Cape Town
I arrived in Cape Town late on Friday night. Our delay in Amsterdam meant that we did not get into CT until after 11:00 p.m. We were the last flight in and they wanted to close the airport so they rushed us through customs which was just fine by me.
Much as I love Cape Town, I must admit to a level of anxiety about being a woman alone there so late at night. Because we were so late, the hotel shuttle was not operating so had to take a taxi. A little bit nerve racking but as the saying goes, “All’s well that ends well.”
Arrived in at my hotel and collapsed into bed after a few quick emails home to tell of my safe arrival.
Come morning I was free to explore this wonderful city. My anxiety of the night before quickly vanished as I began to interact with people here and felt the familiar warm and open way of communicating they have here. So different from home. Here, people look you in the eye when they speak; their smile envelopes you and you feel as if they see right into your soul. You feel that somehow you share a little secret with each person that you meet.
I picked up my rental car and prepared to experience life on the opposite side of the road.
Much to my surprise, I was almost immediately completely comfortable driving on the left. At most intersections I have to take special note of which lane I should be turning into and I keep going to the wrong side of the vehicle when I go to get in, but other than that, I feel as though I’ve been doing it all my life. In fact, most things here are strangely comfortable for me. Can’t explain it but I am completely at home here.
After a few errands in town and a quick drive around to get the lay of the land (which in my bizzare learning style involved getting lost numerous times and having to reason my way back) I headed north towards the Cederberg.
Despite the weather forecast of rain, it was a glorious day. The brilliant sunshine illuminated the road ahead and cast beautiful light across a landscape now bursting with colour, the dry, burned off grasses of summer having been replaced with fields of green and layers of magnificent floral carpets.
I meandered along, enjoying re-experiencing things that were strangely familiar, despite not really having even taken a conscious note of them the last time I was here. As I drove north along N7 alongside the Olifants River, past trees heavily laden with ripening oranges, I thought that perhaps I should have asked Linton for directions, or at least the name of the road to turn off at and was curious as to why I hadn’t. It just didn’t seem necessary. I smiled to myself, knowing that the answers would come.
My eye was drawn to the right, across the Olifants River and up into the mountain range beyond. Then I saw it. It was unmistakable. I had forgotten that you could see it from the highway. It dominated the skyline and stood like a beacon; a warm and familiar friend, stalwart and ever unchanging. It was the distinctive saddle of Spirit Mountain.
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Morag