Rewind and Play

Hello folks, it’s good to be back here, reflecting and reliving the events of the past week. As I prepare to write this week’s blog, my ears are covered in a heavy set of headphones, pouring that wonderful music from the CD that Abe gave me through my ears and straight into my soul, taking me back to that awe-inspiring scenery from the peninsula tour that I wrote about in my first entry. In my peripheral vision I can see my housemates yelling at me, attempting to get my attention to ask me a question of some sort. I am ignoring them: whatever they have to say can be heard later. This music is simply too good to put on pause and time after time, it just puts me right in the zone. (And what’s better than being in the zone? Fresh socks? Just maybe fresh socks…)

I am going to try to put this blog out once a week on the weekends to recap the events of the past week, but in Cape Town, my life is as unpredictable as the weather. The brisk air of an occasional overcast morning is often boiled away by the blistering hot sun, only to be outdone and cooled by the hurricane like evening winds. Finally, after hot and cold have out danced each other to exhaustion, the opposing temperatures embrace each other in love and acceptance, as the night time air resigns into a state of moderation and balance, making it the perfect temperature for wearing anything from shorts to a sweater vest. (But then again, to those of you that own them, I’m sorry, but is there ever really a PERFECT temperature for a sweater vest?) In short, I will try to put this blog out once a week, but expect the unexpected, and don’t be shocked if I miss the occasional deadline. (I think you can become a follower on the side and then you will automatically be notified when I post, not sure though)

Before I go on to this past week, I want to rewind and write about another unique to Cape Town experience that happened the week before. A little over a fortnight ago, I headed out to the Kirstenbosch Gardens for a summer evening of music, picnic, and family fun. I sat alone in a van big enough to hold 14 folks, chatting it up with the obviously friendly driver (even the mute are talkative in this city), watching the beautiful people dressed up in their loose, comfortable, and yet fancy clothing, parking their cars and making their way over to the gardens. It felt like a pilgrimage to Mecca, black, colored, white, young, old, and even infant, all marching up the mountain slope with the same goal in mind: The Weekly Kirstenbosch Summer Sunset Concert. Signs declaring “concert sold out” phased me in the least, because although I have only been here for one week, thanks to some connections provided by the legendary explorer EZRA WAXMAN, I already had a ticket waiting for me at the concert venue with my inside man. Well actually, the inside man was really a woman, a particularly pleasant, considerate and friendly (surprised?) girl by the name of Maya who met me at the bottom of the green slope leading up the alter (some people call it a stage, but make no mistake about it, this was a religious event!) She led me to a spot at the top of the hill, where I was introduced to her two friends and a bottle of wine. Sipping on wine, eating chips (I had some in my backpack, a little piece of advice: ALWAYS CARRY SNACKS. You never know when you are going to need them) we watched Lira and Friends put on a show that was able to move everyone in the diverse audience. This Lira, boy, was she a performer. Dancing with her hips, arms, and modest Afro, she had the ability to get the entire crowd, tipsy, drunk and sober alike, up on their feet with the single clap of her hands. Yet, just as easily, throwing her body and head completely back, swinging the mike into the air, and sending her soulful voice strait towards the heavens, she was able to get the crowd standstill, listening in awe to the sound of pure talent. As always, my best friend was there with me, watching the concert quietly from beyond the deep-green, forest covered side buffs of the gardens. Somehow, Table-Mountain always manages to follow me around in this city, sneaking into somewhere of every picturesque scene. And only to add to Table-Mountain’s tall and proud presence beside me, the sun was setting in the backdrop, shining its last rays on a view overlooking the suburbs of Cape Town. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think how I’ve been incredibly blessed with the privilege of having experienced 22 years of diverse, beautiful sunsets. This dusk at Kirstenbosch will definitely be remembered as a special one.

Back to this past week. I’ll start with last weekend.

To start things off, I headed over to Big Bash, a UCT sponsored party to kick off the year that included horseracing, a 100m dash between a handful of first year boys wearing nothing but tighty whities, and of course, a giant dance at the end with over 3 thousand people dancing under the stars in an open field by the race track. I arrived in the middle of the afternoon, and feeling lucky, I decided to place a few bets on the horses. Disregarding records and strictly choosing on the basis of the names, I put 12 Rand on two completely inexperienced horses by the names American Fantasy and Blue Striker, hoping that at least one of them would place. To no one’s surprise but my own, all three of us ended up losers. Yet the night was an interesting one none-the-less: it was my first time at a horserace-manrace-dance party! They definitely make a point to do things differently in Cape Town.

