Smooth Criminals

So, my iPhone was stolen.

Around here, that's usually the end of the story. 

In this case, though, it's the beginning. Thankfully.

One of the first things one learns about Cape Town, unfortunately, is the outstanding crime rate. You quickly train yourself to be incredibly aware of your surroundings. You avoid carrying your laptop with you unless you absolutely need to. You carry a cross-body purse that fastens, if you have one, because they’re the hardest to take or take from. You learn when it’s okay to have your headphones in (leading directly to a valuable item in your pocket) and when it’s not.

Long Street, almost anyone would tell you, is an area that calls for heightened awareness and vigilance. Even during the day, pick pocketing and mugging happens often. One of my roommates has had one camera and one phone stolen very close to the same area. Other roommates have been mugged in similar situations. When you’re on Long Street at night, and when you know how real the threat is, you multiply that vigilance by at least four.

On this particular night, I hadn’t planned on carrying an apartment-warming get-together into the night, so I wasn’t as prepared as I usually would be. I had everything in my zipped-up pockets of the jacket I was wearing. On this night, I did all I could to be as “smart” as possible: I danced – like a fool – with my hands in my pockets, I avoided pulling my phone out when I was in crowded group of people, and I checked often to make sure I had everything.

When we were leaving for home, we paused on Long Street. We were distracted by a friend, and, therefore, became easy targets. Here’s what I remember about the subsequent events:

“Guys, we need to make a move. You’re attracting attention.”
“Everyone, check your pockets NOW.”

“MY PHONE!”

One of our South African friends, a guy named Wanda, had been scoping out the situation from the start. He knew we’d acquired bulls-eye targets, and it turned out that his signals were warranted. As soon as I said my phone was missing, he was on a mission toward a guy who was walking across the middle of the street. After an inaudible exchange, Wanda returned to our huddle. Wagging my iPhone in his hand, shaking his head with a laugh. In South Africa, there’s an expression for that feeling: “Shame.”

Cape Town criminals are smart. Or, if you will, smooth. Afterward, Wanda told us that the pick pocketer will usually hand off the stolen goods to another person, who will calmly walk away from the scene. That’s how he knew to confront the guy crossing the street.

In other cases, people will approach you by complimenting your shoes. They’ll align your foot with their foot to “see if they’d fit,” all the while sliding their hand into your pocket. Another time, I was walking with my hands in my pockets, when a guy on the street put both hands around my arm and slid them down the length of my arm while I shook him loose. If I’d had anything in my hand, it would have become his.

I’ve been extremely fortunate so far. I’ve hardly ever felt in danger, and I’ve only had a couple of run-ins with crime here. I did surrender a camera to Cape Town, but that was by my own fault. Apparently, if you leave a camera on a bathroom sink in a public place, it disappears quickly. Who would’ve thought? And, oh, how could I forget? There was that time someone was spending my money in another country while I taught refugees how to speak English. 

The city’s reputation for high crime rates and danger are real, but certainly not restrictive of one’s enjoyment of Cape Town. Despite pick-pocketing, clever tricks, and bank account fraud, though, this amazing city’s “smooth criminals” haven’t dulled my brilliant experience here. Especially with the help of good friends who can swiftly retrieve your stolen possessions!

I'll Remember The Way It Smelled

Whew! A busy few weeks it has been. Between the final assignment for another course module (6-8,000 words on Educational Reform in South Africa), starting the second term of English classes at the Scalabrini English School, and a wonderful visit from my family, my days have quickly filled up and extracted every bit of energy from my soul. That being said, a “Five Senses Friday” post is long overdue, and I’m here to deliver. Today, I’m reflecting on the smells of my experience in Cape Town.

When I remember Cape Town, I’ll remember the way it smelled.

I’ll remember the damp smell of rain that crept inside my windows and trapped itself in my bedroom. I’ll remember the cheerful, floral smell of the laundry detergent I used – “summer sensations” it was called. I’ll remember the smell of the shampoo and conditioner that wafted up the staircase when someone was taking a shower downstairs.

I’ll remember the smell of the ocean on the coast. I’ll remember the smell of the winds that gusted away any pollution, restoring the city’s fresh scent. I’ll remember how the after-the-rain smell of a coastal city differed from my landlocked home in Kentucky. And I’ll remember the familiar smells of my visitors upon our first hugs in a different country: the lotion my sister had used for years and the familiar smell of Adam’s house that lingered in his clothing.

"Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains; another, a moonlit beach; a third, a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth." - Diane Ackerman

The smell of wine will permeate my memories. From early afternoon through the evening, people sip the pride of their wineland-rich area, and the smell swirls around them. The smell of freshly pulled espresso will punctuate my memories. From the start of each day at The Power & The Glory to the end of dinner throughout the city, cafes and restaurants emit the sweet, buttery smell I have fallen in love with throughout the years. All day. Every day. Everywhere. 

I’ll remember the variety of smells I encountered on my walk from the Jammie Shuttle stop to our house after class (at about 7 PM, which is peak dinner time). I'll remember the tangy smell of Thai food as I pass Sawaddee, the rich smell of coffee as I pass Vida e Caffe, the enticing smell of bread as I pass Knead, the enticing smell of burgers on the grill at Hudson’s, and the freshly cooked fish smell of Ocean Basket. I’ll remember the smell of our house and of the gas stove being lit.

When I think about Cape Town, I’ll remember the smell of the cinnamon and cloves in my oats and the swirling smells of the various market vendors at Old Biscuit Mill, Hout Bay, and Hope Street. I’ll remember the warm and earthy smell of rooibos tea steeping in a cup of hot water. I’ll remember the smell of curries and samoosas and savory pies.

I’ll remember the smells of my time in Cape Town. 

Video: http://vimeo.com/34944711#

I'll Remember The Way It Looked

It's "Five Sense Friday" time, and this week's perspective on life in Cape Town is sight. If you're following my journey from afar via Facebook or Instagram, you've seen a good chunk of my favorite sites in Cape Town. If not, I've included my favorite photos in miniature collages below. 

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
its views of the ocean and its beaches.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
the stunning University of Cape Town campus.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
the corners of the city that became my home.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
the faces of the people with whom I shared my experience.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
how beautiful it was.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
the smiles of my students at Scalabrini refugee centre.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember
the vibrant sights of our neighborhood.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember the ocean outstretched as far as I can see. I'll remember finding my house through binoculars at the top of Table Mountain. I'll remember the view of the street from my room, the view of the mountain from our terrace, and the view of our neighborhood from my favorite coffee shop. I'll remember watching taxis roll down Long Street. I'll remember the relaxed, bohemian style. I'll remember watching rain blow sideways. I'll remember the rainbow arching into Table Mountain when the rain turned to sun again.

I'll remember the dutch architecture, and I'll remember what seemed like millions of penguins at Boulder Beach. I'll remember the neon yellow bibs the car guards wore. I'll remember the Volkswagen logo that branded so many cars. I'll remember the familiar faces of Kloof Street. I'll remember the advertising. I'll remember the red city sightseeing buses, the blue Jammie Shuttle buses, and the MyCity buses. I'll remember Lion's Head, Signal Hill, and Table Mountain, all visible from our front door.

I'll remember the way it looked in real life, because pictures just don't do it justice.

I'll Remember The Way It Sounded

As promised, here's the first of my "Five Sense Friday" posts. With hopes of truly immersing myself in my surroundings while I'm, well, still in them, I've taken on this challenge. I must add a disclaimer, though. You won't really understand unless you hear/see/smell/touch/taste Cape Town yourself.

When I remember Cape Town, I'll remember the way it sounded.

I'll remember the sound of relentless construction just outside my window and the incessant echo of jackhammering and shoveling that, unfortunately, comes with it. I'll remember reading in bed, only to be interrupted by the sound of a taser being pressed into a man's skin by a policeman over and over and over again. I'll remember the I-think-I-can chugging of truck engines as they drag their heavy cargo up the steep incline of the hill.

I'll remember the clicks of the Xhosa language sprinkled throughout the sidewalks, and I'll remember the way the shop assistant rambled in Afrikaans while I mailed my postcards to the other side of the world. I'll remember the impressive English pronunciation showcased by Zimbabweans driving taxis. I'll remember my students' greetings - "Good morning, teacher!" - and their farewells - "Good bye, teacher. Thank you for teaching English. See you next time." I'll remember the sound of the rioting just outside the classroom window.

