As I sipped my glass of crisp Chenin Blanc on the terrace of a local winery and looked out over rows of vines, blue lavender and olive trees to the low, rocky mountains beyond, I found myself thinking:
“This is
Africa?”
Where were
the lions, the elephants, the giraffes? Where were the Masai tribes and the
head dresses? I should be eating mashed lentils with my hands in the bush
somewhere, not eating fresh oysters and Camembert cheese on a sunny terrace.
This wasn’t the Africa from the pages of my dad’s National Geographic magazines.
Hell, if it wasn’t for the language, I’d think we were in Provence!
But, you
know, maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the area we explored in South
Africa, the wine and coastal regions east of Cape Town, so closely resembled
the region of France that we would be returning to within days. Maybe it eased
the transition between traveling and being back in Provence. Maybe that two week
road trip helped us to mentally prepare ourselves for Europe.
It
certainly helped us prepare our stomachs.
Two weeks
in South Africa’s most fertile region, not to mention a visit to its famed
Winelands, was enough to help us gain back all of the weight we had lost during
our trek in Nepal. We gorged ourselves on lovely French-style cheeses,
home-made ostrich stew, fresh Knynsa oysters, barbequed sausages, our first
sushi meal in a year.
And wine. Obscene,
embarrassing, disgusting amounts of wine.
Although it
felt like it sometimes, we didn’t spend the whole two weeks just eating and drinking.
We drove a bit, first along gorgeous winding coastal roads with stunning views
on the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, then through dry, rocky mountains further inland,
and finally, through lush green farmland covered in grape vines and blooming lavender. We didn’t have to drive far out of Cape Town for landscapes that were at
once varied and beautiful.
We also did
several day-hikes, during which I insisted that we both carry “baboon sticks”
in case we came across any baboons during our walk. You laugh, but those things were everywhere
and I wasn’t about to risk getting attacked by an aggressive, disease-infested,
red-bottomed baboon during the last week of our trip. No, thank you, no nasty-ass
baboons for this girl.
 |
| Those baboons better not f- with me, I got my Baboon Stick. |
 |
| A baboon-free hike along the coast |
Baboons
weren’t the only wildlife we saw during our road trip; we also got up close and personal with a colony of penguins and
some ostriches. True, it isn’t exactly Discovery Channel material, but we were still
pretty excited. That is, until one of our guesthouse hosts told us that ostriches are
really mean and will use their claws to rip open your stomach and eat your
intestines while you are still alive. Charming lady, really…
 |
| At least he won't try to eat my innards |
When we had
had enough nature in all of its threatening, organ-eating forms, we hightailed
it back to Cape Town, with a two-day detour in the wine region to do tastings
and essentially make our bodies hate us. Imagine my liver giving me the finger
before packing up its things and jumping in a taxi- that’s what two consecutive days of
wine “tasting” did to us.
In Cape
Town, we did what we always do in a new city: we got lost. We wondered around
aimlessly until we eventually found ourselves in the adorable neighborhood of
Bo Kaap, known for its candy-colored houses. Every home was painted a different
bright color, every street looked like Disneyland, everywhere we looked was
another photo opportunity. It was fuckin’ adorable.
On our last
night in Cape Town, the last of our year-long adventure, we went to an
Ethiopian restaurant in the hope of finally feeling like we were in Africa, even
if just for one meal. Everything was going well: we had Ethiopian honey wine to drink and we ate with our
hands. There were even mashed lentils on the table. After two weeks in “Provence,”
we were finally in Africa. We finished our typical Ethiopian meal and were
about to congratulate ourselves on this authentic experience when our waiter
came to our table.
“And now,
for dessert,” he said with a flourish, as we eagerly strained to see what
Ethiopian sweet would finish the meal. “Mediterranean baklava with ice cream.
Enjoy.”
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