All posts by Claire

About Claire

Wandering (and wondering) development professional and aspiring aid worker. Contact me on anticipationofwonder[at]gmail[dot]com

Ou Kaapstad was van altyd af nog baie mooi vir my

Cape Town, ,
Ou Kaapstad was van altyd af nog baie mooi vir my
Capetonians are generally fiercely proud of their city.  They’re proud of the mountain and the beaches and the beauty and the quality of life. This has the (amusing) effect of perplexing many Joburgers. And yet, many Cape Town people spend very little time enjoying the amenities which make their city so attractive to people from across the world.
One of these is the Company’s Garden (also called Company Gardens). The garden was first planted by the Dutch who came to the Cape in the late 1600s, as a source of vegetables to restock their ships. After changing hands several times – along with the rest of the colony – the gardens were eventually opened to all and have been maintained, ever since, as a sanctuary of peace and greenery in the heart of Cape Town city bowl.
I was in town for a meeting early one morning, so I took a walk. I was 30 minutes early thanks to traffic – leaving the Southern Suburbs at 7:30am gets you to town around 8am, but leaving any later means sitting in traffic for ages. So an 8:30 meeting means having half an hour to kill in town. What a joy! My meeting was at the café at St George’s, so I was in the perfect spot, too.
The sun was out in town. It had been misty and chilly when I left Mowbray, but coming around the bend to Salt River, Lion’s Head rose before me in glorious sunshine. The sunshine followed me all that morning. Between the trees, the sun flickered and filtered down on the path beside the cathedral. Homeless people gathered their belongings from the benches along the Avenue and headed off to start their day. Business people and morning runners hurried past dawdling groups of school children.
I turned off the main path in the Gardens, and found another, quietly set among trees and flowers. The bougainvillea was flowering purple. The breeze rippled the South African flag on the steps of the National Library. Along the path, I came upon a pretty stone lantern. The lantern, said the information board, was “presented to Cape Town by “the Government of Japan as a token of appreciation of the kindness and hospitality shown to Japanese immigrants”, erected 1932.
I spent a few moments enjoying the peace and symmetry until a man with a leaf-blower came and chased me away. As I turned back onto the main path, the sun was just catching the orange stringy parts of a palm grove and turning them to flames of light.
Further along the path, I stopped to look at an old stone sundial and turned just as the sun lit up a Madonna statue off to one side. A small, grey squirrel scuttled ahead of me and then rushed off on a side path and up an old, old tree.
Rhodes’ statue, standing proud and tall, made me think of the words of a Klopjag song: “…maar Rhodes staan, sonder woorde, in die tuin en wys my waar die noorde le, en weet ek dis na jou wat ek verlang..” Ek verlang, elke keer as ek aan daardie woorde dink, na Stellenbosch dae en Stellenbosch vriende. Rhodes’ plaque, “your hinterland is there” perhaps as true now as ever, although I suppose the more correct expression now would refer the markets to the north.
At the top of the path, looking out across the rose garden, the cloud was lying on the mountain like a lazy table-cloth, resting half way across, instead of covering the whole thing. The mountain, as always, lay sharp and beautiful against a blue, blue sky.
As I walked back, towards my meeting and the day ahead, I stopped to take in the ‘wishing well’ lit up in the morning sun, a pool of light in the midst of shadow. The sprinklers came on as I neared the gate, shooting sprays of sparkling drops across the paths and creating gentle magic for anyone willing to watch.
By 8:30am, I was sitting in the café at St George’s sipping a cappuccino and enjoying the quiet and the sunlight on the old, old stone. My busy day of work was just beginning but already I’d spent time in beautiful gardens and smelled the roses, enjoyed the stunning mountain and wandered half-forgotten paths. Ou Kaapstad was van altyd af nog baie mooi vir my*.
*Credit to Klopjag, one of my favourite South African bands: title and quotes from N1 Roete

Capetonians are generally fiercely proud of their city.  They’re proud of the mountain and the beaches and the beauty and the quality of life. This has the (amusing) effect of perplexing many Joburgers. And yet, many Cape Town people spend very little time enjoying the amenities which make their city so attractive to people from across the world.

