Two days into my stay in Cape Town and I was lucky enough to come across a fabulous architecture thinker, who drove me around the city explaining me its history in both social and architectural terms. This was the first time I had left Long Street and its pubs since my arrival. We grabbed a coffee at Lola’s and headed down to V & A Waterfront. We parked on the East Pier and as I came out of the car I saw it: Hoerikwaggo! The mountain that pushes this city into the sea. Table Mountain, Tafel Berg, the very place where the portuguese navigators saw the mighty face of Adamastôr, the untamed giant who guarded the Cabo das Tormentas.
The mountain is fascinating. It looks beautiful and prevents one from getting lost when wandering around town. A good metaphor for a wife one would think. But the parallels don’ stop here. The other day I was sitting on Rhodes Memorial and staring at the mountains Stellenboschs way. It felt wrong to be in Cape Town looking at any mountain other than Table M. It felt like cheating in exactly the same way as being with a woman while knowing for a fact that one should be with someone else.
I can say that after 3 weeks I have a good (somewhat tenuous) understanding of the City. I have been in Rikkis but also the crazy taxi vans, drank wine in Camps Bay, swam in Clifton, bought books in Long, went to openings in Bo Kaap and probably spent 80% of my time in the Kimberley Hotel bar, in the corner of Buitenkant and Roeland. From the 3 nights booked in Carnival Court backpackers only 2 were spent there. I fell right into the groove of studio 2666 and thanks to Ed, Christian, Doug, Chad and Dan was converted from tourist to ‘another one of the lads’ in only two (rather intense) days.
I am often asked what place from all places in the world I would consider home? I say: somewhere with Portuguese food and sunny weather, Dutch infrastructure and Scottish people. Of all places I have been to, Cape Town seems to be the closest to this description. With my time in Cape Town about to come to an end I am starting to miss the place, the food, the streets and its people.
