Observatory, observant

Observatory

Our accommodation for most of our time in Cape Town was the suburb of Observatory, fifteen minutes from the city. It's a decidedly bohemian neighborhood and the only place we found in the city where the locals wear shorts. (I feel that most of how I look, being in Africa and all, is pretty much at odds with the locals, so at least in that small regard I was able to fit in.)

Me one hundred percent not fitting in

Backpacking in South Africa is a popular industry, and the network of hostels in the country is astounding – there were at least three in Observatory alone, all within a four-block radius. Yet outside the town's main street we barely saw any young-person travelers like ourselves.

Hostel relaxing

In all our train trips to and from the city and down the peninsula we didn't see a single person who didn't look like they were going to work, and it was strange– I don't know where all the people go (or whether they go anywhere at all).

Observatory train station (the clean end)

The food is splendidly cheap so far. We ate out almost every day in the city, spending (honestly) fast-food prices for high-quality meals. Our most expensive dinner out included an appetizer, two mains, two desserts, bottled water and a bottle of wine for $35 each, including tip. And this was a classy establishment with a clientele twice our age.

Anniversary Dinner...

Bottles of beer are $2.50 max, though there seems to be a bit of monopoly on beer and not much selection from place to place. Many have maize (Africa corn) in them. Eateries and bars, as with most of the neighborhoods we explored, seem to be pretty segregated. Even on Long Street, where things are fairly evenly mixed on the sidewalk, we ended up eating (whether intentional or not) surrounded by all white people most of the time.

One disappointment so far is the juice. The two of us being somewhat of fruit-juice aficionados and considering the tropical climate and all, we were anticipating a high-quality selection– and selection there is, with multiple fridge displays per supermarket displaying various exotic flavours, including papaya, grenadilla and lychee & pear. But most that we've tasted so far are diluted, oversweetened, and mostly grape or apple juice, regardless of the flavour on the label. Even the 'lite' juices are artificially sweetened to the point where they sting one's tongue. Same deal with produce: I'm convinced the people who live here buy their fresh fruits and veggies at some super-secret locals' market and leave the wrinkly stuff for the clueless like ourselves.

Anniversary breakfast (and the only juice photo I have)

So far, Africans are terrific litterers. On our first train-ride home from Cape Town I sat across from a moody guy my age who stuffed a handful of trash out the train window as it sat in the station. I figured him a badass for so boldly neglecting the environment – what with endangered species mere kilometers away – only to observe not two minutes later a clean-cut father essentially teaching his young daughter the same method of disposing of her popsicle wrapper. Not helping the situation are the armies of poor-looking folk hawking soda and mini bags of chips from train-car to train-car. Even since Cape Town, in the mostly-white towns, the attractive whitewashed old Dutch buildings create an illusion of cleanliness while the filthy parks and ditches tell a different story.

Deceiving clean building