All posts by Claire

About Claire

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

Cape Town fake day

Adventures, Cape Town, Friends, trains and train stations, ,

On Tuesday I got up early and headed to the station. I had planned to take the Premium Express train – a “business-class” train that runs between Strand and Cape Town each week-day, complete with complimentary coffee, tea, newspapers and SAPS-on-board. Sadly, it appears to be impossible to buy a single-journey/one-day ticket for this train.

So I found myself buying a perfectly ordinary Metro-plus return ticket on a perfectly ordinary (beautiful) Tuesday morning. I found a comfortable bench on the platform and waited. Other passengers drifted in and found their own benches. Some read books. Some stared into the distance. A community-safety volunteer in reflective vest wandered along the platform. A cleaning-lady was sweeping. The place was close to spotlessly clean already. She picked up a stray sweet paper. A delivery-man arrived with some pies and they chatted about her recent trip to the Transkei. It was so peaceful.

The train arrived and I climbed (well, stepped) aboard. I had a whole carriage to myself for a while, but then one or two others joined me. The trip was quiet and beautiful. I sat at the window and looked out at a beautiful world. Mountains rose in the distance. A dam sparkled in the morning sun. Arum lilies grew beside of the railway line, white on green.

We passed settlements – suburbs? townships? – where houses were being built and extensions done and walls painted. Everywhere building, growing, developing. But pretty rather than commercial. Attractive. Each house with a garden, some just lawn, some with beautiful flowers. Hibiscus flowered next to jasmine. It was so good to see built-up areas with space and light and gardens.

As we came into Cape Town, the mountain rose huge and magnificent above the city bowl. My sister has this concept of ‘fake days’ – days that are so beautiful if they were pictures they’d be rejected because they’d be unrealistic. This was a ‘fake day’ in Cape Town. Seriously, no one city should be allowed to be that pretty. It was exquisite.

I met a friend at the station. They’ve just redone Cape Town station. It’s huge and open with shiny tiles and brand new, easy-to-read signage. It looks good. Most South Africans – or at least those born into or who have now reached the ‘class’ where they can mortgage their lives to buy a car – never use public transport. It makes me a little sad because they miss out on so much. When you’re in a car, even if you’re not driving, you miss out simply because roads tend to have more houses beside them than railway tracks. I had a moment of wondering what would get South Africans back onto public transport. The whole experience from beginning to end was great for me.

Friend and I wandered off into Cape Town. We started at a super sandwich place and then took a wonderful, gentle stroll. We went down to the Artscape to look at the Zebras. The Zebras are part of an exhibition around the theme “not all is black and white”. They’re fascinating and add yet another reason to visit Cape Town city centre.

Later, after various stops around the city, we made our way to Company Gardens. The day was still ridiculously beautiful. The sun streamed into the lush, green gardens as we wandered along the shady paths and squirrels scuttled up trees and flocks of pigeons took off in a flutter of wings. Some seagulls have moved into the gardens and as we watched, muscled their way in on the crumbs people were throwing to the pigeons. I felt a little sorry for the pigeons. The seagulls, in turn, were displaced by a set of amorous Egyptian geese. I was lovely to sit in these quiet, beautiful gardens with the lunchtime crowds settled on the grass enjoying the beautiful weather.

Later, after that friend headed off back to work, I caught a cab to the Waterfront. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the Waterfront. Ultimately, a mall is a mall but after a long stint in a country that doesn’t really have malls in the sense that we do, it’s pleasant and relaxing and just a little luxurious to wander around an upmarket mall full of brand-name stores, the gorgeously rich scents of chocolate and coffee, the glimmer of artificial light off perfectly polished tiles and freshly painted signs and walls. If feels safe, secure and familiar. I had coffee with a friend at a little chocolatier and coffee shop that served the most delicious chocolate eclairs. It was a delightful place. The whole mall was fairly empty on a random Tuesday afternoon. Here I think it was just us and perhaps one other table. We drank coffee with sugar lumps. Luxury comes in many forms; good coffee, delicious sweets and delightful conversation is one of my favourites.

