Brace yourself, gentle traveler, for my week in Cape Town is a story of luxury. But I must tell you that luxury is something that I have always been uneasy with. I have done enough third world travel to realize that the cost of one night at the welcoming Cape Grace Hotel is more than a person living in the fast-growing shantytowns on the other side of Table Mountain might make in a year. Plus, this is South Africa, and the unsettling history found its way into my pleasure, which is only right.
Cape Town is a port city, resting of a piece of land that sticks out of southwest Africa like a hangnail, culminating at the Cape of Good Hope. Cape Town came into being as a rest stop for ships plying the spice trade between Europe and the East, an industry that dates to the 15th century. And, like other great port cities, it has grown a culture that is welcoming to travelers looking for fun.
Table Mountain, so named because the top is a plateau, rises 3520 feet above the center of the city. The mountain and its neighboring peaks, Devil’s Peak and Lion’s Head, are part of the consciousness of the city in the way Corcovado is part of Rio de Janeiro. And like Rio, there are huge shantytowns on the outskirts on the city, and beach culture is a big part of urban life.
For the American traveler, Cape Town will show itself as the most familiar and accessible of African cities. For one thing, it has preserved much of its charm by saving many of its colonial buildings. The climate is often sunny and temperate, there are lush public parks and gardens, a breathtaking array of flowering plants, cafes, restaurants, and a decidedly cosmopolitan feel thanks to a lively music and arts scene.
I woke the first morning and made the mistake of ordering room service. It took me 24 hours to realize this —when I was standing before the most exciting breakfast buffet ever included in the price of a room: fresh squeezed juices like orange, grapefruit, guava, mango and litchi; assorted yogurts and cereals, home made granola, hot oatmeal, with toppings such as nuts, sunflower seeds, toasted pumpkin seeds, and stewed fruits; a cavalcade of fresh fruit: cantaloupe, honeydew, watermelon, passion fruit, dates, raspberries, redcurrants, blackberries, strawberries, blueberries, guavas, tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers.
Though fruit was the star, there was also smoked salmon, herring, a variety of hams, bresaola, salami, and assorted chesses. Like desert with breakfast? I do, so I chose fresh scones with whipped cream, followed by excellent South African champagne. Considering that my first spa treatment was scheduled in less than an hour, I might have showed a bit more restraint.
The new spa at the Cape Grace draws its inspiration from Africa’s ancient peoples. The interior colors are warm and earthy, influenced by the role Cape Town played in the Spice Trade. Spices such as vanilla, paprika and saffron held in ostrich eggs are part of the décor. African flowers also play a big role in the experience: geranium oil is diffused into the air in the mornings and a barbital daisy floats in a bowl beneath each massage table. The work of local artists, along with tribal art, adorns the walls. The spa has a strict "guests only" policy ensuring that people staying at the Cape Grace get the highest personal attention.
The African Cape Massage begins with a circular massage of the stomach. This is a tender place for everyone, which maybe why the Koi San people considered it to be the central point of one’s being. The massage medium used by my therapist was an infusion of shea butter and snowbush, a plant found only in the Western Cape. It is the first recorded essential oil distilled in Africa. As the soothing effects of this massage began to induce a dream-like state in me, I thought about the encounter I had with a hotel housekeeper earlier that morning. I was waiting for the spa appointment, sipping mineral water and hanging out in my Cape Grace terrycloth robe and slippers. She came in to makeup my room, and cheerfully said hello.
After chatting a bit, she asked me how I liked the spa. I felt silly and effete standing there in my robe, and downplayed the spa experience as being a glorified massage. My mind quickly went to work, telling me that my presence was good for the local economy and thus helped to keep her employed.
I learned her name was Mary, that she had a family, and that she spent three hours on bus each day commuting to this job from her township outside of Cape Town. It is important to remember that while we in America see the history of South Africa as a struggle between blacks and whites, the locals also perceive another race known as the Cape coloreds, a group which Mary belongs to.
The Cape Coloreds are mixed raced, of Malay, Indian, or slave descent, and during the time of white rule in South Africa had a slightly better situation than the blacks. Now they are marginalized because the black people hold political power and the whites have land and money. As if the poverty and ordinary crime Mary faced wasn’t challenging enough, she told me her biggest worry was the safety of her young daughter. The reason was a practice known as "the cure," which a third of all South Africans believe is a treatment for AIDS.
"The cure" is a form of sympathetic magic still prescribed by witch doctors in which the disease is "rubbed off" on virgins by having sex with them. Not surprisingly, this has led to many rapes, and contributed to South Africa’s status as the world leader in rape cases. The gulf that separated my life from Mary’s was acutely felt as I excused my self to keep my spa appointment.
My conversation with Mary was a good preparation for my visit to the infamous Robben Island, the South African version of Alcatraz. Robben Island sits out in the Cape Town harbor and is accessible by catamaran ferries that run on the hour from Nelson Mandela Gateway at the Waterfront’s clock tower. Here is where Nelson Mandela spent most of his 27 years in prison. Escape was virtually impossible due to the fact that Robben Island sits 12 kilometers from the coast in waters that are both frigid and shark infested.
Robben Island was originally a prison colony for rebellious slaves before it became he place the white rulers of South Africa sent anti-apartheid political prisoners. Today it is preserved as a museum whose guides are all former inmates. The tour is a must-do activity for any visit to Cape Town because it provides valuable insight into the brutality the apartheid government employed to suppress dissent, and the impressive ways the prisoners found to use the experience for their benefit. It is fascinating to see the political culture that developed from their attitudes toward incarceration. They turned the prison into a university, making sure that each inmate grew in knowledge and understanding. This would later contribute to making the revolution so astonishingly humane and free from reprisal.
Ironically, most black South Africans have not visited this amazing historical site. One obstacle for the blacks and Cape coloreds is the cost: 150 rand for adults and 75 rand for children. This is a very large sum for poor families to pull together. The museum does offer discounts during the winter months, which apply only to the 9am ferry.
Each day I spent in this part of Africa confirmed to me that it is indeed a paradise, though complete with the serpent of human ignorance and suffering. I could understand how the white settlers who chose to leave Europe behind came to love this place. Perhaps their desire for its treasure was so great that the fear of losing it drove them to cruelty. It is the great achievement of Mandela and his fellow inmates of Robben Island that blood did not flow.
I was pained to leave Cape Town, and it was not the luxuries it offered that I would miss. The warmth of the people have remained in my heart, as well as the beauty of Africa. I looked for Mary on the day I left but could not find her to say goodbye, and to thank her for being one of my best teachers there. So I left her a note, and some of the gifts I had purchased: scented votive candles, moisturizing crème, chocolates, and bags of nuts. It didn’t seem like much to me.