Left Jo'burg yesterday morning for Cape Town on a crowded flight but at least we did not have to deal with customs. Drove to our hotel amidst high winds and chill with the ocean wild and wonderful. The front of the hotel is all glass with a view of the sea. It's a small place and Ron and I scored a lovely patio (although it's too cold to sit out there) and a bit of an ocean view.
Last night we went to the Victoria and Alfred (her son) Waterfront for shopping and dinner and a quick cab ride home. Fell into bed only to awaken around 12:30 A.M. with both of us wide-eyed for two more hours. Barely made it up in time for our excellent breakfast and my requisite two cups of coffee before meeting our guide, Graham, for the day's activities.
We had big hopes that the sea would calm sufficiently an hour long ferry ride to Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela and countless political prisoners were interred during Apartheid. We got there early and boarded the 60-year old ferry that was once used to bring both prisoners and their families from the mainland to the island. There were rough seas, matey, and me without my dramamine. On the return trip, I had to don my rain poncho and stand outside, bracing myself against the rail, and praying mightily that I would not be humiliated by succumbing to uncontrolled retching. There were several of us who could not believe our good fortune when the ferry finally docked at Cape Town.
Robben Island National Park is beautiful and terrible. I did not feel the spirits of those who'd been there against their will, perhaps because many were freed after Mandela and the ANC prevailed. Our bus tour guide and our guide through Mandela's cell block were former political prisoners, both of whom radiated strength and serenity. I asked Jama, one of the guides, how he could be so calm and steady in the face of all that had befallen him. He smiled and answered simply, "Different circumstances."
Fortunately, I enjoyed lunch after our tumultuous time at sea. Back in Cape Town, we kept our eyes on Table Mountain and decided, after a too brief shopping trip to the African Shop at the Waterfront, that we would drive to the mountain to see if the cable cars were running. Yes they were and up we went, over 3,000 feet. The cable car starts to rotate so there isn't really anything to hang on to but the ride is brief and spectacular, at that.
We saw animals, flowers, and the city in panorama, sometimes with half a cloud covering our view. We all thought it was spactacular.
Last night we went to the Victoria and Alfred (her son) Waterfront for shopping and dinner and a quick cab ride home. Fell into bed only to awaken around 12:30 A.M. with both of us wide-eyed for two more hours. Barely made it up in time for our excellent breakfast and my requisite two cups of coffee before meeting our guide, Graham, for the day's activities.
We had big hopes that the sea would calm sufficiently an hour long ferry ride to Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela and countless political prisoners were interred during Apartheid. We got there early and boarded the 60-year old ferry that was once used to bring both prisoners and their families from the mainland to the island. There were rough seas, matey, and me without my dramamine. On the return trip, I had to don my rain poncho and stand outside, bracing myself against the rail, and praying mightily that I would not be humiliated by succumbing to uncontrolled retching. There were several of us who could not believe our good fortune when the ferry finally docked at Cape Town.
Robben Island National Park is beautiful and terrible. I did not feel the spirits of those who'd been there against their will, perhaps because many were freed after Mandela and the ANC prevailed. Our bus tour guide and our guide through Mandela's cell block were former political prisoners, both of whom radiated strength and serenity. I asked Jama, one of the guides, how he could be so calm and steady in the face of all that had befallen him. He smiled and answered simply, "Different circumstances."
Fortunately, I enjoyed lunch after our tumultuous time at sea. Back in Cape Town, we kept our eyes on Table Mountain and decided, after a too brief shopping trip to the African Shop at the Waterfront, that we would drive to the mountain to see if the cable cars were running. Yes they were and up we went, over 3,000 feet. The cable car starts to rotate so there isn't really anything to hang on to but the ride is brief and spectacular, at that.
We saw animals, flowers, and the city in panorama, sometimes with half a cloud covering our view. We all thought it was spactacular.
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