$7

Sorry - I wrote this last night, but was much to tired to post. Here goes:

This morning began with a spat. You see, Stacey the "Consummate Planner" had stayed up all night a couple of nights before we left to book a tour for New Year's in Cape Town. The next day, Sanjay said to un-book it so that we could wing it. Today, he booked the same tour at the front desk for tomorrow, the 2nd of January and the day of the Carnival of Minstrels here in Cape Town. The Carnival is one of the reasons I wanted to be in Cape Town for New Year's - and I had no plans on missing it to go on a tour that I'd booked and he'd cancelled. Anywho - we fixed it with a change of plans: Today, a carnival pre-show competition and tomorrow a tour. We'll see what else we can fit in, maybe a bit of the Carnival, maybe a bit of the District Six museum, maybe a trip to Table Mountain. Guess you''ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

Anyway, after we settled on a revised plan, we departed the Hippo having left a tip of 50 RAN (about $7 USD) for our maid in the room. Within minutes, our maid had run out to let us know that we had accidentally left our money in the room. (Meanwhile, I thought tipping maids in hotel rooms was common practice. Think about it, who deserves a tip more, after all, the woman cleaning your toilet or the one who carries food to your table?) We let her know that the money was a tip meant for her. She was nearly beside herself with gratitude, and very happily exclaimed that she would now be able, in her own words, to "buy my [her] baby some porridge." She shared that her baby was 4 months old, that she was married on 11/26/05 and had just celebrated her first anniversary. She wished us "Happy New Year!" emphatically. Our maid is black and poor. Very poor. In Cape Town, the two characteristics seem so closely correlated here as to be nearly indistinguishable. Surely there are exceptions, but there's clear indication of a rule.

There are three types of people in South Africa: whites (like me), coloureds (neither black nor white but in between, like Sanjay) and blacks. They do not interact. At all. Though I wasn't sure when I said it yesterday, today I am much more certain: apartheid lives. Granted, government regulations enforcing segregation have been eliminated, but the cultural ramifications are everywhere. It reminds me of New Orleans. No longer governmentally segregated, sure, but one hears racist epithets everywhere, and schools, churches and neighborhoods are far from integrated. I wonder why.

Anyway, after our brief discussion with our maid, we left for a competition that precedes the Carnival of Minstrels or the "Coon" Carnival as it's known here. (Coon is another word for a coloured person - not black.) The competition was an all-day affair. Though we'd called this morning to find out that it started at 1pm, once we arrived it was clear, as it has been throughout our stay, that time is not a language spoken fluently here. At the gate, we were informed that the competition would start "whenever we heard them coming". That was at about 4:30. Until then, Sanjay was frustrated. He compared it to setting up a pick-up basketball game with friends at noon and not having them arrive until 3pm. Apparently, in manspeak, this is some sort of manhood code violation of the worst kind. In any case, I explained that it was a cultural difference, not a personal affront. He seemed somewhat appeased, and, while we waited, we took a million pictures of the children waiting for the minstrels to arrive. The children - and their parents - were uniformly excited to have their picture taken and see the thumbnail on Sanjay's camera. I really wished I had a polaroid.

While we were waiting, I began to notice something: I was alone in a crowd of thousands. Maybe there were 5 other white people. Maybe. And Sanjay and I were a particular oddity - a white woman and a coloured man, clearly friends and sitting together. No one seemed particularly concerned, but I felt like a novelty. I wondered if I was welcome or intruding. It wasn't particularly clear. (For context, I suppose I should mention that the celebration originated from a slave celebration as historically the slaves were emancipated for one day yearly for the New Year holiday. It has historically been a celebration of coloured power.)

Finally, the competition began with each minstrel troup marching into Greenpoint Stadium (which, by the way, is scheduled for reconstruction in advance of the 2010 World Cup slated for South Africa. Thank God, as it's a fire trap - a stadium with one small slit of an exit and closed in an all other sides by a cement fence with rusted razor wire). Each crew of 100-1000 had dancers, a brass band and percussionists and members from ages 2 to 102. The groups marched individually around the 1/4 mile track that circumvents the stadium - an exercise that seemingly took FOREVER, with about 15 troupes in all taking 20 minutes each. During this, the first part of the competition, the troupes are judged on costumes, music, dancing, make-up, overall performance and their board - an intricate sign made by each team to represent the name or theme of their crew.