One of these is the Company’s Garden (also called Company Gardens). The garden was first planted by the Dutch who came to the Cape in the late 1600s, as a source of vegetables to restock their ships. After changing hands several times – along with the rest of the colony – the gardens were eventually opened to all and have been maintained, ever since, as a sanctuary of peace and greenery in the heart of Cape Town city bowl.

I was in town for a meeting one morning, so I took a walk. I was 30 minutes early thanks to traffic – leaving the Southern Suburbs at 7:30am gets you to town around 8am, but leaving any later means sitting in traffic for ages. So an 8:30 meeting means having half an hour to kill in town. What a joy! My meeting was at the café at St George’s, so I was in the perfect spot, too.

The sun was out in town. It had been misty and chilly when I left Mowbray, but coming around the bend to Salt River, Lion’s Head rose before me in glorious sunshine. The sunshine followed me all that morning. Between the trees, the sun flickered and filtered down on the path beside the cathedral. Homeless people gathered their belongings from the benches along the Avenue and headed off to start their day. Business people and morning runners hurried past dawdling groups of school children.

I turned off the main path in the Gardens, and found another, quietly set among trees and flowers. The bougainvillea was flowering purple. The breeze rippled the South African flag on the steps of the National Library. Along the path, I came upon a pretty stone lantern. The lantern, said the information board, was “presented to Cape Town by “the Government of Japan as a token of appreciation of the kindness and hospitality shown to Japanese immigrants”, erected 1932.

I spent a few moments enjoying the peace and symmetry until a man with a leaf-blower came and chased me away. As I turned back onto the main path, the sun was just catching the orange stringy parts of a palm grove and turning them to flames of light.

Further along the path, I stopped to look at an old stone sundial and turned just as the sun lit up a Madonna statue off to one side. A small, grey squirrel scuttled ahead of me and then rushed off on a side path and up an old, old tree.

Rhodes’ statue, standing proud and tall, made me think of the words of a Klopjag song: “…maar Rhodes staan, sonder woorde, in die tuin en wys my waar die noorde le, en weet ek dis na jou wat ek verlang..” Ek verlang, elke keer as ek aan daardie woorde dink, na Stellenbosch dae en Stellenbosch vriende. Rhodes’ plaque, “your hinterland is there” stands perhaps as true now as ever, although I suppose the more correct expression now would refer the markets to the north.

At the top of the path, looking out across the rose garden, the cloud was lying on the mountain like a lazy table-cloth, resting half way across, instead of covering the whole thing. The mountain, as always, lay sharp and beautiful against a blue, blue sky.

As I walked back, towards my meeting and the day ahead, I stopped to take in the ‘wishing well’ lit up in the morning sun, a pool of light in the midst of shadow. The sprinklers came on as I neared the gate, shooting sprays of sparkling drops across the paths and creating gentle magic for anyone willing to watch.

By 8:30am, I was sitting in the café at St George’s sipping a cappuccino and enjoying the quiet and the sunlight on the old, old stone. My busy day of work was just beginning but already I’d spent time in beautiful gardens and smelled the roses, enjoyed the stunning mountain and wandered half-forgotten paths. Ou Kaapstad was van altyd af nog baie mooi vir my*.

*Credit to Klopjag, one of my favourite South African bands: title and quotes from N1 Roete

Park’s Menu

Cape Town, Food,

After a year of Korean food (sometimes unwillingly), I came home and found myself missing it. Since then, I have struggled to find a Korean restaurant anywhere. To be fair, I haven’t spent a lot of time in major metropolises and I haven’t tried as hard as I possibly could, but I was still very pleased when I discovered that there was a Korean restaurant around the corner from the guest-house where I was staying this past week.

Park’s Menu is a small restaurant on Klipfontein Road (Durban Road) in Mowbray, Cape Town (Campground Centre for those who are familiar with the area). It’s bigger, inside, than it appears from the street. Chairs and walls are white, with collections of odd, old wall-cabinets decorated with old books and china and flowers, creating a comfortable, airy feel. The place is a little quirky, but not in any way pretentious or annoying. Gentle jazz in the background completes the relaxed, warm atmosphere. It’s a bit of an oasis on a busy road.

