Arriving at Cape Town International, we
advanced to the Avis counter to pick up our car. We requested unlimited mileage, and the
assistant told us that cannot be done on a South African driver's license. (I had booked this car in my name.) What on Earth?! I have never heard such nonsense. Perhaps she was just trying to cover up for a
different concern, which I will share with you when I get to the part about
Port Elizabeth. So Tonya decided to put
the car on her card. After all
arrangements were made and documents signed, the kind assistant said she would
upgrade us to a bigger car. I guess she
looked at our weightier figures and our massive luggage and knew. Unlike Tonya, I had not had the foresight to
consider car size when booking - I only looked at price and took the cheapest
option. Hey, this was my first time ever
hiring a car. On all previous trips I
had relied on people to fetch and carry me, which was indeed how they
remembered me because I never possessed a car while I lived in Cape Town. This always meant that I had to wait around
for their convenience, naturally, and I did not get to do all the exciting
things that one can do on holiday. But
that had never bothered me. Going home
was always about seeing people and never about taking a break. It was precisely for this reason that I determined
on this trip to behave as a tourist.
It was now close to 9pm. We drove into the city. No Siri needed here, or so I thought. I know Cape Town quite well, but having never
lived in the city centre, I was not clear on the street names, nor indeed which
were one-ways. My navigatrix came to the
rescue once again. We found Icon Apartments
but were unable to find the entrance to the parking garage. We circled the block a few times, until
finally stopping in front of the Capetonian Hotel to call the one contact
number I had. The helpful woman told me
to turn right, there's an outdoor parking lot where lots of people park during
the day. I mean, really! Eventually I stopped at Icon's entrance, sent
Tonya in, and a porter hopped into our car to guide us into the basement. And beside it was said now-empty outdoor
parking lot.
Once in, we were both delighted with our
choice. This is where we had booked
after being told by St Martini Gardens that I had misunderstood their booking
procedure - I mentioned that at the start of this memoir. Icon was spectacular, with a mesmerizing view
towards the ocean. We were on the 17th
floor. I had trouble going out on the
balcony, though. Over my fear of flying,
but not my fear of heights! Oh,
lord!
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On Saturday morning, we took a walk about town
as far as the Company's Garden. En
route, we had brunch on Greenmarket Square and wandered about the arts &
crafts market, eyeing out pieces to come back for. There was an anxious feeling about. I got the distinct impression that everyone
was being watched, that easy targets were being sought upon whom con men and
louts could pounce
momentarily. This is not the Cape Town I
remember, and it was so unlike what had blown me away in Johannesburg. On the other hand, we had not dared venture
into Jo'burg's CBD, while here in Cape Town we ambled in the heart of it.
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After the Gardens, Tonya shopped for clothes
while I went to eat lunch. She sadly had
another stunted browse, finding nothing suitable. We then returned to our accommodation to rest
before tonight's entertainment. On the
way, we entered a shopping centre and found an ATM to get some dough. (I did not realise at the time that this was
the same shopping centre we had entered earlier in the day. Then a well-dressed, well-spoken man had gone
up to Tonya while she was transacting, offering to help her. I smelled a fish, and after a few short
moments, I beckoned for her to abort and exit with me.) Now back on another level of this
centre, we each went to a different ATM, which stood side-by-side. I withdrew money, and the minute I was done,
four men (again well-dressed and well-spoken) approached us. I recognized one of them as the same man
who'd approached us earlier. They
managed to separate us and two of them dragged me back to the ATM I'd just used,
telling me that my card was still open.
They pressed buttons on the screen, and it did seem as if the next
customer could transact on my account. I
refer back to the confusion I felt in Jo'burg when I'd tried to transfer funds
for my driver's license. They convinced
me to put my card back in, but when they asked me to enter my PIN, I knew for
certain that this was a con. I told them
to forget it, took my card and turned my attention to Tonya.
By now, she'd followed the men's instructions,
and within moments, they were all gone.
