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.

In Loving Memory of the Ginger Kid!

On my first day at work I met a boy called Laurence. Everyone else called him Ginger. Soon I would start referring to him by this name too. He had been here for 3 months, he had one month left. This post, while never being able to encapsulate the full wonder and awesomeness of Ginger, is in his honour, because without him the office is a lot less colourful...

The first time I met Ginger he told me he had just spent a week doing a sailing course. He'd gotten very sunburnt. He didn't look that sunburnt..."You mean you haven't brought Factor 150 with you, oh but you look so pale". I wondered whether I should email home and ask my mum to post some. I decided Factor 50 would have to do me. He told me stolen some flares from the boat and was going to set them off at 6pm. I needed to go outside at 6pm that night and watch Cape Town on fire. I went outside at 6pm. All I could see was my host family's pool and the mountain beyond. The next day at work, Ginger told me how he'd had the whole area he lived in blocked off from letting off the firelight. He'd nearly been caught by the police. I was worried...so this is Cape Town!?!

He then took me for a walk around Rondebosch where our offices are, telling me how amazing Mr Price (think SA Primark) was and getting me a discount at the gym. I'm so glad I never took his advice. I don't know how I'd have time to go to the gym. Ginger pointed out all the cheap places to eat, he introduced me to Black Label beer at PAHRO's perennial hangout the dingy and divvy Cybar. He told me where to buy a UCT Hoodie. He told me how much I should pay for everything.

My first outing with Ginger was to the BoKaap where candy coloured houses are glued to the edge of the city and the lush green mountains behind. But, its not the safest neighbourhood. Cape Malay kids were wandering around and playing football down the narrow cobbled streets. "Ellie stand close to me we're about to get mugged...that was a close one, that was sketchy, if you ever want to show you're being non-confrontational stand with your hands behind your back".

We walked up Signal Hill. We walked up Signal Hill the wrong way. Fallen trees blocked out path. "Stay here girls I'm going to find a way up the mountain, I'm going to scout our way". One of the other girls tripped, a small thorn stuck in her finger, "It's OK I have a medical kit". Out he pulls catheters and plasters and bandages from the depths of his rucksack. Finally we get to a small pair of tweezers. "Elevate the wound". Watching the sunset over the ocean and Robben Island, the clouds parting to let the light stream through was magical. "I'm glad we all shared this day", I said. "Yep, me too, so beautiful, I think the toilet water is drinkable...we better fill up the water bottle for the trip back".

Maybe its not so good to meet Ginger on your first week in Cape Town. He told me how he had been mugged, how he had been arrested when a friend borrowed his knife. He showed me how to use Pepperspray. He sprayed half the Pepperspray in his face. He then rubbed it into his eyes. He then tried to light the Pepperspray with a cigarette lighter. I've never been so scared and at the same time laughed so much in my life when I've been someone. Thank you for a colourful introduction to a colourful city!

A Kandinsky of A Weekend in Cape Town

Friday night is Long Street Night...think Brixton meets Camden. They even have a branch of The Purple Turtle here! Drum and Bass blaring down the street, neon signs, drunken students of every colour and nationality getting drunker. Tourists meandering into the middle of the street while cab drivers honk their horns. A whirl of green and cream Springbok shots. Spinning to the beat. Feet pounding to the rhythm. Guys dancing at your hips trying to pick your jeans pockets. More Black Label Beer. Bleary eyes.

Saturday morning is the Biscuit Mill...think Kensington Farmers Market dumped into Peckham. Think a world of food beautifully presented on quaint stalls in one of the neighbourhood's that is the most uncomfortable and dangerous to walk around in.  Think Brick Lane market as it is now, trendy, but think Brick Lane as an area before it got trendy. Its expensive, its slightly pretentious, it seems to be to be full of rich white South Africans moaning about work and life and living in their city. Its full of girls in artsy dresses and young bucks drinking beer and munching on steak sandwiches. But the food is SO good.

Saturday afternoon is Kalk Bay...think quaint seaside village. The beautiful mountains like a bluescreen background. The little brightly coloured fishing vessels in the harbour. The smell of salt water and fresh fish being butchered before your very eyes. Seals playfully jumping and performing for the scraps. And the best fish and chips ever. Better than home (sorry).

Sunday is Table Mountain...think scrambling up wet rocks and waterfalls. Climbing up ladders over ravines. Think stumbling over boulders. Meeting young athletic Americans from every state on the flag. Think your legs being so sore you can't walk for 2 days afterwards. Crying in pain. Praying for it to end. Not believing you will ever get down again while admiring the most amazing views of the most beautiful city you have ever been to. Walking in a cloud. There's a reason why you feel closer to Himself on the mountain!