Ying and Yang

TO VIEW PHOTOS OF CAPE TOWN, COPY THIS LINK INTO YOUR BROWSER: https://picasaweb.google.com/110694280613933350423/SouthAfricaCapeTown?authkey=Gv1sRgCOC2z6Hj8IHlgAE#

Over the last 2 weeks, I understand why people here drink as much as they do. Living in South Africa, you drink because it’s good. You drink because it’s bad. You drink because you can. Plus, really good South African wine can cost as little as $3 Cdn a bottle. Knowing that, wouldn’t you drink too?

By and large, South Africa has to be one of the most contrasted countries I’ve ever been in. Here is a sample of 2 consecutive days – one in Joburg and then the next day in Cape Town:

WEDNESDAY – “YING” - Johannesburg. I awoke in the palace in Illovo and made my way to work at Saneri for the morning as I was supposed to meet with Barry the energy efficiency manager. Then I had to head to Re-Solve in Roodepoort to try and complete a proposal for Tanzania.

I finally got fingerprinted so I could access the doors and hallways without needing to drag anyone with me (or cutting off someone’s finger) so that was a positive. But then my 10 am meeting came and went and Barry finally emailed me to say that he was stuck in Amsterdam. So I muddled through some work and decided to leave around noon.

But at around 11am it started raining, and then the rain turned into the driving, unrelentless kind of rain that makes you wonder if a lake is going to form in the parking lot and carry the cars away. I mean, this rain didn’t stop. And there wasn’t a whole lot of thunder or lightening, just rain.

Then the electricity went out – several times, on and off. It is a Johannesburg phenomenon to many who live there (including me) that rain=loss of electricity. In fact, most of the traffic lights stop working when this driving rain hits. How, I wonder, can outdoor technology be so sensitive?? I know an ice storm can bring down a hydro tower, but rain drops? Come on.

After one hour and knowing that I had to hit the road, I decided to brave the rain and head out as I really need to finish this proposal back at Re-Solve. Despite parking right in front for the first time since working at Saneri, I got almost soaked right through. I climbed into my crappy Toyota which, after getting rained in, smelled worse than a rotting hippo. Locking my doors down in true Joburg style, I set off towards the main boulevard.

THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH IS NOT SUITABLE READING FOR CATHOLICS – PLEASE SKIP. I was sitting on this boulevard in full-on traffic – four lanes one way and four lanes on the other side. Complete gridlock. So what do you do when you’re in complete gridlock, sitting in wet clothes in a smelly car with no radio and no where to go. You look around, right? And that’s when I saw the sight that to this day, makes me shake my head... A black South African male was standing stark naked underneath a large tree (steps away from a very big bus stop, I might add), "pleasing himself". Now when you see such a sight, you want to look twice to see if you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing, right? And then simultaneously, you don’t. So I looked at the car to my right to see if they were seeing the same man I was, but more importantly, if they were shocked, too.

Hey – I’m the foreigner in this country so although I would think that this activity in a very, very public domain would not be normal and deemed highly illegal, I’m not up to discounting the fact that this may not be unusual. But a one second look into their faces told me all I needed to know. This was definitely NOT usual.

Thankfully the traffic started to move and I noticed a police car stopped up ahead with a white male clearly describing with hand gestures (not THOSE had gestures, but you get the picture) what was going on just a few feet away. Maybe the cop got on his radio and called for backup. Maybe he figured he couldn’t reverse and get to the ‘scene of the crime’. Maybe he ran out of latex gloves and couldn’t escort that man into his police car, I don’t know. But those are just my positive thoughts. His actual response to the news behind him was simply to drive off into the traffic. I’ll never know what happened back there, but I didn’t want to know. I had seen enough.

A turn off into an adjoining street saw even more traffic the cars (mine included) needed to traverse (and I’m not kidding) a river that had formed at the dip in this road. It was a fairly steep up and down road. So as I was praying that this wreck of a Toyota would make it, I looked down at my beautiful blue Mexx top and saw that the seatbelt had rubbed a heavy oil and dirt stain the whole length of my left boob. And I mean, it smelled bad. I knew for a fact that I was having a bad South African day!

I decided to cut my losses and save my Mexx top (for those of you who know me, you know that my Mexx is sacred). I changed direction and headed back to the palace to put all my clothes in the washing machine and do a complete wardrobe change.

Embarking into the smelly hippo car again, I brought with me a plastic bag that I sat on, a plastic bag that I rested my back on and a plastic bag to cover both my boobs. It was 2pm, time was dwindling, and I once again headed for the Re-Solve office. For some reason, after nearly two weeks of driving this car, did the pain start to hit me on this drive. Maybe I hit a pothole, maybe I was immune with the novelty of the Toyota beast, but a large metal spring seemed to pop out of nowhere from my seat and was now protruding sharply into my right side just below my shoulder.