Back at the station, I found my platform, thanks to the friendly and efficient info desk, and hopped onto my train. I travelled through the growing dusk towards Strand Station. There were far more people on the train this time – my carriage was full. It was still beautiful. I got back before dark and headed home to change before going off to have dinner with two more friends.

A beautiful day of sunshine in stupidly pretty city and lots of wonderful time with friends.

Slow bus to Somerset West

bus, South Africa,

I travelled to Somerset West by bus last Thursday evening. Most people hate long bus trips. The seats are small and you have to sit for hours and you’re on a bus. Sometimes I agree, when I’m stuck in a non-window seat with a large and/or baby-carrying person next to me. But most of the time I love them. My only sadness is that South African long-haul bus trips tend to be overnight so you end up sleeping half the way and missing out on all the beautiful views. This trip I managed a few hours of beauty before I fell asleep.

I get on the bus in King William’s Town. The sun is going down and it’s starting to get chilly. It isn’t cold on the bus. So many people and the aircon. It’s warm, actually. I settle into my window seat and watch the world go by. The seat is just off-centre enough that I can’t see the random movie (Grease, I think) but I have a better view. The sunset is beautiful over the Eastern Cape veld. At the edges of the world pink and purple and apricot fade to blue.

Beyond Grahamstown, the stars come out, sparkling in a velvet-blue sky. The night is clear and bright. The moon must be nearly full. They’ve turned the lights off in the bus and, looking out, I can see the dry grass and the thorn trees and the rolling hills, peaceful and magical in the green-blue light.

Somewhere around Port Elizabeth, I fall asleep. Sleeping on a bus isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Luckily I sleep quite easily. I forgot to bring something to use as a pillow this time, so end up with a stiff neck. It doesn’t matter though. I wake up in Jeffrey’s Bay and then fall asleep again and sleep like a baby until the bus’s morning stop at 3am. I’m not sure why they stop at 3am.

On the last part of the trip, in the early hours Friday, it starts to rain a little. These are the apple-farming bits of the Western Cape. The cloud is low and misty. Small towns rise in the dawn light, church spires dark against low clouds. The road is a dark, wet ribbon through the brush. We head up the pass. As we climb further and further, the world disappeared in misty cloud. It’s eerie.

And then, suddenly, we emerge from the mist and spread before us is one of the most beautiful parts of my world – the lights of Cape Town, table mountain in the distance and Somerset West, Strand, Gordon’s Bay in the foreground, with the beautiful beach lapping at their feet. The bus is early. Even as I wait, the clouds break up and a perfect, sunny day takes hold of the beautiful Western Cape.

The weather in the Western Cape is usually fairly crappy in the winter – raining for weeks on end and always chilly and damp and dark. Since I arrived, the sun has been shining almost non-stop. I am certainly not complaining – this part of the world is exquisitely beautiful on still, sunshine-filled days. I keep getting excited about the prettiness. It feels almost too good to be true, as if this old home of mine, this old playground is putting on a show to woo me and welcoming me back.

Slow bus to Somerset West

I travelled to Somerset West by bus last Thursday evening. Most people hate long bus trips. The seats are small and you have to sit for hours and you’re on a bus. Sometimes I agree, when I’m stuck in a non-window seat with a large and/or baby-carrying person next to me. But most of the time I love them. My only sadness is that South African long-haul bus trips tend to be overnight so you end up sleeping half the way and missing out on all the beautiful views. This trip I managed a few hours of beauty before I fell asleep.

I get on the bus in King William’s Town. The sun is going down and it’s starting to get chilly. It isn’t cold on the bus. So many people and the aircon. It’s warm, actually. I settle into my window seat and watch the world go by. The seat is just off-centre enough that I can’t see the random movie (Grease, I think) but I have a better view. The sunset is beautiful over the Eastern Cape veld. At the edges of the world pink and purple and apricot fade to blue.

Beyond Grahamstown, the stars come out, sparkling in a velvet-blue sky. The night is clear and bright. The moon must be nearly full. They’ve turned the lights off in the bus and, looking out, I can see the dry grass and the thorn trees and the rolling hills, peaceful and magical in the green-blue light.

