The glass was filled with a mild electric green. The distressed wood-panel table set its color off nicely. The warm sparkle of the sun made the rim of the glass glint just a tad. In summary: the freshly-squeezed granny smith apple juice was fantastic....so fresh and oddly beautiful. It was the feather on the cap so to speak--the crown to our deliriously delightful first explorations of Cape Town. Sitting at this retro-chic little indie cafe I let my guard down a bit letting yesterday's beach-day at Camps-Bay merge with the cafe's cuisine to make a cocktail of comfort and ease......
We had just arrived in Cape Town fresh from the chaos of Sao Paulo--the confusion and the ingenuity of a city in explosion-mode. The change of scale was a relief and the ease of communication shocking. When I was called up for immigration/customs I found myself stumbling over words only to belch up "Obrigada"--thank you in Portuguese. Giving me a strange look, the woman handed me my American passport a bit bewildered. I kicked myself. English it was--no more excuses.
As my apple juice separated into pulp and liquid, the cocktail of comfort and ease began to break down. I began to recognize around me what this city I was enjoying so much truly represented: a post-Apartheid city, the line dividing black and white so deeply carved in the sand that 20 years time has left the separation, the line largely in tact. Though the racial lines have hardly eroded over time, my line between comfort and discomfort eroded quickly leaving me to stir my juice nervously.
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