The phantom Quagga 15.01.2011

We arrived into a baking African day all crinkly and long-sleeved and unprepared for the heat. You never feel so British as when you arrive in a foreign country after a night flight, clutching your BA in-flight magazine and a warm bottle of Evian.  Our combined baggage weighed in at between 80 and 100 kg, packed in three enormous bags, so TGP and I waited, blinking in the sunshine, as AA negotiated them into the AVIS hire car. TGP pointed in disbelief at the butterflies and very, very slightly different type of pigeon and I thought bless you, what are you going to say when you see a big fat Ostrich? 

We are staying at the base of Table Mountain in the staff quarters of University Halls of Residence. Admittedly most of Cape Town could be described as being at the base of Table Mountain but we are really pretty close. Even with my rose tinted glasses on (literally and figuratively) there is no denying that from the outside the halls look like a prison. Pre-fabricated apartments that shake when the famous Cape Town wind is up arranged in identical blocks with identical balconies set around a courtyard. It even has huge gates slide open when you nod at the security guard. But there is a nice expanse of grass for TGP to play football in (once we get him a football) and an inviting green swimming pool into which I will soon be dipping my pasty self. I guess when you are from the UK security is kind of synonymous with crime and detention but here it is just part of residential life. 

TGP was first in the apartment and he ran around shrieking as though to say ‘’You guys! Wait till you see this place its AMAZING’’. Amazing to the under twos indeed because there is nothing to break and for someone who has lived in a house of ‘’no’’ for months whilst we pack our stuff that is a delight. And having been strapped into a sky basket for the best part of a day it must be a relief to have actually got somewhere. As I look around now there is not much I can see that is not made of cane or MDF but I like the little caravan kitchen with its built in formica dining area and we have a balcony from which, if you crane your head around, you can get a good old peak at the Jurassic Park expanse of Table Mountain . TGP loves the balcony and the fact that he can wander in and out at will, sometimes naked but for his Thomas slippers. For him it is the ultimate in freedom and he feels that he is getting away with something slightly naughty. Having roughly measured his big head against the railings there is really no way he can get out. 

So yesterday was our first proper day of holiday and we went up to Rhodes memorial on Table Mountain for a little look see. We went for a short walk during which TGP picked up lots of sticks and tried to poke locusts. And these were some big orange and yellow, bitey looking, locusts.

I took a long dilly dallying walk up Long Street to meet my friend from home, DB, for lunch. You almost can’t take Long Street in there is so much going on from little trendy boutiques with handpainted signs to people lined up on the Street outside the mosque facing Mecca and praying because they can’t all fit in. This place reminds me of a noisier Sydney with a twist.

DB had been here over a week and yesterday was his last day so he was able to feed me with information whilst I troughed down Kingslip (fish) and drank Chardonnay in the windy courtyard of a tranquil restaurant on Long Street. The wind in Cape Town is dangerous because you can burn without realising it and whilst sitting in that courtyard I secured my first patch of traditional stripey shoulder burn.

I need to squeeze myself into bed for a 40 winks before TGP wakes up. Yesterday AA and I decided that, since won holiday, we should relax on our wicker furniture and share a bottle of fizzy booze (Robertson Winery, £3.99 and could be passed off as champagne). And we are on our holidays we are also the proud owners of a munchkin who wakes up between 6.00 and 8.30am.

I keep obsessively checking the side of Table Mountain for a flash of black and white and experiencing phantom Quagga. For those who don’t know a Quagga is a zebra but one bred to have a bum a little bit like a horse (like an extinct type of zebra used to) and therefore looks like a horse turning into a zebra. I haven’t actually seen one. But they are up there, Quagging about, allegedly and it is surely only a matter of time.