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.