the perfect days don't stop

Today was just lovely! Woke up feeling fit and raring to go. Raring (http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=raring&searchmode=none). Maybe not that intense. I’m not super bright in the morning. Kind-of dumb, really. But once I had my coffee, I was alert enough to be excited for our morning at the Salt River Market. It is in a nearby suburb called Woodstock, and runs each Saturday in the summer. Ryan and Stasha go every week, and were excited for Chris and me to experience it. They are all so sweet in their excitement to find things that they think I’ll like (which they don’t know is almost anything, including a mall or a post office). We arrived to find many vendors with handmade clothing and crafts, and two huge semi-outdoor rooms with dozens of food vendors selling fresh baked goods, omelets and crepes, tuna burgers, wine, tapenades, biltong (dried kudu and beef)… standard lovely Saturday market fare! I had a make-it-yourself yogurt, fruit and granola bowl which was just perfect. We sat at long communal tables as French/Middle Eastern inspired music played from the large speakers, sort-of successfully creating the ethnic marketplace vibe the organizers were going for (though Ryan didn’t buy it: “What’s with this music, ay? Derelicte…”). We walked around the clothing and jewelry shops, and the boys were very patient with Stasha and my gazing and re-gazing.

We walked back to the little dirt lot on a side street where we had parked our car (Chris had to go the wrong way on a one-way to get there), and the attendant told us that if we waited for a minute, we could see the Coon Carnival. I wasn’t sure what that meant, though I could hear some band music in the distance. (Just looked this up and found the most poorly written, least informative Wikipedia article ever: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaapse_Klopse. Here’s another take: http://www.rebirth.co.za/cape_town_coon_carnival.htm) I told everyone that we could go if they didn’t want the car blocked in, but they agreed that, no, it would be something I would likely enjoy. So we walked up this little one-way past some brightly colored, newly painted houses (though the roofs and brick fences were looking a little beat-up) and could see people waiting in the streets, and a group of people in glittering blue, silver, yellow and green in the distance. We parked ourselves inconspicuously under a tree, and waited for the band to approach and pass. The music sounded awesome: there were mostly brass horns and some hide-skin hand drums, playing complex counterpoints really tightly. We could see two cute kids in little glittery suits leading the way, and then older children in white band uniforms following. But they all appeared to be turning off the street and into a house about 15 meters ahead of where we were. So I left the gang to walk a little closer and take some pictures. I wound up getting wedged in between the band itself, a parked car, and two elderly people, as the band played their last song before taking a break for croissants, samosas, and fresh fruit. The man to my right told me to take as many pictures as I wanted, that they would even pose with me! “They” were men and women in shimmering band-type suits, whose entire faces and heads were painted with Carnivalesque patterns in silver, green, blue, and yellow glitter paint. They were so intricate! And those who weren’t playing music were dancing with vehemence. I looked around at all of these happy people, enjoying music and smiling, and I realized the tenuousness with which I found myself in this exact place at this exact time. Leslie’s friends, the market, the one-way street, the decision to go back and try another piece of biltong… and it all led to this gift, this bright shiny music surrounded by these bright shiny heads on a small street on a sunny day in Cape Town. And they were taking a lunch break, just like all the bands I marched in did. Their actions looked so familiar in this way, despite the fact that little else resembled my experiences in the marching band. Once the band stopped for their break, I asked my photo-friendly friend of the band was from this neighborhood, and he said no, they were from Bonteheuwel (thanks for the spelling, Chris!), but that they sometimes marched here. I asked if he lived nearby, and he was proud to tell me that his was the big pink house on the corner. There were people of all ages hanging out, and it felt like such a nice neighborhood, though Chris and Ryan didn’t seem to think it would be incredibly safe at other times of day. I’m not sure.

After this euphoric experience, Ryan and Stasha turned in for a nap, and Chris and I headed to the beach. Since I’ve gotten here, the temperature has been a little cool (low 70s) and with VERY strong winds, winds that you would expect to feel at the Cape of Good Hope. They have blown my bag off my shoulder, have impeded my ability to walk with ease. So the beach hasn’t been the best option for most days. Indeed, our time at Fish Hoek was characterized by a wind so strong, we left the beach because we weren’t dressed warmly enough to endure it for more than half an hour. But today felt a lot warmer and stiller, so to the Atlantic beaches it was! After briefly getting lost (and learning that South Africans call traffic lights “robots”), we drove over the mountain to the beaches. The water was the most vivid turquoise blue imaginable close to the sand, and the richest azure farther out. The afternoon sun made dancing diamonds across the whole sea. It was so beautiful. Cliffs line the beaches, and huge, soft rock formations make little coves along the coast, where people can enjoy the wildly soft, white sand sheltered from the wind. We parked on a cliffside at Clifton, and walked down to the sand. We set up camp, but realized we weren’t as sheltered as we had hoped. Every five minutes or so, warm winds would blow sand pellets at us. But it was worth it to be in the warm sun. I even went for a swim in the 12 degree water (55) (The Atlantic is clear, clean, calm and frigid. The Indian is cloudy, shark-infested, with big swells, and beautifully warm). I lost my breath from the cold, but stayed in long enough for a nice little swim. Chris and I walked along the beaches north for a bit, then went back up to the road to walk to Camps Bay, the next beach. It reminded me a bit of Sydney, with chi-chi cafes along the ocean-front street, and beautiful people basking in the sun under mountains rising out of the clear sea. But the mountains here are a big more majestic, though the cliffs themselves are less dramatic. We split a perfect pizza, with pancetta, avocado, and peppadew (semi-hot, semi-sweet little peppers that are so nice…), and headed back to the flat. I took a huge shower, and decided to go see Avatar 3D at the local movie theater solo while Chris watched Chelsea win the football game. He dropped me off, but it was sold out, and so was every single other movie. Luckily, the security guard I asked for directions to the theater mentioned that there was another theater, which, I correctly suspected, was an arthouse theater. So I bought a ticket for $3 for “An Education,” and a popcorn for $1.50. I was the only person under 60 in the theater, which, I guess, made sense for a Saturday night in hip Cape Town. As well, every single person in my row informed me that I was late as I excused myself past them. Every one! Funny, no? I was like, “Sorry…sorry…ok…I know…” I’m going to bed early to be at the meeting place at 7am. I am going on a highly recommended wine tasting tour on bikes tomorrow (21km!) in Stellenbosch, and I want to feel fit and rearing to go!