During the second part of the show, the teams each perform a musical number and are judged on their singing. We were only able to stay for the first two songs, the first of which was an admittedly lousy rendition of Josh Groban's You Raise Me Up.

We had a dinner reservation for 8pm, so we left the competition a little after 7 to hail a cab - a nearly impossible task given our location and the number of people there. But, we managed to find a great guy who not only brought us back to our hotel via the most scenic route down Long and Adderly streets, but also waited for us to change so that he could carry us onward to our restaurant for dinner. He's an Arabic and driving instructor by day, and the senior taxi driver in his company by night. On our way, he let us know that Cape Town is normally even more exuberant and busy during the New Year's holidays, but this year, New Year's fell on Muslim "Christmas,"so the celebrating has been cut down significantly. He also explained some logistics about the minstrel carnival that were somewhat interesting, like the fact that the minstrel troupes aren't static - their names, themes and members change annually.

We dined at Aubergine, apparently one of the finest restaurants in Cape Town. Afterward, I made Sanjay pinky swear that we'd never, ever dine again at a gourmet restuarant run by a German. In this case, that German was Harald Bresselschmidt. (Okay, I'm assuming he was German, could be Dutch, but either way . . .) While he was very nice, and even came to our table after dinner was over to ensure we had a fabulous meal, his foie gras (I know, I don't eat it, but Sanjay does), beef filet and utterly undrinkable - but expensive - pinotage were simply not good. I hate pinotage. Never again. Of course, the mint sorbet, mango with gorgonzola, fresh stir fried calamari and a very light potato soup were pretty yummy. And the Gerwurtzraminer and Chardonnay we started with before our meals were delectable. (I'm just not sure when I became a wine snob. Stupid San Francisco. Stupid loathing of beer.) We finished with two desserts - a chocolate fondant with chili pineapples that Sanjay despised, and some fresh berries baked in goat cheese that I liked very much. While we waited for our cab, we chatted at the bar with our server who recommended that we head to Mama Africa tomorrow for African music and dancing after dinner. Just maybe we will . . .

But for tonight, our revelry led us about 15 minutes outside Cape Town to the casino. My gambling addiction is not pretty. But tonight, it won me 1000 RAN or about $150 USD. But only after Sanjay and I had lost it earlier. Still, we left the casino even. Miracles are possible.

The cabbie who took us from Aubergine to the casino also waited an hour - for free - while we played at the casino. (Thank heaven for time-limited gambling.) While he was quiet on the first trip, on the way back to the hotel he was more loquacious. I asked him where he was from: "Cape Town." I asked him what a "coloured" was, because it din't quite make sense to me yet: "It's someone, like me (him), who's between black and white." It was at this moment that we became aware that Sanjay is a coloured - the cabbie confirmed. (No, Ashlee, the whiteness of his dancing skills do not enable him to reclassify.) Interesting. I also asked his feelings about the progress that South Africa has made in ending apartheid.

I know, pretty hard-hitting topics for a cab ride home after 2am. Nonetheless, his reply was thoughtful and clear. He said, as all of my experiences would suggest, that no one actually believes that or lives that way. "We are still apartheid" he said. He said that he believes that the people want to be integrated, but so mistrust the government and one another that political change seems impossible.

Now we're safely back in our room at the Hippo. My throat hurts and I fear that my friend Sanjay may have given me his plague. So I'm going to bed now.

Before I do though, I noticed today that Oprah will be opening her girls' school in Jo-burg tomorrow, and Nelson Mandela will be present. Obviously, his accomplishments in bringing the issue of apartheid to light and ending government regulations enforcing segregation have enabled tremendous progress, but I wonder how far he believes South Africa has yet to go . . .