The menu is properly Korean, ranging from manduguk and bibimbap to galbi and ssambap. Also, a take-away menu that says “there is more dish if you eat at the reastaurant”. I was standing outside, reading the menu in the window when the waiter came out and handed me a take-away menu. I think he was a bit taken aback when I immediately said I was coming inside.

I sat at a pretty white table next to the window. The waiter was super-friendly and efficient and, interestingly, not Korean, although all of the other staff do seem to be Korean. I took ages to order – how do you choose when you haven’t eaten any Korean food in 8 months and you know you won’t be back soon? Eventually I settled on mandu for starters and haemeul pajeon for mains.

As I waited, it struck me that the place smelled Korean. Not overwhelmingly and not in a bad way. It’s a smell that is difficult to describe but I think probably has something to do with bean sprouts and tofu. I never noticed that in Korea but it triggered such strong memories of so many Korean dinners.

The mandu (steamed dumplings) was great. Just the way I remember it. And distinctly different to the dimsum you get at other places. It’s tough to identify exactly the difference but I think it’s the filling. And the dumpling bit is softer. Also, joy of joys, proper chopsticks. Not metal chopsticks, sadly, but flat chopsticks, the shape of the Korean metal chopsticks. So much better than other chopsticks!

The haemeul pajeon (seafood pancake, but that translation is wrong and I have yet to find a better one) was great. Apparently it’s the chef’s speciality. It was thicker than I’m used to, which made it a little difficult to cut with chopsticks, but it was delicious. The mains come with kimchi and beansprouts (namul). Nothing quite like the spicy, sour, crunchy, juicy joy of fermented cabbage. Nothing in the whole world. It’s definitely an acquired taste but once you’re used to it, it can be really good. This was good kimchi. Not too spicy, perfectly crunchy and sour.

The restaurant also has, specially imported from Korea, tables with the stove-top grill so typical of restaurants in Korea. It’s a great way to eat. There is a particular stove-top table section on the menu. If you’re up for spicy food, try the kimchi-jeongol. Or (less spicy) the Bulgogi (delicious beef stew).

They also have a Korean-food buffet once a month – 12 March 2011 is the next one – which would be a great opportunity to experiment if you’ve never tried Korean food. The menu doesn’t offer alcoholic drinks (so strange to eat Korean food without Hite or Cass) but they seem fine with people bringing their own wine (corkage R25).

I’m delighted to have found a great Korean restaurant in South Africa and will definitely be back. Just thinking about it now, I’m wishing I was close enough to pop through for lunch. If you’ve never tried Korean food, or you haven’t eaten kimchi in a while, Park’s Menu is a great place to spend some time and enjoy the tastes of kimchi-land.

The wonder of ideas

Ideas, , ,
They say everyone should have a hobby. Mine is debating. Not just arguing, informally – although analysis of everything, all the time, comes naturally now – but formal, competitive debate. One of my favourite quotes is from Ursula le Guin’s novel, The Dispossessed:
“They argued because they liked argument, liked the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility, liked to question what was not questioned”
Debating is fast, competitive and intense. It requires concentration, quick thinking, engagement, knowledge, confidence and wit. It’s a great way to feel alive. That’s what people say about adventure sports. I suppose this is a little bit like an adventure sport, testing yourself, pushing your limits, adrenaline coursing through your veins.
It’s also addictive, in a way. Once you first learn the joy of being in the thick of that logical argumentation, of the shared experience of contemplating different solutions to complex real-world problems, with the tools of analysis, argumentation and persuasion, you either love it or you hate it.
Debate was the reason I went to Botswana at the end of last year. Every year, University students from around the world gather together to test their skills against the best in the world. For almost 10 days, they argue, in debate venues, over drinks, on game drives, immersing themselves in the incredible intellectual stimulation of coming head-to-head, on a contentious issue, with someone from a completely different context, paradigm, continent. The experience is so all-consuming that, for that little time, the world outside that bubble seems to fade away.
The events are part of the reason debating hooks people in. The people are another part. Because debating is an adversarial system, you learn, if you are a debater, to enjoy an adversarial relationship without it becoming unpleasant. You can handle friendly competition and disagreeing is not the end of a conversation, it is the beginning. You process news and information (especially news and information about far-away places) through the lens of a debating – “how will that help my argument?”, “hey, that is a clear violation of this international treaty I first heard about in a debate last night!”, “there are such strong normative arguments against those new tax breaks”, etc. You find yourself wanting to discuss news, politics, economics, with other debaters, for the logical analysis they will bring to the situation, because they will be interested in seeing both sides, because they will probably all have different perspectives, because they will argue about it and in the arguing, in the testing of ideas, you will form your own opinions and learn.
After years of constructing funding proposals and media releases about debating, years of talking about how it teaching people research skills and produces exceptional public speakers, I know, deep down, that that is not the point. It’s true, but it’s not the point. The point, the real reason we debate, happens in the room. It is that moment, after just a few minutes of thinking about it, when you stand up and present, in 7 minutes, the best arguments, using exactly the right information, constructed perfectly, delivered with wit and eloquence, the best, most persuasive arguments, and you sit down – adrenaline still pumping, feeling incredibly alive – and you know you’ve gotten it right or you’ve done better than ever before and (or) you’ve won a tough room.
Putting yourself out there every time, using your intellect, your experiences, your knowledge and your emotions to build a case and then putting it out there for others – whose skills and intellect you respect – to attack and tear down, takes courage. Doing it again and again takes determination. Doing it well takes training and practice and time. It’s worth it when it works. And it’s worth it because debating lets you slowly fall in love with the wonder of ideas and “the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility”.

