Besides the fabulous overhaul of Cape Town Station (as well as my local Plumstead Station – now known as Plumstead Precinct), new shuttles have been introduced in the city centre that make hopping about the city a real pleasure. The overhaul is not only evident in the infrastructure of our city, but also in the happy, smiling faces of everyone we see. Capetonians are extending a very warm welcome to all its visitors, but are also treating each other with warmth and familiarity that comes with the euphoria of being hosts of this important, historic event.

I’m still amazed at the infectious vibe that is present everywhere I go. I’m not a football fan, but I’m starting to feel the green and gold in my blood come to life as my spirit soars to the heavens with the cacophony of craziness that pervades every conceivable space. Vuvuzelas can be heard early in the morning till late at night. I reckon the supporters blowing them need the practice – foreigners and South Africans alike! In St Georges Mall today, hundreds of supporters from all over got a taste of things to come as they blew horns, whistles, sang and danced together in celebration.

The 2010 World Cup fever is hitting me hard. I’m feeling a strange desire to paint my face in my country’s national colours and ululate at the top of my voice.

I plan to be at the Fan Park on Friday as the first match kicks off so I can add my bit to the football fever gripping the world. I’ll be the one in the Bafana Bafana T-shirt with a flag for a face, a vuvuzela for a voice, and doing the Diski Dance!

Hearing the news on their show is quite an experience because it is coupled with a running commentary from the djs. With wit, sarcasm, sometimes downright out-of-hand humour and head-strong opinions, all with a Capetonian flair, the usual annoying and disheartening reports of alleged corruption and crime, the shocking antics of celebrityville, and complex international politics all take on a whole new flavour.

Thanks to Nic who manages all the technical and social media of the show, the djs are not the only ones having all the fun – callers from all walks of life email, text,  facebook or phone in and add to the stew of running jokes, one-liners, inflammatory comments and heated debates. For a few hours every morning, it feels like an entire city of colourful characters is camped out in my bedroom while I ready myself for the day!

Nigel consistently highlights matters of social concern and remembers to point out that many of his listeners actually respond to the call for action. He and the faithful listeners are continually inspired by the spirit of giving and community that is alive and thriving amidst the current local and global financial gloom.

Simply the best of all is  the Kinky Afro insert on Fridays from 8am-8.30am when music from the 80’s and 90’s (now referred to as “old skool” by the tweenies) rocks the soundwaves and gets everybody dancing!

So when in Cape Town, do what most Capetonians do, and tune in. For all those expatriates missing the sound of South Africa, stream in online. You’ll feel right at home.  Like Good Hope FM’s slogan says, they’re “Connecting Cape Town”.

p.s. – check out some of their podcasts or join their facebook fan page

Since then, Muizenberg has had a facelift. Actually, it was more like a botox injection than full-on plastic surgery because the old dilapidated buildings were restored (introducing chic apartments and cafes), but the perpetual old-school die-hard shops and (somewhat weathered) regulars remain the same, preserving the old charm and familiarity.

Anyway, this, I thought, was my territory, my werf. So imagine then how embarrassed I was this summer, to be introduced to a marvellous find in Muizenberg by a visiting foreign friend.

Have you ever heard of Muizenberg Village? It is along Palmer and Church Streets, just one road away from the hustle and bustle of the sea front. It is more than a street, it’s a community.

A few years old, making it relatively new to an old suburb like Muizenberg, the village is still in its early stages. Between needing to advertise itself, and probably wanting to maintain its quaint neighbourhood feel without being run over by too many visitors as a tourist attraction, this gem finds itself between a rock and a hard place.

The Village has restaurants, bars, a community centre, an organic food market, a music store, a book store, a craft shop, and a few more emerging spaces.

The best space in the Village is Roots Bar. Personally, I’m faced with a dilemma; in the same breath that I would rush out and tell people that they simply HAVE to visit this place, I secretly wish that they wouldn’t so that I get to keep it all to myself!

Everything about Roots Bar is inviting , the music, the drinks, the seating arrangements, the stuff they sell. I thoroughly enjoy gazing at the Upside Down Map of the World that places Cape Town very near the top of the globe and turns everything I know on its head!

Customers have the opportunity to chill out in this Afro-centred thinking space while reading from the extensive selection of new and second hand books on sale, or watching documentaries on poignant social issues. The books, cds and DVDs in the bar cover everything from spirituality, health and metaphysics, politics, to philosophy, culture and the environment.

Roots Bar is run by its delightful owner, Marrius, who can be found making organic free trade coffee or freshly squeezed juices for his customers. From my first visit there, I noticed how easily he slipped into friendly conversations from behind the bar. He is the one who chooses the merchandise, and you can be sure that from picking up an enlightening book, candles, organic coffee or tea, funky t-shirts, sarongs and shukas (traditional Masai cloth), Marrius has already given the product some conscious thought. He is a wealth of information and an absolute delight to engage with.

So, let me put my selfishness aside and invite you to experience Roots Bar for yourself the next time you find yourself in Muizenberg.