I'll remember the almost incomprehensible array of South African accents on the other side a phone call. I'll remember the sound of Goldfish, a South African electronic/dance group, squeezing through the speakers in our house, our favorite hangouts, and car radios. I'll remember hearing the exuberant cheers of soccer and rugby fans at Rafiki's... from my bed. I'll remember the shrill ding! ding! of WhatsApp's notifications. I'll remember the series of honking the minibus taxi drivers used to make sure everyone knew they were there. I'll remember listening to the same announcements made in four languages, just to make sure everyone in the township got the memo.

I'll remember the way the refrigerator obnoxiously beeped if you left it open too long. I'll remember the creak of the spiral staircase that led up to my room, and probably the inevitable crash of said staircase, if I had to guess. I'll remember the sound of our landlady's children playing on the terrace because she shared our property. I'll remember overhearing Skype conversations with the whole wide world: Russia, Australia, Philadelphia, New Zealand, Germany, etc. I'll remember the sound of the wind crashing into our walks and shaking our house. I'll remember the sound of the waves crashing on the many shores. I'll remember the sound of the school bell ringing in our neighborhood. I'll remember the solemn warnings: "Winter is coming."

I'll remember the strangers' pleas: "Lady, spare some change for us? For milk and bread?" I'll remember the way my students let phrases like "bungee jump" and "scuba diving" roll off their tongues like verbal toys. I'll remember the sounds of my own mispronunciations of Afrikaans words integrated into everyday conversation: Tamboerskloof, boerewors, vetkoek, koeksisters, naartjie, and mielie, to name a few. I'll remember the brazen accents of American tourists and students abroad, who seemingly shouted every word they said to all corners of Africa. I'll remember the familiarity of my dad's small town Kentucky accent fumbling through my computer speakers.

How could I ever forget the way Cape Town sounded?

Both Happy and Sad

Any writer would agree, I think, that sometimes it's incredibly difficult to find the right words for a feeling or emotion that cannot simply be labeled with one word like "happy," "hopeful," or "envious." Sometimes, another person's words do the best job, even if the words are transposed to a different context.

Searching for the words to delineate the nostalgic feelings of making a new home while missing another one has been a long quest of mine. While watching one of my favorite films last night, I stumbled across familiar words that came closer than I have yet.

"I want you to know that I am both happy and sad, and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." - Charlie, in The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky)

I first read Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower in high school. I didn't just read it, though. I devoured it, underlining and annotating and "dog-earing" pages that were too good to read only once. I loaned my copy to a friend who would appreciate it like I did, and I welcomed his reaction scribbled on pages and pages of notebook paper exchanged in the library. I reveled in the stranger's words that captured so many of my feelings and perspectives. Quotes from the book continued to decorate my scribblings and notebook decorations throughout the years.

I revisited The Perks of Being a Wallflower on my journey to South Africa. Again, I fell in love with its poignant words and relevance, even after all of these years. It felt like a reunion with Charlie, Patrick, and Sam, who seemed like familiar friends after all of this time. Thanks to a generous friend who shared a digital copy of the film with me, I've watched it over and over since being here.

Book cover (left) and movie poster (right)

While the context may be a bit different, the notion of being "both happy and sad" is the best way I've found to explain one of the more complex emotions I've encountered in my years. When I am traveling, whether across the country or across the world, I repeatedly face this feeling. Of being happy to explore a new place, yet sad to miss the people and places I've left behind.

It's most poignant when something ignites a fond memory from the past. For example, when I'm having my morning coffee and the barista grinds another round of espresso beans, I'm transported to my favorite Starbucks in the whole wide world, the people I've met there, and the memories I've made with them. It also surfaces when I try a new food or drink, thinking I'll experience some uncharted territory of taste, only to stumble into a familiar flavor of home or days long gone.

The trickiest emotion, though, is a reverse experience: feeling happy in the fleeting moment, only to remember that I'll most likely be a bit sad about the very same thing someday. Because soon I'll leave this thing (or person, or place, or feeling) for another home, maybe even an old home, and I'll miss this one as much as all of the other ones. That's the hardest thing for me to capture: the teetering between two ends of the spectrum while your heart tries to find the elusive balance.

