Africa, Page 2
Our chaperone is Jason, a twenty-three year old that looks like a male model. His seemingly polite, lilting accent makes us wonder if he holds us in contempt but he's a good chap, knowledgeable and even more importantly, he's hooking us up with some of the best damn restaurants in Cape Town. And he knows his nightlife. His primary job has been driving us from winery to winery as the crew looks for a good location for the shoot.
But today is our day off and Jason has been replaced by Phillip-a former safari and river rafting guide. Phillip takes us to Penguin beach and as he does so, informs us that False Bay is the largest breeding ground for great white sharks. It also has some great surf but Meg's face tells me there will be no bodysurfing on this trip. Period.
Dave photgraphs Dave, Ryan, Meg, Paul and Phillip at the beach.
Phillip looks ands acts exactly how you would imagine a safari guide would: khaki shirt with shorts, skin and hair bleached and browned by the harsh sun. We do our best to contain our surprise when we find out he's only thirty years old. He could pass for much older than that but his enthusiam makes seem younger than his actual age.
And there they are, penguins everywhere. We are cautioned by Phillip to not pet them unless we want nasty nips on our fingers. I resist the urge-barely. They are so damn loveable and as they waddle across the wet sand, their little flipper feet make a thwap, thwap, thwap noise that for the first time make me want to have children. They're just so small and cute. And cool.
We have just enough time to take a trip to the end of Africa, to the nautical nightmare known as the Cape of Good Hope. The whole southern tip is a game preserve and several signs caution drivers of the dangers of baboons. There are no trees there but the scrub provides enough cover and we don't see a single one. We get out of the car and scale up the cliff and soon we are buffeted by tornado force winds that don't approach anything in my experience, even at the height of hurricane season in New Orleans when I would drive to the levee and lean against the wind. We're being knocked around but we love it and feel like kids again.
Back at the hotel, I decide to go for a run in the fading sunlight. We did this on the first day we arrived but barely made it anywhere, as we had safety concerns. Today, I'm bolder and I truck around the coastline, past houses and hotels, each displaying the sign "Armed response," and yes, it means exactly what you think it does. I pass a fenced in golf course surrounded by barbed wire but I'm looking at the powerful waves crashing against the sea wall. On my way back, I pass a bus stop and see an African man with a short afro and as I get closer I see his head has long and deep gashes in it, some scarred and some look a day old: Just another little reminder to keep your wits about you. I pick up my pace.