Somewhere around Port Elizabeth, I fall asleep. Sleeping on a bus isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Luckily I sleep quite easily. I forgot to bring something to use as a pillow this time, so end up with a stiff neck. It doesn’t matter though. I wake up in Jeffrey’s Bay and then fall asleep again and sleep like a baby until the bus’s morning stop at 3am. I’m not sure why they stop at 3am.

On the last part of the trip, in the early hours Friday, it starts to rain a little. These are the apple-farming bits of the Western Cape. The cloud is low and misty. Small towns rise in the dawn light, church spires dark against low clouds. The road is a dark, wet ribbon through the brush. We head up the pass. As we climb further and further, the world disappeared in misty cloud. It’s eerie.

And then, suddenly, we emerge from the mist and spread before us is one of the most beautiful parts of my world – the lights of Cape Town, table mountain in the distance and Somerset West, Strand, Gordon’s Bay in the foreground, with the beautiful beach lapping at their feet. The bus is early. Even as I wait, the clouds break up and a perfect, sunny day takes hold of the beautiful Western Cape.

The weather in the Western Cape is usually fairly crappy in the winter – raining for weeks on end and always chilly and damp and dark. Since I arrived, the sun has been shining almost non-stop. I am certainly not complaining – this part of the world is exquisitely beautiful on still, sunshine-filled days. I keep getting excited about the prettiness. It feels almost too good to be true, as if this old home of mine, this old playground is putting on a show to woo me and welcoming me back.

A quiet visit to Grahamstown

Adventures, South Africa, ,

It is a dusty, warm winter afternoon as we wandered between the tombstones. I find cemeteries interesting. It’s not a fascination with death; it’s the history. This cemetery was used by the settlers in Grahamstown – those families who climbed off the boats in the 1820s and began a new life in what was to become a thriving educational, judicial and religious centre in the expanded Cape Colony and the young Union of South Africa. There are many important people, like the man who brought the first printing press to Grahamstown. To be honest, though, it is the ordinary people that fascinate me: the parents of Mr so-and-so who came over and lived their last 20 years here, the woman born in Dublin who married a Grahamstown farmer, the family that lost four children before any reached the age of 5. I was struck by just how many young children, infants rest here. There has been lots of talk about infant mortality rates in Africa just lately. We forget just how recently South Africa had the same, terrible problem.

Later, two of us went driving. Grahamstown is a university town and in all the very happy years I spent there, I didn’t explore very much outside of town thanks to lack of car. This time we could. We drove up past the monastery. The monastery wasn’t there when I was at varsity. Or, at least, I didn’t begin hearing about it until much later. It’s a landmark now. The road wound past and kept going, past crystal-blue dams and tall trees, through dips and up hills and over railway tracks, until we reached a point so high we could see for miles and miles. The road was beginning to get worse, so we stopped and got out. Not even the breeze was disturbing the incredible, breath-taking quiet. One of the things I missed so much, longed for so often in Korea was a quiet, empty landscape stretching to the horizon. This landscape stretched forever and forever – rolling hills right to the sea, a glimpse of which was visible in the distance. We could see a house far away to one side and the aloes and dry winter grass and thorn-trees of home. It was a perfect moment. The afternoon was warm and sunny. The sky was so huge and so blue above us. The view stretched all the way to the sea.

On the way back, we chatted – that gentle, rolling conversation of old friends. We went looking for coffee and found everything shut (except Wimpy) on a Sunday afternoon. Grahamstown was so quiet. It felt so familiar and so gentle. Grahamstown always does that to me. The beautiful old buildings – Commem, the Grocotts Building, the Cathedral – as you’re walking up from the bus stop. The University rising at the end of High Street, so reassuringly solid and the same. Getting the bus at Kimberley Hall, where I spent so many, many hours. Some part of me wishes I could live in Grahamstown but opportunities are scarce and chances are slim. That doesn’t mean I won’t visit again and again, particularly for as long as one of my favourite travel-mates is there to share those little moments of gentle exploring.