And, if you ask me, that sweet spot right in the middle is what Chbosky was writing about when he wrote, "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." Those rare moments when my feelings aren't in conflict. Instead, they're perfectly coexisting. Just for a moment. Just at the bottom of the pendulum's swing. I've written about those moments before. The ones when I feel like you're in the right place at the right time with the right people. Like in a conversation with a refugee, whose English words came from you. Or the stunning clarity of the mountains in the distance on a morning walk. Or dancing to Goldfish's "Get Busy Living" in front of a spectacular sunset with new friends from a different part of the world.

That tricky emotion - "both happy and sad" - is why I love to adventure, I think. It's why I feel unsettled and claustrophobic when things become complacent and routine. It's a craving for the pendulum swing between happy and sad, for missing something else. It's a yearning for that middle moment of peace and serenity bookended by chaos.

Sometimes I think you can't appreciate where you are, who you're with, and how you feel unless you understand that it is fleeting and fading. Unless you truly understand that you'll miss it from a different perspective. And that the wheel goes on, ultimately leaving you feeling "both happy and sad" when something sparks a memory in the future.

In an effort to fully immerse myself into my experience here, I'm kicking off a series of posts, which I'm referring to as "Five Sense Fridays." For the next few Fridays, I'll choose a sense (sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell) and try to capture some of those things I'm bound to miss about my everyday life in Cape Town. A fun challenge anyone can do... anywhere! Feel free to join.

Most Beautiful (Ride to) Campus in the World

To get to campus, I take the Jammie Shuttle, a campus shuttle system with various stops around Cape Town. My shuttle ride is approximately 15-20 minutes long depending on traffic, and it boasts some of the most beautiful views of this sprawling city.

For a new perspective of my everyday life in Cape Town, check out the videos below. I recorded the first one on my way to campus yesterday, and I recorded the second on my way back to the city centre, which most refer to as town. Enjoy the stunning views from the side of a mountain, and pardon the student conversations in the background. 

Is there a more beautiful campus commute out there in the world? I'd argue that the University of Cape Town steals the show for that competition. 

Welcoming Winter

Forget everything you thought you knew about the weather in South Africa.

If you thought you knew anything about it in the first place, that is. While most of the photos I've taken during my stay in Cape Town have been riddled with sunshine, sand, and palm trees, the weather has taken an abrupt turn... for winter.

A damp, rainy Monday in Cape Town. Typical winter day.

Since I arrived in warm and sunny January, people have said ominous things like "just wait until winter" and "winter is coming" with a dreadful tone. Others have assured me that it's really not so bad, especially compared to the winter weather one experiences in the USA.

Yesterday, however, lived up to all of those horrifying tales of Cape Town's winter. I spent the day at the V&A Waterfront, which is a nice mall in town. While most trips to the mall end in shopping bags of new outfits, this one was a bit unconventional. I was on a mission for a few things, but at the top of the list was my winter readiness: a heated blanket and a winter coat.

Seems ridiculous, doesn't it, to think that I'd need a heater in Cape Town, South Africa? While the actual temperature doesn't drop terribly low, the weather conditions and the buildings make winter hard to handle. When rain and wind join forces, you're left soggy and damp. And when your house isn't insulated and your windows are single paned, you find little refuge indoors.

So, off to the mall to prepare for the winter that had already seeped into our bones. As if the damp and chilly day hadn't already propelled my purchasing enough, the skies decided to applaud... with hail.

A picture Kelly's sister sent. No big deal.

Photos of the hail posted at
https://www.facebook.com/passionateaboutcapetown

Yes, hail. Lots of hail. It sounded like the building was going to collapse, and the people in the mall were acting like school children do on their first snow day of the year, buzzing with jubilant awe. One customer's children were exclaiming that they held the hail, and that it was "sooooo cold!" Then my phone buzzed with an automated email from Gap about the summer styles and sales.

I couldn't help but smile. Because this experience was exceptional. Because snow doesn't happen here, but hail does. Because I was buying an electric blanket and a winter coat in June.

And, I must admit, I bought a space heater today, too. As soon as I find a new umbrella (since the wind blew my last one inside out), I'll be all set for a blustery and wet winter in Cape Town. Now, snuggled up in my newly toasty bed with a hot cup of rooibos tea, it doesn't seem so miserable.

Cape Town, you're full of surprises.


Check out this video for a taste of a South African accent... and a hail-covered beachfront.