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Published: October 12th 2007
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The last day of my trip - I am feeling a bit sad to leave. I can't believe 6 weeks have gone past so quickly and more so, I can't believe I have burnt all my money so quickly. The last 6 weeks have been crazy! Sumptious food - eaten. Beer - drunk. Mountains - climbed. Sights - seen. It will be a while before I get to sit here in Camps Bay and sip champagne on a Wednesday afternoon. Work, office and stress are all so far away, except occasionally the missed calls from office to return and attend an exit interview. I have, of course, avoided the calls. I thought I have resigned but these guys just would not leave me alone! I will worry about that later.
Unlike Europe and the States, Africa attracts the more mature if not jaded type of travellers. Traditionally, younger travellers are more eager to visit places that they have seen, read and heard. The hopeless romantics flock to Paris in search for the city of love only to find that the Parisians douse what foreigners love about their city. The overzealous fans head to Log Angeles in search of their favourite
movie stars only to be greeted with buildings with ceiling-high grill-fences and pushy people. Some even have to face the embarassing moments of having to remove their shoes, belts, pants and even wigs just to get through immigration, all in hope of fulfilling their dreams.
On the other hand, travellers to Africa seem to be of a different type entirely. They are here with a sense of adventure yet without much expectation. They have been around. They have tales to share and stories to tell. After mingling with them for a while, one will notice there's a story behind each of those here.
I happened to be chatting to my waiter the other day. He's a German, in his early-thirties, fairly good-looking and quite a charming fella who kept insisting that I was a Japanese. He had a small IT business in Munich but sold it recently. He's here staying with his friends in the Cape because he was getting tired of working life at home. The ticking of the clock waiting for one weekend after another was no good for him.
Then I was chatting to this guy from Mozambique when I was biking along the
Champagne & Oyster
People watching at Camps Bay Cape Peninsular route (did I mention I had to cab back to Green Point because I was too tired to bike back?), he's tall, friendly and chatty. He speaks Portuguese, French, Arabic and English and for a moment I thought he was some secret agent pretending to work as a translator. But he said he left Mozambique because things at home were tough. In his words :"The rain is no good for my people".
Then I met this English girl from Stratford. A blond girl with a cherubic face (ala Bridget Jones). She drinks and smokes like today will be her last. I kept bumping into her at Green Point. She is planning to travel for 18 months around the world before hitting Australia where she is planning to stay. She later told me over breakfast that she had just gone through a painful divorce. She left her job and sold her house in the UK and vowed never to return. Her husband was no good for her.
Just as I have become a regular at Camps Bay (I have been here, sitting on the same spot at the beach over the past 4 days), I started chatting
Clock Tower
Victoria & Alfred Waterfront with the ice-cream peddler. His usual line - "Ice-cream for you today, missy?" and he would sit down not too far from my deck chair and umbrella. He looked like he's in his mid-thirties, skinny but toned with varicose veins shown on his limbs. He is from Zimbabwe and his families are still there. His face hardened and lined with worries when he talked about his family. He's probably much older than I thought. He said he must sell all his cornettos as his supplier was expecting payments today. He came to South Africa because of situation at home is hopeless. His government is no good for his people.
And of course there was Tanabe-san from Japan. His head is usually buried in some Japanese-English / Japanese-Afrikaans dictionary. He looked so dreamy and his hair all so dishevelled no matter what time of the day it is. This guy inherited most of my travel gear - sunscreen, shampoo, bug-spray, pillowcase and my
Rikki loyalty card. Apparently he lost his rucksack in Lusaka and have been travelling with just his daypack over the past 3 weeks. His story? He learnt that he did not get through some public university entrance
exams in Osaka after the third attempt and his dreams just 'flew away' (using his words). Unusual for a Japanese to say such things. A typical Japanese male would rather plunge a samurai sword into his stomach than describing his defeat in English using a well-thumbed Japanese-English dictionary. But life has not been good to Tanabe-san, he had to juggle work and studies in order to support his mother he was ill. If he had some money, he would have graduated by now from a public university. The Japanese system was no good for him.
All travellers to Africa have stories about them. Whether they are running away from something or someone or whether they are here in search of something, one way or another, they are here. No wonder the first thing the bartender asked me after serving me my drink was - what's my story. He rolled his eyes when I said I didnt have one. Ohwell, whatever that is, I am here for some fresh air - catching the Cape Doctor (as a Capetonian would say) and I have a feeling I'm not the only one.
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