Cape Town is a beach, and you find a love sandwich: iLIVE

I’d come to Cape Town to spend time with my close friend, Liesa, who was recovering from a serious back operation. When your close friend puts out an S.O.S - you jump on the earliest plane and you get there.

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have partied it up, quite as much as I did the night before I left.  I jumped, bounced, and gyrated, to the latest House Music, with all the energy of a 16 year old, which is fine - if you’re a 16 year old. Unfortunately, I’m not. And probably won’t be again.

And so it was, I arrived in the Mother City with a torn calf muscle, a twisted ankle, and a hangover from hell.  I put on a brave face, as I greeted Liesa, who was hunched over, had 120 stitches, was wearing a neck brace and could only look to the left. 

“Long story”, I said in response to her quizzically raised eyebrow.

After having been bed ridden for six weeks, she was determined to go for a walk along the promenade. “What a groovy idea” I thought,  “On any other day”.  I felt I needed at least a week to recover from my dance injuries.

Major back surgery will always trump ‘House’ induced torn muscles. We set off with Liesa’s over energetic dog Mannie in tow.  

We clearly had to do things very slowly.  This of course fits in perfectly well, with the Cape way of doing everything.  They don’t call it the Cape Coma for nothing.

With both of us, bent over, limping and hobbling in turn, we slotted right in, with all the old Jewish ladies, and their ‘kvetching’ husbands as they too hobbled and limped along on their seaside strolls. 

The promenade is magnificent.  Crashing waves on one side, the mountain on the other.  Always perfectly clean.  I soon found out why.  Mannie crapped on the grass.  Liesa handed me a packet saying “You do it. I can’t bend”.

As a mother who never changed her own kids’ nappies, dog poo is not my strong point.  I grabbed the packet, glared at Mannie, and scooped the poop, trying desperately not to throw up as I did so. “What a lovely Cape Scene”, I thought to myself, as I painfully limped over to the nearest rubbish bin.

When we finally made it back to the car, we set off for Woodstock, to see the galleries and go for lunch.  Liesa was looking rather pale. That’s what major surgery will do to you.  I looked pale too, but mine was more about post traumatic stress syndrome - from her dog.

We ordered the charmingly named ‘Love Sandwiches’ at “The Kitchen”, just what we needed to rejuvenate.  Delicious home baked pumpkin seed bread, sun dried tomato pesto, fresh veggies, mayo and something I didn’t recognize but which was the ‘Love Potion’.

Highly recommended.  When I looked at the time again, the streets had gone quiet, the galleries were closed, and we’d eaten all The Kitchen’s brownies.

I dropped Liesa off at home, figuring she may need another 6 weeks to recover.  I know I did!

I checked into the gorgeous Welgelegen Guest House.  My favourite place to stay in Cape Town.  Anine, at the front desk, took one look at me and immediately gave me a downstairs room where I didn’t have  to deal with stairs. 

She also quietly handed me a couple of myprodol, made sure I had plenty of water in my bar fridge, arranged a massage and suggested I take a long nap.  What a pleasure.  No noise, no children, no husband.

The next day we packed a basket, and had a picnic on the beach in Camps Bay. Hours of gloriously relaxed nothingness.  And so it went on.  Slow walks amongst the wildflowers in the Tokai Forest,  slow shopping in Newlands. 

Slower eating at The Biscuit Mill.  Even slower Auming at the Jai Yoga Centre for the full moon, and a very slow walk along Kloof and Long Streets -  the two of us with our aches, hobbles and pains.  Hippies,  travelers, tourists and locals alike.

Cape Town, slowly, is divine.  I know that visitors come and do the Peninsula, the Winelands, the Townships, Robben Island, etc.  And as someone who works in the Travel Industry, I have to say, do all those things. 

But do it on your own, at your leisure, in a hired car. You don’t need an excuse – you certainly don’t need a crocked back or a torn calf muscle.  If you’re thinking of three days, take six.  At least.   And stay at Welgelegen.  It doesn’t get any better.

Now.  Where am I going to find a love sandwich in Jozi?