Could this day really be happening?

So I drove like a granny with my chin almost on the steering wheel for the next 20 minutes cursing like a banshee. I finally arrive at Re-Solve feeling spent and mentally exhausted from the last 5 hours.

Just as a matter of reporting, I made it home that night (driving again like a Granny) with no significant events to report (although for the record, the sweater I threw into the washing machine along with my greased up shirt shrunk down to a size suitable for a 6-year old. So clearly, I underestimated the lasting power of a bad South Africa day).

Thankfully I was giving back the Toyota beast in the morning and flying to Cape Town. A city that I heard could not be more different than Johannesburg.

Good God, I hoped so.

THURSDAY – “YANG” – Cape Town. Graham picked me up at the airport in his Audi A6 (hmmm…we’re off to a good start). I had worked with Graham at Toastess 15 years ago and had not seen him since. Only a few years back did I make contact with him again and learned that he lived in Cape Town. So he kindly offered me a place to stay and was keen to play host which I was very grateful for.

If I were to describe Cape Town, I would say that it was a cross between the steep hills of San Francisco, the rolling mountain suburbs and beaches of Sydney, the backdrop mountains of North Vancouver, and the glamour of Bevery Hills. It is stunning times ten. There are more colored (mixed race) locals than black, a result of the early slaves and settlers that came from Europe (Dutch, Portugese) and the far East (Indonesia, India). There are still townships in Cape Town (the largest that I saw was by the airport which probably housed 40,000 or more) but the greater city area is well kept and organized. Fair sized populations of Jewish settlers along with European ex-pats take up most of the city. And the night life probably rivals downtown Miami. It is to Africa what Paris is to Europe – fine restaurants, jet setters, beautiful people, and very obvious wealth.

Graham’s roommate was away for a few days so I was able to set myself up in his daugther’s room (there only part time). We arrived and loaded my baggage onto his apartment’s elevator. What I didn’t realize was that after punching a code on the elevator, the top level button was pressed and when the doors opened, I was greeted with Nirvana. The penthouse! His own private elevator had delivered us to an ocean view penthouse that occupied the whole top floor of the building, a 360 degree balcony with a double-sized pool on the deck. Oh man, but this was nice. We had some hor d’oeuvres and wine and then jetted off to a St. Patrick’s Day party in town.

Not bad for a contrasting day as compared to Joburg, eh?

And the week just went on like that. Very hot temperatures and days spent either in the pool or on the beach. I did the red bus city tour, the blue bus city tour, Cape Point, the wineries in Stellenbosh, penguin watching at Boulders Beach….and so it goes, and so it goes. Who knew that being in South Africa to help bring water to the underprivileged would be such incredibly hard work?

Although you’re always better to be cautious, Cape Town is by far miles safer than Joburg. Windows can be down, doors unlocked, and public transportation including buses and taxis exist no matter what color or race you are. Walking from point A to point B was such a treat, I can’t tell you. And what I enjoyed most was walking down the hill to Giovanni’s where this Italian bistro had outdoor stools and a bar that you could sit out under a veranda, watching the giant flat screen tv with the World Cup Cricket match, sipping a cappuccino and chocolate croissant (or in my case, a foamy rich hot chocolate). Hmmm Hmmm, boy oh boy would I look forward to that!

Just when I thought I couldn’t get any higher of a vibe being in this posh city and feeling like a millionaire without the bank account to prove it, the “ying” of South Africa kicked in (and how dare it on my “yang” of a Cape Town trip?). On my way down Lion’s Head mountain – a hike that we did on one of the Friday nights – I came crashing down to reality (and to the ground from the pain) as my ankle rolled over a rock that I didn’t see (for obvious reasons: it was one of Cape Town’s famous full moon-sunset hikes that only 200 other people were in the process of doing). I included a lovely green and purple photo of my ankle for you to marvel at. I told people it was in honor of St. Patrick.

So with reality now set in, I had my head straightened out and my attitude in check which made me fully appreciate this trip. To outline in detail all the amazing things that I saw and did would be tough – suffice to say that, if Joburg is not considered Africa, then Cape Town should not even be considered on the same continent. A picture is worth a thousand words, so plug in the link above into your browser and you’ll have a taste of just how “yang” Cape Town is to Joburg.

Next week I possibly might be in Uganda and Kenya so if I’m out of touch for another little while, sit tight. I’ll be back at you in another couple of weeks – which will probably be my last blog to you before I head home.

Time will now evaporate quicker than air.

Hugs, Lisa