The next day, as the culmination to the University of Cape Town orientation-week, I set sail on another peninsula tour. Anticipating a somewhat similar experience to my first peninsula tour, I was very excited. But as I said, Cape-Townians like to do things differently, and instead of the first stop being the glorious Camps Bay, we headed straight to the liquor store. Upon arriving, everyone jumped out of the bus, loaded up on booze ranging from beer to hard cider (I picked the juice, too early in the morning for beer), and we headed over to a nice wading pool by the ocean, sipping on drinks and chatting, as we watched a few little kids in their underwear jumping into the water from a ledge, making a point to belly flop as painfully as possible.
Besides a girl falling flat on her face from drinking too much and having to be helped up, covered in scratches and blood, which was a sad sight indeed, the booze cruise was a lot of fun. When we stopped by one of the beaches, the orientation leaders gave us some Cane Juice (a Cape Town special, cane alcohol mixed with cream soda, it goes down smooth and does the job well!) and lunch, which was simply a chip roll (that’s right, chips in a roll, nothing more, nothing less. In my book, that’s called a snack, not a lunch!) All in all it was a good chance to get my feet wet both in the Atlantic Ocean and the local life. On the way back, the booze had taken their effect, and everyone was either sleeping or singing (I was trying to sing, but for those of you that have experience with hearing my voice, you know its not a good one).

On Sunday, a critical game was taking place between two South African soccer teams: The Ajax Cape Town, and the M (Mamelodi) Sundowns. I headed over there, excited for my first but hopefully not last soccer game in this country. Just heading over to the stadium, I could feel that the place was vibing. Blowing horns and team chants filled the air, as the crowd lined up to the gates of the stadium. Being the kind of guy that always sticks with the home-team, I was donned in red, the color of Ajax Cape Town. Right next to me in line, there were a group of M Sundown fans dressed in yellow, dancing and working their way through a jubilant call and response cheer. Despite the difference in the color of our shirts, their cheer was just too much fun to resist, and before I knew it, I found myself clapping along and dancing with this group of fans from the opposing team. For the sake of dance, song and just pure fun, team barriers can and should be crossed!

The sun was hot and the game was enthralling. Talking to one of my friends, Kashe, I was telling her that one of the reasons I wanted to study abroad in Cape Town was because of the diversity. People from all different races and languages and ethnicity come together in one city. Kashe told me to look around and pointed out that perhaps I was being a little naïve. I took a quick glance at the crowd and suddenly realized that we and our friends were the only white people that I could identify in the entire stadium. My friend went on to explain that despite the fact that apartheid is over, many social barriers still exist between blacks and whites. Blacks go to soccer games. Whites go to rugby games, albeit with a small black minority in attendance. On the one hand, I thought it was cool that I was at a place where I was an EXTREME minority and yet felt so comfortable that I noticed the team distinctions more than the racial differences. But after I continued talking to her, I realized that the demographics of the stadium are just another example of how this country is still often divided along racial lines and much work needs to be done in the wake of apartheid. To achieve true racial integration and equality, the disadvantages of years of colonization and discrimination need to be taken into account.

A red card early that took a player out for the home team forced the Ajax to play with a 10-11-man disadvantage for the rest of the game. The M Sundowns took a 1-0 lead in the middle of the game and were able to hold onto it until the end. Apparently some disadvantages are just too hard to overcome in the realm of strict competition.

Yet, the day wasn’t over yet. I headed to a club called La Med for an appetizing night of Gold Fish, Cape Town’s favorite homegrown DJ group. Set to go on at 9 pm, the place was already packed at 7, due to the hype behind this distinct trio of groove makers. La Med is located right next to the beautiful Camps Bay. Standing outside as the sun was setting, I watched the ocean rise and collapse along the rocks, witnessing a sight that can only properly be described as “a love affair between the sea and the mountain” (For those of you that have been to Rosh Hanikra and seen the promo video, you know what I’m talking about.)

After a few hours of waiting, I finally crammed into the small room that Goldfish was set to perform and embraced myself for what ever was to come. Onto the short stage came three men. Two DJs and an MC. As soon as the MC grabbed the mike and the DJs began spinning their stuff, the crowd jumped into action. In a matter of minutes, the overcrowded room turned into a sauna as the beats, dance, and temperatures all picked up at the same rate. Yet, even though I came prepared for the sweat with a dry-fit shirt, by the end of the night, my top was soaked through and through. In the middle of the concert, I smoothly made my way over to front row-center. From there I had a picture perfect view of these musicians working their magic. I call them musicians because that’s exactly what they were: they played everything from the cello, to the flute to the sax. Mixing pre-recorded beats with the live tunes of these jazzy instruments was a sound I’ve never quite heard before. Standing in front also had its other advantages: I had all the room I needed to make use of my giant wingspan and give a little demonstration to the Cape Town locals of what it means to really dance. At times, I felt uncertain if I should stay in the front, as not only was I the only boy in the front row, but I was also at least a foot taller than everyone else next to me and behind me. In short, I stood out. But the adrenaline rush of being up in the front was too good to resist. At times, Goldfish would prompt the crowd to get a clap going in the air. Like K-G clapping a handful of baby powder before tip-off or like a gospel singer sending his praise to the lord above, I thumped my hands together with pure power. I felt like the king up there. Lights were shining from behind, and I could see my clapping shadow dwarfing the clapping shadows of all the short people next to me. I had no intention of moving- the people needed their leader.

