Pedal Power Wine Tour

I spent the weekend cycling around gorgeous Stellenbosch with some of the other volunteers...it was a beautiful, if sticky, day when we left Cape Town early in the morning. I say early, I mean 8am. Yet this is early for Cape Town as we usually trawl up and down Long Street on a Friday downing shots in the eclectic mix of bars.

So forgoing our usual Friday night outing, we arrived in Stellenbosch at 10 am, picked up the bikes and set off on the trip. The way there was an uphill struggle, panting up winding roads with only the beautiful views of the mountain and the promise of some great vino to keep us from flagging. Yours truly had managed not to fall off her bicycle the whole way there until we arrived at the wine farm with the fields of grapes spread out as far as the wide sky. Then I managed to trip over my own feet. I was staring at the mountains. Once ensconced on the comfy sofas at the first wine farm and sipped a selection of Chardonnays and Merlots.

It was then back onto the bike and off to the next wine farm, where we sampled 7 wines ranging from sweet desert wines to heady reds. And we scoffed a lot of posh chocs. Dark chocolate and chili. Milk chocolate and geranium. Dark chocolate and rock salt. Mmmmmmmmm. Once loaded up with enough chocolate for all the family back home to devour at Christmas we headed back to town. 2 flat tyres later and a beefy American changing pipes and pumping tyres we missed the train.

We stumbled to the local backpackers and begged stole and borrowed some towels to have a quick wash before heading out for a well deserved dinner. The rugby was on (Wales lost, shame) but nevertheless a lovely chilled out evening was had by all. A few games of pool and a couple of mosquito bites (by probably the most stupid mosquito ever...he bit by face and my eyelid but not my meaty areas...definitely a male mosquito) later we were tucked up in our bunk beds and ready to head home the next day!

A Shark With No Bite, Shame!

Last Sunday a few of us decided to risk it all and participate in a dive with Jaws best friend - the friendly South African Great White Shark. Yours truly had a bet with one of her legal eagle buddies that she would not brave the shark infested waters of Gansbaai, a few hours down the road from Cape Town, don a wetsuit and perch in a cage while sharks bashed against the bars.

Well, we set off early in the morning eagerly anticipating a terrifying day. We arrived at the offices of the dive company, listened attentively to our safety lecture and were generally working ourselves up into a frenzy. We set off in our boat and changed into wet suits. The crew threw chum into the water which is supposed to encourage the sharks to come to the surface. It is not bait. I suppose its kind of a water that's had dead fish in it. Anyway they can smell the dead fish.

After half an hour a shark popped up to the surface. A cry of "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhark in the bay" rang out. Well, blink and you would have missed it! It popped up banged against the side of the boat and was gone.

We trawled around for a few hours, but to no avail. The sharks were not where they were supposed to be. It was all a bit disappointing really.

However, back at the offices we were warmed up by a nice lasagna and heartened with a cold beer.

Snappy Meal

This blog is dedicated to my roomie, who takes pictures of all our meals and loves, in her own words, "delicious, dirty street food".

I have decided to write a blog about "Food, Glorious Food!" because so much of life in Cape Town revolves around "chowing". In fact, daily life here (and this is the most obvious thing to say, but I'm going to say it anyway) revolves around  family, community, church and food! Before I made the journey over to SA, I always associated these values with warm Catholic culture. With feasting and colourful street processions on saints days. The Hot Prot culture back home never inspired images of abundance and indulgence. It always seemed to me that  Protestantism was all about self-control and self-denial. As my Dad said on visiting Switzerland, "I hate this cold, petty bourgeois, Calvinist country!" I'm only ever holidaying in Spain again. At least there the churches are colourful and the food is tasty!

Cape Town has changed my perspective somewhat. Here life is certainly colourful and the food is delicious. My host mum makes delicious spicy curries. When I first arrived they used to burn the back of my throat and give me a runny tummy. Now, my gut seems to have adapted and my throat has grown accustomed to a bit more heat. Her chicken curry is amazing, its my favourite meal. I've tried ox-tail stew, mutton curry and bean curry as well.

On Sundays my host mum buys sticky donoughts coated in dried coconut as an after-church treat. My host Dad makes his special sandwiches in the evenings. He used to be a onboard chef. He's sailed all around the world. He makes delicious toasted cheese sandwiches. His speedy hands slice up tomato finely onto buttered bread, adds grated cheese, pepper and herbs and fries them dry in a pan.

On Saturdays my roomie and I frequent the Biscuit Mill. She has introduced me to "beverages". Under her tuition I'm learning to give up my beloved coffee in favour of more healthy exotic fruit blended concoctions, like pomegranate and mango smoothie.