She then realised that her ATM card was also gone. Just then a security guard walked up, asked
what was happening, and told us not to trust anyone. Tonya later confided that she was certain
he'd seen the commotion and had indeed been in on it. We rushed back to our apartment; all the
while Tonya looked online for the emergency number for her bank. Arriving back at Icon, we asked the front
desk if we could make an international call, and Tonya cancelled her card. The receptionists were both disgusted at what
had happened to us and offered us the call for free. The next day, when Tonya checked her bank
account, R3000 had regrettably been withdrawn.
Bloody rascals! She was
understandably upset about it, but acknowledged that it could have been
worse. Neither of us was injured nor was
there even the threat of a knife or gun.
I felt quite ashamed that I'd allowed myself to
be conned like this and that I hadn't managed to save the American from the
dangers of travelling in South Africa.
We'd both read about these types of bastards who approach you at an ATM,
but nobody said anything about them being congenial or smartly attired.
Later it was time to make our way to the Grand Parade, where Madame Zingara had set up a big top for their Cape Town
production, Theater of Dreams. We
walked to the venue, and once again were accosted by a variety of vagrants and
swindlers. We dashed across the street
and the parade and scurried to where the crowds were gathering. Arriving, we spotted our companions. To my delight, also waiting in front was my
dear friend Tiziana, who I was scheduled to meet for lunch in a couple of
days. What a joyous reunion! When I told her Tonya'd been robbed she said,
"Gosh, Molly, what are you doing?!"
She repeated the question regarding my over-developed waistline. Ever-direct Italian bomb!
I'd booked these tickets from Taiwan, though it
was also not easy to pay - no credit card payment online. It was eventually my brother, Andre, who paid
the deposit on my behalf - I'd invited him and his wife Lerene to join Tonya
and me. Madame Zingara is not
unlike Cirque du Soleil. The evening's
entertainment included acrobatic feats and other nature defying uses of the
human body. Far superior to Cirque du
Soleil was this - the ticket also included a fine three-course meal, as well as
drinks and canapés upon arrival.
Andre told me how special this particular big top was. It is constructed of wood and canvas, and
decorated with mirrors and stained glass.
Originally made in Belgium (and called a Spiegeltent) in the late 19th
and early 20th centuries, only a few remain in the world, travelling around
Europe and beyond. Its first appearance
in South Africa was in 2007.
Many of the waiters
were fit and shirtless, adding eye candy to the mix. The welcoming drinks and canapés lasted a
little longer than I thought necessary, but at long last the dining room was
opened and we were shown to our seats.
Our waiter was humorous and entertaining. After taking our order, the show began. Up first was Saulo Sarmiento. Hailing from Spain and having previously been
engaged with Cirque du Soleil, his gravity defying acrobatics were a sight for
sore eyes. Next came the Diabolo Girls,
out of China. Our host was a South African
actor in drag. A head taller than me, she
came on in a slender white frock that reached all the way to the stars. In a previous incarnation, there is some
mention of cabin crew, and I guess this is where she took her name - Cathy
Specific. The group with which she sang
was called The Specifics, and they were great - soulful, full , voluptuous
black voices. I forget the sequence of
acts, but the performers were from Argentina, Brazil, Hungary, the UK, South
Africa, France and as mentioned, Spain and China.
Acts on the stage ceased and The Specifics
entertained us while the waiters scuttled the starters to the tables in an
ant-like stream of activity. After
starters, the show resumed and delighted.
Once again, a lull on stage accompanied the dancing, rushing waiters'
delivery of the mains. This was repeated
again for desserts. I find it astounding
that all that food (there must have been 500 patrons) was delivered with such
tremendous speed and flourish, while at the same time the meals were delicious,
in every way top-notch dining. It
boggles the mind. Mine consisted of
pan-fried sweet potato and butternut gnocchi on a butter sage sauce, followed
by oven roasted beef fillet with cranberry port jus and roasted bone marrow,
and finished off with "a trio of pure decadence" for dessert.