I ended the night walking out into the bracing air, having dedicated every muscle of my body to match and move in perfect rhythm with every soulful note that came out of that fervent saxophone. The sweat instantly chilled on my back, as I joined a conversation of people, chimed in with a few quick remarks, and then sat back, relaxed, and let the other parties do the rest of the socializing work. My job here was done.

The super-bowl happened. I didn’t see it. I woke up and someone told me that the Saints won. All I heard was that the Colts loss. I was ecstatic.

On Tuesday I applied for World Cup tickets. I got to the computer lab an hour before they went on sale just to make sure that I would have a computer. When the clock struck one PM, all my ADD disappeared, and my entire mental capacity was focused on one task: fill out the ticket forms as quickly as possible. Like I said before, I’ll find out next week what tickets I actually will get. I’m praying for Brazil v. Ivory Coast. It’s going to be the best match of the first round and it’s happening in Soccer City, Jo-Berg.


Once a year the government plans a big celebration in Cape Town in honor of the opening of parliament. However, yesterday was an especially important day, because not only was it the beginning of the political season, but it was also the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. I headed to downtown Cape Town to check out the scene. At 6 PM, the parade started! A marching band came forward followed by a platoon of soldiers who flanked out in perfect order towards the sides of the streets, maintaining a careful eye over the crowd. Then nothing happened. For 15 minutes. I didn’t understand it, did something go wrong? At 6:15 PM: another marching band came forward. Then nothing again, for another 15 minutes. Parades usually come and go in consecutive lines with excitement from beginning to end. But here in Cape Town, they make sure to spread out the whole charade as much as urban patience will allow. At least this gives you time to go the bathroom without having to miss any of the show. During one of the breaks, I took the opportunity to look around and noticed snipers on the top of all the surrounding high-risers. There’s always something exciting about top-secret, high level security. 6:30 PM: A group of police motorcycles VERY SLOWLY made their way towards parliament. I couldn’t understand how they kept their balance under such slow speeds. Then all of a sudden one of them just dropped to the ground. Collapsed instantly. Some people thought it was because he feinted, I thought it was because he lost his balance from the slow speed, but either way, the guy was not moving. A police from the sidelines quickly ran over and checked his pulse. Still no movement. Another police officer jumped on the fallen motorcycle and drove it away to make room for the oncoming parade of more nothing as a team of medics circled the fallen officer. For about 3 minutes, they continuously took his pulse, which I hope was a good sign, because he was still not moving an inch. An ambulance came quickly; he was placed in a neck brace, moved onto a stretcher and whisked away in the truck. He still had his helmet on, but his windshield was lifted and I could see that his eyes were closed, evidence that he was still unconscious. A parade is an event that represents strength, dignity and overall prowess, making it the last place you would expect to see someone on a bike collapse and get knocked out. It was a frightening sight and I really hope that man is ok.

The parade, or lack of parade, continued on, and finally, after some moments of more nothing passing, a pope-like mobile drove forward carrying the president himself, Jacob Zuma. Through the clear windows I could see President Zuma, waving proudly in between the occasional wipe of his nose, with his wife behind him. Well only the first wife to be precise, but don’t feel bad for his second wife; she got to travel with him on his last trip to NYC. It’s wife number three that really gets the short end of the deal.

After the parade wrapped up, the soldiers marched in reverse order to head back to where they came from. The soldiers had their names stitched onto their shirts and my clever friend decided that it would be funny if he shouted their names out as they passed by. As he shouted random names, the serious faces of the soldiers would break down with a smile and sometimes they would even give a deliberate wink in his direction. Seeing these serious soldiers crack mischievous smiles while all eyes were watching them wasn’t funny at all: it was hysterical!

Yesterday my friend told me that the forecast for surf today was 35 feet. I couldn’t believe it: 35 feet! I can’t even imagine what that would look like. I have no concept, no prior experience, absolutely nothing to compare it to. It’s simply titanic. Before going to sleep, I was stoked just thinking about the possibility of seeing waves of that size. Waking up this morning, literally the first sounds that came out my mouth were the three syllables: thir-ty-five. I told all my friends about it, and even some people in my classes. After rallying a huge group of friends to head to the beach to check out this beast of nature, I called the surf shop just to make sure. The surf report was in: 6-8 feet, nice and ride able. Although I am from Boston and as an east-coast surfer have no right to complain about 6-8 feet, I have to say, after the hype of 35, I was disappointed. I ended up going to the mall with a friend to look for some sneakers. I am size 14. We went to 6 different stores. The biggest size any of them had was 12. Having experienced both a shortage in waves and shoe sizes in the same day, I realized that sometimes things aren’t as big as they are expected to be. Sometimes reality doesn’t live up to the expectations. But that’s ok. I think hype is good for its own sake. I think that hype is an emotion, a joy, which can be experienced in its own right. Even if the waves didn’t end up crashing at 35 feet, for the few moments when I thought they were going to, it instilled me with a feeling of awe just at the mere imagination of thinking about what that would even look like. My imagination will continue to wander until the day that I see the 35-foot wave. I don’t know if it will ever come, but either way, I can always hope and will continue to build up the hype…