We've stuffed ourselves with sushi at an all you can eat sushi buffet. We've munched ourselves to oblivion on ostrich burger at a gourmet burger joint in town that none other than Salema Hayak has declared the "best burger bar she has ever visited".

I've been to a traditional African dinner in a township and eaten fried chicken with sweet potatoes, spinach and bean stew in the home of one of the ladies who the Human Rights Office works with.

It could me easy to feel gulity and all these eating and self-indulgence in a continent where some people have so little. But, I feel I should eat and be merry while the sun shines...

History Lessons

Saturday my roomie and I went to visit Robben Island. It was a beautiful day and we had a beautiful boat journey there. We saw wonderful views and took wonderful photos of the City and mountains from the sea.

I was expecting the journey there to be somewhat different. I was expecting something different. In my mind Robben Island should have been a frightening gloomy place. It should have been a horrible arduous journey to reach an impenetrable fortress. Harsh waves should have been crashing against high stone walls and Dementors should have been swarming over the island.

Instead, it was a beautiful island resplendent with bright yellow gorse, with beautiful wild African birds and the horizon stretching out for miles around. "This is a prison?" by rommie and I asked each other perplexedly. It seemed so absurd that such a place could be a prison.

Then we visited the limestone mines where Mandela and the others worked. We saw their cave or "university" where they endeavoured to educate each other. We were guided around the tiny cells where the political prisons stayed. We were led into the small exercise yards where they were allowed out for half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the afternoon.

Our guide shared his story with us. He was involved in the 1976 school uprisings. He must not have been more than 16. He and his friends took part in a peaceful demonstration. He was shot at by the police. He hid in his school. The police arrested him hiding in the school. The way he spoke about his experiences really humbled me. He didn't seem bitter or angry. He just said what had happened. He did not over-dramatise or either play down what happened. He spoke so calmly and with such humanity that I thought I was going to shed a few tears but luckily I managed to hold it back. He smiled a lot. I thought to myself that it was truly amazing that someone could smile in such a place where they had experienced such brutality.

Going to Robben Island was not my most fun experience of Cape Town, but it has defiantly been one of the most interesting and enriching. It does make you wonder though going there "When how did we manage to turn paradise into hell?"

Its a Small World After All...

Sunday was a miserable rainy cold day. My roomie and Dutchie (whose kind of my boss at the office) decided to go to Muizenberg flea market on the coast. Muizenberg is where all the cool surfer types hang out. None of the stalls we wanted to visit had turned up, there were no scarves or earrings or any such things. The gusty blustering wind blew off my little red cap which was stopping my ears from looking blue. I thought to myself...what are we doing here?

We sat in a cafe and drank coffee to warm up. We had planned the day before to go to a braai party in the township of Guguletu called Muzolis. Should we still go, no one seemed keen. We were close to abondoning the plan. The Americans were being slightly lame. Put off by the rain. The Germans were lured along with the promise of cheap juicy meat.

Our driver dropped us off outside the restaurant. You could hear the party before you could smell it. We met up with one of Dutchie's friends, her ex-PA no less, a really nice guy who showed us how it worked. It was a covered shack. It was a loud party rammed with a sea of people pulling apart charred meat with their bare hands. He found us a picnic table under the plastic cover. Showed us where to buy our 6 pack of Savannah ciders. We walked with him to the butchery where we chose our meat raw, paid for it and then took it to the smokey fires at the back to get it braaied. Even though they accidentally put my sauce on Dutchie's chicken, it was still delicious!

When I first arrived in SA I had a lot of TIA (this is Africa) moments. In the minibus, looking up at Table Mountain from the PA office, meeting people, even eating dinner with my host family. Life here has become more normal and I haven't had one for a while. But being at this braai party sent little pickles down my spine and I really felt "OK, I'm in Africa!"

The group sitting next to us were celebrating a 21st birthday party. Dancing and jiving and sharing cake. A white middle aged lady was jivvy with them, a beautiful smile stretching over her face. I thought I recognised her. Maybe she just looked like someone I knew at home. Later in the queue for the loos the same lady embraced me "How are you?". Then I realised she was the lady I had sat next to on the plane, whose daughter lived in London. She wasn't meant to be in that seat, she was meant to be in business class, but there had been a mix up. It was so nice to see her and her family and be able to say "Your country's beautiful!". Especially as I felt so wobbly coming here on the plane and she was so chatty and kind. It is in these fleeting moments of openness and connectedness with people who you essentially really don't know but feel you do that you realise that the kindness of starngers is what keeps us all glued together and that He is good.