They say everyone should have a hobby. Mine is debating. Not just arguing, informally – although analysis of everything, all the time, comes naturally now – but formal, competitive debate. One of my favourite quotes is from Ursula le Guin’s novel, The Dispossessed:

“They argued because they liked argument, liked the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility, liked to question what was not questioned”

Debating is fast, competitive and intense. It requires concentration, quick thinking, engagement, knowledge, confidence and wit. It’s a great way to feel alive. They say that about adventure sports. I suppose this is a little bit like an adventure sport, testing yourself, pushing your limits, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

It’s also addictive, in a way. Once you first learn the joy of being in the thick of that logical argumentation, of the shared experience of contrasting different solutions to complex, real-world problems, with the tools of analysis, argumentation and persuasion, you either love it or you hate it.

Debate was the reason I went to Botswana at the end of last year. Every year, University students from around the world gather together to test their skills against the best in the world. For almost 10 days, they argue, in debate venues, over drinks, on game drives, immersing themselves in the incredible intellectual stimulation of coming head-to-head, on a contentious issue, with someone from a completely different context, paradigm, continent. The experience is so all-consuming that, for that little time, the world outside that bubble seems to fade away.

The events are part of the reason debating hooks people in. The people are another part. Because debating is an adversarial system, you learn, if you are a debater, to enjoy an adversarial relationship without it becoming unpleasant. You can handle friendly competition and disagreeing is not the end of a conversation, it is the beginning. You process news and information (especially news and information about far-away places) through the lens of a debating – “how will that help my argument?”, “hey, that is a clear violation of this international treaty I first heard about in a debate last night!”, “there are such strong normative arguments against those new tax breaks”, etc. You find yourself wanting to discuss news, politics, economics, with other debaters, for the logical analysis they will bring to the situation, because they will be interested in seeing both sides, because they will probably all have different perspectives, because they will argue about it and in the arguing, in the testing of ideas, you will form your own opinions and learn.

After years of constructing funding proposals and media releases about debating, years of talking about how it teaches people research skills and produces exceptional public speakers, I know, deep down, that that is not the point. It’s true, but it’s not the point. The point, the real reason we debate, happens in the room. It is that moment, after just a few minutes of thinking about it, when you stand up and present, in 7 minutes, the best arguments, using exactly the right information, constructed perfectly, delivered with wit and eloquence; the best, most persuasive arguments, and you sit down – adrenaline still pumping, feeling so incredibly alive – and you know you’ve gotten it right or you’ve done better than ever before or you’ve won a tough room.

Putting yourself out there every time – using your intellect, your experiences, your knowledge and your emotions to build a case and then putting it out there for debaters, whose skills and intellect you respect, to attack and tear down – takes courage. Doing it again and again takes determination. Doing it well takes training and practice and time. It’s worth it when it works. It’s worth it because debating lets you slowly fall in love with the wonder of ideas and “the swift run of the unfettered mind along the paths of possibility”.