DAY 2 – 9/4/18 – Arrival in Cape Town
Got off the plane in a daze and emptied out into a nice, modern airport that wasn’t too big. There was a guy waiting for us with a Gate One sign. He was there for US! Nobody else. He helped get the stuff off the carousel and put it on a cart for us to wheel over to customs and immigration. That went smoothly and quickly. Jean began asking about exchanging dollars for Rands. The driver told us that airport exchanges were pretty expensive and that we’d do better at the hotel or elsewhere. Before we knew it, he had loaded his van and seated us in the back. He even handed us a tray of rolled up damp washcloths! Their signature pampering device! He asked what music we’d like to hear. I told him Hugh Masakela and he obliged. We drove through a rainy Cape Town to our hotel, the Radisson Blu.
He had our luggage out and on a hotel cart before we knew it. We went inside to check in. I had intended to tip him before the hotel porter took over, but he disappeared before I could do it. We were crushed. He was so nice. The hotel porter got our stuff upstairs and got a nice tip. I think 10 bucks. That was before we realized that there were 15 Rands to a dollar, and we had given him an outrageous amount of money. Oh well. We were still stinging with guilt for stiffing the van driver. After we got our stuff arranged in the room (read: suitcases laid out on the floor everywhere and open) we discovered that the adaptor Jean had bought for African power was not going to work. The one required was like a gigantic three-prong phone jack. Ours was three prong, but they were tiny and wouldn’t work at all. We called the desk and they said they would lend us one, so we headed back down to the lobby to get it since it was too early for bed.
Jean was checking things out in the lobby – there was a Gate One bulletin board that she scoured. She learned that the dining room was on the second floor. The next day’s events started with a 6:30 wake-up call, breakfast at 7, and an orientation meeting at 7:45. “And so it begins,” I said to Jean. She replied with a pre-exhausted smile.
We sat in the lobby chairs and soaked it all in. At that moment a couple a little older than us came in and headed straight for the bulletin board. We figured they were on our trip. Jean asked “Are y’all with the Gate One tour?” They obviously didn’t hear us since we got not answer. Or were they ignoring us on purpose?
I wandered into the empty bar. The bartender was really nice and helpful. I asked what kind of dark rum they had. He said “We’ve got all kinds” and waved his hand to a loaded shelf. “Is that Ron Zacapa I see there?” I asked excitedly. “Yes,” he said. “All righty then! I’ll have a double with soda and lime.” He quickly obliged me. The only difference was he handed me a can of seltzer to put in myself. The bill noted liquor and seltzer separately. I wondered just how much this high end rum was gonna cost, but was pleasantly shocked when I saw that the whole bill was only 7 bucks American. I left him a good tip and went back into the lobby to sit with Jean.
By the time I was ready for another bargain Ron Zacapa, there was a couple sitting at the bar: a bearded guy and an aggressive, loud-talking girl. She was explaining to the guy how she wasn’t scared for shit to be going to bars in Cape Town. “I know it’s supposed to be so dangerous out there, but I don’t give a shit. I just act like I belong there and keep my eyes open. Nobody is gonna fuck with me. My girlfriend and me went to a bunch of places without a hitch. As long as you act like you know what you’re doing and don’t act like you give a shit, they won’t bother you. Now if you pull out a lot of money or wear a bunch of jewelry it’s a different matter. They’ll fuck you up in a minute for that shit. I do it everywhere – I go into the worst neighborhoods and just holler out to whoever I see stuff like ‘Hey man. What the fuck’s going on?!’ They always think I’m one of them and don’t give me any shit ever. Vicki isn’t so brave, but she tolerates it and I do all the talking.”
The guy she was sitting with did a good job of acting impressed. It turns out they were on the same Gate One tour we were on, but theirs started a day earlier. So there were two tours with staggered schedules. These two had just completed their first day. She began to regale me with information about seeing the penguins. “Don’t stay in the fucking line to see the penguins. Just take a detour and go down these stairs to the right and you’ll get right to ‘em.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but made a mental note of it. She talked a good bit more and her bravado expanded with each sentence. The guy with her didn’t say much of anything. It turns out she didn’t really know him, but had waylaid him in the bar. I politely acknowledged all the stories of her bravery and not giving a shit. She then said something like “Of course these people know I’m not from around here. I’m Irish as shit. What do you expect from somebody named Shannon?”
“I’m quite fond of the Irish,” I offered. “Y’all don’t take shit off of anybody.”
“Damn straight!” she replied. Meanwhile the bartender had fixed me another Ron and handed it to me. We all three toasted to a good time and I wandered back into the lobby, wondering if we were going to have similar colorful characters on our tour.
We headed back to our room (323) and began getting ready for bed. For me that meant setting up the CPAPs. The only plug that would work was across the room. I ran an extension cord across the floor with the proper adapter to the outlet. Then I plugged in our power box that had 6 plugs and 6 USB outlets. CPAPs plugged into the box. I made a mental note not to trip over the cord when I got up for the bathroom any one of my three times a night. Jean had selected a new alarm tune for her phone as a backup to the phone wake-up and we were set and ready for the rack.