of Scotland. Johann claims him to be straight according to the owner of the bar whom he chatted up. If that's the case, he hides it well and is very comfortable around the homos.
We reached maximum capacity and Forbes was head-bobbing at the bar, even after two red bulls. We have a big day tomorrow with the Robben Island tour so I wanted to go as well. The guys from our house rental office had to do some work and took our second set of keys. Fortunately we are within a 5 minute walk so Johann came back with us, let us in, and left, locking us in the house. After drinking some water and putting a load of laundry in, Forbes staggered to the kitchen saying he wished we weren't locked in because he wanted to go out again. He said this with droopy eyes whilst swaying. I convinced him it was best we stay in for the night.
