Cape Town's Date & Time

Friday, January 15, 2010

Struggling (Just a bit)



Ugh, after 3 hours of sleep I am awake. I tossed and turned all night, and am officially at a loss. At one point I literally was balled up in the fetal position rocking myself to sleep... South African Airlines 1, Michelle 0. I really did try to stay calm and collective about my baggage situation. I understand that things are a bit slower here and tha

t it is reasonable that I still haven’t heard anything back, but that has not stopped me from obsessing over it last night (awake and during the little sleep I was able to get, anxiety dreams are a bitch). We were so active yesterday that I didn’t really have the time or energy to think about it until I was alone in my bed. But I am going to try to start off today on a good note with some positive thinking. Today is a new day, and since I have personally seen my baggage in Johannesburg, it may just take some more nudging at the lost baggage people. Well, since I am awake (at 6AM), here is what I did last night during my first official night out on the town.

After our long day touring UCT campus and the Rondebosch area, I finally arrived home around 6 and hit up the internet for quite some time. Instead of taking a nap, I watched some more Jericho, a tv series I had brought from home. By 9PM we (my roomies and myself) decided to shower and have a glass of South African wine before heading down to Long Street (wikipedia describes Long Street as a major street located in the City Bowl section of Cape Town, South Africa. It is famous as a bohemian hang out, as the street is lined by many bookstores, various ethnic restaurants and bars) to have dinner around 11 with the girls living in the flat next door and meet up with some girls from our program at a near by bar. We hailed a taxi to drive us the 10 minutes towards the ocean where the area was located. We went to Cape to Cuba, a Cuban themed (obviously) restaurant where we ordered a round of cocktails and tapaz (dinner/appetizers). I had a Cuban Revolution, basically a dacari, with Paella Piccolo (Steaming bowl of seafood and chorizo, in white wine and saffron served with crusty bread) for dinner.



During dinner two boys our age quite literally pulled chairs up to our table and decided to join our dinner party. They filled us in on the local bar scene and took us to The Waiting Room, the bar we were meeting other girls.

While at the Waiting Room I decided Cape Town is composed of two types of people: the Townies and everyone else (travelers from other countries or just other cities). Although everyone speaks English, the lingo is drastically different. For example, attending a hen party is the same as a bachlorette party. And it is custom for the bachlorette to bear wings and a halo for her entire night out. Besides the lingo, we still need to figure out whether or not it is custom to tip taxis and if so how much (and how much to tip waiters and waitresses). ALSO apparent- I have no clue how dance. While at the bar an array of music from reggae to hip hop to techno was played and while no one was grinding (thank god), in general no one was touching. Basically, it was a weird mix between a rave dance and yet still the pairing of individuals. We stuck out like a sore thumb, we grooved to a different beat, that’s for sure. While we were at the bar we had shots of the “Springbok” named after the South Africans beloved Rugby team (the one in the movie Invictus). This green bottomed and light brown topped shot was sweet like peppermint; it tasted of Christmas. We ended up leaving the bar around 1:45, since we have to be up and ready to head into town by 9AM (to go to the bank before heading onto campus at 10:45 for more informative meetings about registering and other administrative details), which obviously was not an issue for me as I was up before 6.

Well, I am sure hoping the next time I post I will have good news of my baggage (and that way I can start uploading photos!). Until then, I will try not to burst into uncontrollable tears and make an ass of myself.

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