Re: Trying to Get to "What Happened," Not "What I Did." Eventually.

In the interest of brevity, let’s skip the part where I moved into a yellow house with its own name (“Highbury”), its own wall, and its own barbed wire; claimed Room 2; unpacked my bags; and slept off my jet lag.

We can skip the descriptions and comparisons of this and that thing: the beaches (Clifton Beach: pretty but cold; Muizenburg: lots of surfers, lots of wind; Dangers Bay: warm and relatively free of dangers), the grocery stores (Pick and Pay : Checkers: Woolworths :: Star Market : Shaws : Whole Foods), and the landscape in general.

For some more glossing-over*, here are some of the things that – had you been here – you might have found me doing, at some point or another, in the past two weeks. **

• Standing on the Cape of Good Hope, ignoring physics, and wondering – as all humans are prone to do when they’re at the very tip of something – if it’s possible to fall off the face of the earth completely.

• Hiking up Table Mountain, making our way around the top, descending into the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. Being glad that the reason that I was sweating so profusely was not (only) because I was severely out of shape, but because it was one of the hottest days since we’ve been here.

• Taking rides in Al’s unmarked van at least once a day. (Note: Al was the inspiration for that Paul Simon song.) Additionally, realizing that Al may be ripping us off, as he charges by person and not by distance. Peculiar.
  
  
• Joining three quasi-athletic clubs – surfing, capoeira, and yoga – just in case I have some untapped potential in these areas.
  
  
• Waiting in queues – which are not called lines even though they are clearly, undeniably, lines – to register for my classes. Signing up for African Dance. I’ll say it again: untapped potential.
  
  
• Climbing the “Jammie Stairs” on campus, which always requires more cardiovascular fortitude than expected.
  
  
• Training for a half-marathon while considering the whole “getting-winded-climbing-the-stairs” thing.
  
  
• Sitting on the couch on our front porch.
  
  
• Attending a political protest.
  
  
• Talking to a Kenyan refugee in a coffee shop while reading a newspaper clipping about him. Working in said coffee shop, which is owned by a guy who doesn’t wear shoes. Realizing that this is the kind of coffee shop that lacks a can opener. And sufficient glassware. And a staff.

Now, on to the juicy bits:

This is what an electrical socket looks like in Cape Town. It’s, you know … different. It’s not like the ones you see in the United States for many reasons – one difference being that South African sockets have the ability to make my American laptop burst into flames.

There’s a metaphor in here somewhere … but I’ll leave that up to you. It’s like … choose your own adventure.

Yeah.

*Elaboration is available upon request. But only if I like you.

**More pictures to come.

This is me, being a bit lazy

In lieu of trying to describe my first day or so in Cape Town, I'm going to link to my column for The Heights.

More entries to come about more interesting things.

I am the Best Blogger Ever.