It is raining outside and everyone is moaning about the cold. It is the third time in three weeks that rains and compared to Scotland, the cold is virtually inexistent. This is also the first time in my life that I do not enjoy the ‘summer’. After the European winter I moved to the African one and at the end of September, I will be back just in time for the first Scottish rain and drizzle.
Having enjoyed the good Cape Town weather through the window of the Kimberley Hotel Bar, I decided to leave the pub and do the tourist thing. While looking at the map of Cape town I became aware of an interesting connection between Scotland, Portugal and South Africa. When in Aberdeen, and during the research for Six Cities, I came to realise that a famous Aberdeen clipper called Thermopylae had been sunk in the 19th Century by the Portuguese navy and I now realise it all happened off the coast of Cape Town.
The natural starting point for ‘the tourist thing’ in CT is to go up Table Mountain with the cable car. After reading a book about Table Mountain (Hoerikwaggo) which had a small description of the Giant Adamastôr by Luis Vaz de Camões (writer of The Lusíadas), I set to look for the physical resemblances between the mountain and the literary figure as described by Camões. Needless to say I found nothing whatsoever. Andrew tells me that at the time the mountain had trees and I imagine they might have contributed to the sight of a huge bearded giant.
Around 10am J and me decide to get the cable car to the top of the mountain. The alternative could be to climb on foot, and had I still been part of the Dix family, or with my work colleague Claudia Z, that would have probably been my fate.
This time around we jumped a high tech 360 degree-rotating swiss-made funicular and before we knew we were on top of the world. The place is much bigger that what I thought, certainly when compared to its Brazilian counterparts Pão de Açúcar and Corcovado in Rio de Janeiro. Table Mountain, as the name indicates is a flat platform on top of a mountain extending for hundreds of square meters and allowing unhampered views over the whole state; the beach, the mountains, the Townships, the City Center etc. Like Mount Etna there is no much to do up there apart from eating overpriced fast food or buying souvenirs. As a result I did just what I am best at; laid down on a rock and chilled while chatting to J about the ‘state of heart’ (image on the heading of the blog). After a couple of hours we headed back down drove to Camps Bay for a couple of glasses of dry white, followed by a swim at the lush beach Clifton 1.
Next day destination Stellenbosch. J had organised for us to go an see a wine farm that belongs to the father of one of her friends named Tamo. Personnaly I was as keen to see Stellenbosch as about the wine farms. I had been told that Stellenbosch was one of the strongholds of Afrikaans culture in the region. It did look Dutch no doubt. Apparently Afrikaaners are also called Voortrekkers because they were driven upcountry by the English during the Boer Wars. In the case of Stellenbosch this seems inacurate because the Boers went nowhere and managed to hold on to their land.
We are meant to meet Tamo and Co in Franschhoek, a small town on the hills which was established by French Huguenots. We head to the French connection restaurant where a bottle of bubbly and a few others of wine wait impatiently for us. We eat beautiful food and slowly get pissed before heading uphill to the Cabrière wine estate. After a quick visit we walk through the vineyards to Tamos house. The settling is strikingly beautiful and the house very genuine. I am not sure this is an adjective that one can use in relation to a house but it struck me that these people were surrounded by the objects that they really liked despite how old or broken these were. The well to do owner of the estate, famous for opening bottles of Champagne with a sabre, showed me his old bed and said: ‘Its all old and derelict but I love it. I put all my clothes on that peg at the bottom of it. It functions beautifully’. Next to the bed there is a naked portrait he painted of his wife as a young woman. The man transpires romance!
After trying the vintage wines of 2006 and 2007 and watching the sun going down between two mountains we depart back to Stellenbosch to stay at Js parents house. And this is the last I remember from that day…
Two days later we decide to go to Hermanus where J has a house on the beach. We drive through False Bays scenic route and some of the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever crossed. We are forced to stop the car by a family of baboons and as soon as we get to Hermanus we spot two whales at the bay.
The fridge at Js house is full of dry white wines and I cook shrimps on a bed of spinach. We get pissed again, chat and listen to opera for hours. The three days in Hermanus are spent with a book in one hand and a glass of dry white on the other. On the way back we go past Js parents for a braai of ostrich, chicken and beef. And again this is the last I remember from that day.
I am now back at the studio sitting next to Ed who is also typing. We drink beer and listen to bad music as we prepare to go out and once again get in trouble. Its Saturday night after all.
