Primordial Soup

It looks like I got to the blog first this time so first off, Happy New Year everyone! I hope you all had (or are still having if you are on the west coast) a wonderful time celebrating.

We had an amazing time at the Africa Cafe last night! It was an all-you-can-eat African feast. (The waitress stressed that the word feast implied that we were to eat absolutely as much as possible, and use our hands to eat. This was my kind of joint.) After a traditional hand-washing ceremony, they served what seemed like a million dishes from various regions of Africa with dancing, singing and unlimited booze (good stuff too like Chivas Royal Salute). The food was quite good - I was pleasantly surprised. They had some really tasty items like macadamia nut chicken and cinnamon pumpkin but I could have done without the cold fish paste. Casava bread is pretty tasty too, it tastes like a thin potato pancake with yogurt and cheese baked inside. It's actually a bread made from tapioca, which seemed pretty cool to me. I myself liked most of the Morroccan food items that were served. The best was potatoes and peas in a spicy tomato sauce. Yum. Actually, my favorite was probably the Casava bread dipped in an Ethiopian cold yogurty cheese sauce that seemed to have some dill and cilantro involved. It seemed like a Greek dish to me. 200 extra credit points, by the way, for anyone who can post a good recipe for this dip and casava bread. (Kelly, it's vegetarian, maybe it could go on your menu?) Our full menu was printed on a platter which they gave to us as a souvenier to keep. We decided that African savory foods far surpass their sweets, as dessert was pretty boring. That said, they did give us some nut balls decorated in gold and silver dust that could be used to paint Sanjay's face. So we did. (Ha, ha - we used nut balls to paint Sanjay's lips ;) Dinner was ended with cordials and after-dinner drinks. I decided, unfortunately, on a pinotage grappa that was fire water. Not good. We left quite stuffed - I don't think I could have shoved another bite down my gullet. My digestive system has yet to recover.

While we ate, three different choirs sang and danced around us so intensely that I thought the floor would break beneath us. It was awesome fun. Their harmony and rhythm was such that I think it must be cultivated from birth, some of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, completely a capella save for a single drum and some clapping. It's the kind of singing that gives you goosebumps because you hear the song right down somewhere deep inside you. Infectious. The kind of song that utterly convinces one that we are all born from the same primordial soup. Stupid me, after one song, I asked the waitress what they were singing about. In that particular song, there were no words, only "la, la, las" and "oh, oh, ohs" that I mistakenly thought had some meaning in another language.

The crowd was a little European. A little? Apartheid, unfortunately, seemed alive and well last night in the Africa Cafe last night, as only whites dined, and only blacks served. We had been warned that this was a tourist trap. It was, though a thoroughly fun one. Hopefully, we've reserved more authentic experiences for later in our trip.

Actually, we were probably the whitest group of people you could have probably found in Africa last night. I take pride in the fact that my skin was probably the whitest of all, and Sanjay's dancing was definitely the whitest of all. I think we were the only Amerians there judging from the accents we heard. Nevertheless, the food and the music was great - African people definitely have rhythm. They even had a local marimba band play for us on the roof while we all lit sparklers to ring in the New Year. By we, I, of course, mean Sanjay. I am terrified of sparklers. Especially sparklers lit by drunken Euro-trash on a wooden patio. Frightening.

On our way home, we found the Labia cinemas. Not quite sure what was going on here, though Sanjay seems eager to investigate.

Overall, I'm currently underwhelmed by my degree of culture shock. Perhaps I am so thoroughly wonder bread (though I'd hate to think so - maybe it's Sanj) that I attract whiteness and westerness to me no matter where I travel. I certainly hope not. Maybe the opposite is true and I'm so cosmopolitan as to be unshakable, though I'd also hate for that to be true. How boring.

Actually, as you look around Cape Town, you could really be in America if the cars were on a different side of the street. That said, as we drove in from the airport yesterday, you could see shacks as far as the eye could see. Like America, it seems if you're not poor, you can completely avoid being confronted with actual poverty by avoiding bad neighborhoods and averting your gaze as you drive on the highway. Of course, this assessment is based on only one day here, as a tourist. Maybe today I'll learn a little more.

Question of the Day: New Year's resolutions, anyone?
For anyone who knows me, you know mine last year was to lose weight. This year's to lose more and keep it off. That, and to live in the moment a little more. Stop the incessant planning.

Song of the Day: A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong
I woke up singing this song in my head today, and wanting to French braid my own hair. Weird. Do you ever wake up with a song so thoroughly stuck in your brain that you can't emancipate yourself from its grasp? Where does that come from? The yearning for a French braid is one I can honestly say I've never experienced before. Maybe it was all the French accents from last night? If you have a plausible explanation for this ridiculous combination of circumstances, I'd love to hear it. Sanjay just informed me that he's NEVER heard this song, and he thought my French braid looked silly, so I took it out :(