In the lobby one could get made-up to look
fancy and flamboyant. We did not. Also available were merchandise and oddities
to purchase. The entire thing was
astonishingly consuming. Out the back
were the facilities and a good place to cool down - it was toasty in the
tent. During one break, Tiziana caught
me outside. Standing nearby, statuesque,
was a Roman centurion in all his muscular glory, and she hurried me over to
take a picture with him. Direct, once again,
and spot on.
At the end of the evening, when the bill
arrived, it was considerably more than I'd been quoted. When I'd booked, I was told that the cheapest
seats were full-up, but that I'd been upgraded to a booth at no extra cost. This message had not been relayed to our
waitron. I pointed it out, and he
scurried off to get his manager. They
adjusted my bill, and for the effort, I over-tipped the man. He'd earned it anyway, with his whimsical
repartee throughout. Andre and Lerene
drove us back to our apartment, saving us from the unkind streets of the city.
On Sunday morning we
woke late. Today we'd see my sister,
Susan. To do this, we made our way north
on the West Coast Road to Melkbosstrand.
I was quite familiar with this road, so I told Tonya not to bother with
Siri. And then I took two wrong
turns! Neither turn diverted us far off
course, and we were quickly back on track.
We met Susan at the Farm Stall right on the West Coast Road. The meal was lovely and the venue rustic with
a garden and some small critters running about.
Children were playing on swings and watching the cute creatures. Susan and Tonya both took an instant liking
to each other. After brunch, we departed
to Susan's flat, where we chatted over tea.
I tried to convince her to come to the beachfront with us, but she was
feeling cold. That's the down side to
having not one ounce of fat on her body.
She is the only one in the family who has always exercised and watched
her figure, and she is fit and healthy for it.
It was great to see her after so long.
I was surprised upon my return, though, to find that I'd taken not one
photo of her!!
Later Tonya and I made for the Waterfront, a
giant shopping, hotel and lavish home complex surrounding the working harbour on
the edge of Cape Town City Bowl. The
commercial harbour is slightly removed from this complex, but at the Waterfront,
boats do dock, get worked on and some offer trips around the harbour for the
thousands of tourists and locals who visit daily. One of these tours takes interested travelers
to Robben Island, the notorious site of Nelson Mandela's incarceration. We wandered for a bit. My, how this place had changed! There was so much more, the shopping center
had been extended to the point that I was completely disoriented, and there
were many more extravagant homes.
After a while, we
tottered to Quay Four for a meal. I have
always enjoyed coming here with its wooden deck that reaches right to the
water. It was cold, but we sat outside. The gulls were well intrigued with anything
that was delivered to our table. While
eating, we had to shoo them away constantly lest they make off with our
grub. Also as we ate, a woman came out
from the warm belly of the restaurant to have a cigarette. She then went back inside to get some chips
to feed the birds. Not at all
ecologically sound, and indeed the very reason we had to guard our food. Still, I was not annoyed at her. However, someone inside did not feel the
same. A patron poked his head out of the
door she'd left open and yelled, "If you can open the door, then you can
close it too, love!" With that he
slammed the door with much resolve. That
door did not reopen, and all who wanted to exit and reenter, including the
waiters, had to use another door at the far end of the deck. Puerile Brit!
Next we shopped for curios and Tonya found an
item she'd been seeking for years - a leather purse, this one made of antelope
hide. Returning to the car, she was
amused by the sign that read "NO HOOTING". This, of course means 'no honking', but how
is a foreigner supposed to know that?
Arriving back at Icon, the button to call the elevator to the basement
was not functioning, so we had to get the receptionist to come down and get us.
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On Monday we moved to Silver Lattice in
Gardens. I was happy to be on the ground
again after the 17th floor. This place
was much smaller and a fraction of the price.
Nevertheless, it was remarkably well designed, making maximum use of a
limited space. It made me think of those
pictures one sees of an apartment in Hong Kong or Tokyo, where ingenious
designs allow for comfortable living in a tiny abode. Furthermore, our host Nico was friendly to a fault and most helpful. This is where we remained for seven days,
until Tonya boarded her return flight to Taiwan.