Friday, the 4th of December 2009, will go down in history as the first time that FIFA broadcast a World Cup event from South Africa to the entire world. As luck would have it, the honour of hosting the Final Draw was bestowed on Cape Town – my home.

It was no small endeavour, but South Africa rose to the occasion and shone. I even heard that our President Zuma’s first comments aired to the planet were that we’d made it on time. I suppose that would be a strange opening statement to countries like Germany (whose citizens are uncannily punctual), but it was an observation of a remarkable feat for a nation, or perhaps even a continent, notorious for taking their own time!

All week long, I’d been listening to Nigel Pierce of the Nigel Pierce Show on Good Hope FM (radio, 94-97FM) encouraging his listeners to be a part of the historic event by turning up to support the City’s street party. The Final Draw would be broadcast live via big screen to the crowds.

Guests on Nigel’s show, Danny Jordaan (CEO: 2010 FIFA World Cup Local Organizing Committee) and Tokyo Sexwale (SA Human Settlements Minister) both added their cents by dropping titbits of inside information about international celebrities that had flown in for the occasion and tipping the event to be the first taste of the World Cup to come in 2010. As the actual Draw at 7pm was only for the crème de la crème of the who’s who, Nigel kept telling listeners that the street party festivities started at noon and that huge crowds were expected so go as early as possible. I should have known what I was in for.

The train ride at 4:30pm from Plumstead (my suburb) to the city was a story in itself. The train was packed with passengers of all sorts with an overriding feeling of anticipation. The excitement however could not be cut by a knife like a good cliché, because the noise of non-stop chatter, vuvuzelas, singing and laughter rising above my i-Pod playing at top volume was way too dense – even for a chainsaw!

At Cape Town station I could already tell that it was no normal peak time human traffic, but that something was astir. By the time I reached Wale Street and Long, the festivities were well underway. At that junction, we (a throng of wannabe historic party-goers) were greeted by a formal row of horse-mounted policemen who sat silent and stone-faced watching the waves of heads beneath them. I was slightly anxious that those huge horses would be frightened into a stampede by blaring vuvuzelas, and trample the sea of flesh and bone beneath their hooves. At that point there was still the belief that the most amazing time would be had by all.

The kind of amazement I experienced started taking on a different hue within minutes of arriving at the party. I could certainly see that something was going on because the crowd suddenly stopped moving forward and stood still in front of the gates. Hands sprouting cameras of all types and sizes were hoisted into the air as a muffled announcement was made.

Like the game Telephone Tag, I managed to pick up bits and pieces of what was going on. I was able to figure out that the gates at my end of the party had been shut and that people were instructed to enter via the side streets. I didn’t want to miss out, so I quickly and expertly wove my short, squat self through the wall of people like a trained rat in a maze. I could smell the cheese!

The realization that a few other hundred people had just smelt the cheese too became rudely evident as I dodged, ducked and dived through the growing, anxious crowd. We were met in no uncertain terms by law enforcement and big, shiny metal barriers that started chipping away at our dreams of being part of the biggest party to hit Cape Town.

Over the loud speakers and the cheers of the colourful, noisy Long Street revellers, the wishful gate crushing outsiders – South Africans and foreigners alike – started cottoning on to the bruising fact that the games had begun and we had missed the proverbial boat.

Some sly Capetonians thought themselves clever (myself included) and skipped over to Victoria Street to approach the party from the lesser known side roads, alas, to be met by super efficient security crowd control. Just as some green and yellow people started using their mouths instead of vuvuzelas to get really loud with the officials, my cellphone rang.

In frustration, and just about to break into a patriotic toyi-toyi with actual football fans, I answered my phone. It was my sister, calling from Trafalgar Square – not in Cape Town, but in London – to tell me that she was having a jol with thousands of people watching the draw broadcast live in the United Kingdom!! I nearly had an apoplexy! All the while, the cheering and celebrations abound the world over… and I was right there – missing it all!

The one consolation I have is that I was only one of thousands of wannabe jollers who wound up feeling like a Hobbit at a rock concert with giants. The excitement could be heard, felt and smelt… but there was no way to actually see what was going on just metres away from us.

A lesson learnt though, as noted by President Zuma, that to enjoy this World Cup, South Africans are going to have to work on turning up on time with the rest of the world!!

My mother and father took us on annual summer holiday visits to the museum, back in the ‘70’s. In those days, it felt like we were off exploring the history of the big wide world all in one place, on one day.

By the 80’s, some of our family that had emigrated to Australia and Canada started coming back on Christmas holidays. No summer holiday in Cape Town was complete without taking my strange accented cousins through the museum. At that stage, the now infamous “bushman” diorama was still the first exhibit that greeted you on entry. Still brainwashed and naive at that time, I actually really loved the diorama that displayed a “typical” scene of people living in harmony with the land. Only now, in retrospect, do I see how offensive the display actually was to the people it represented by showing them off (inaccurately) as something to be gawked at like animals in a zoo.

By the mid-‘90’s, (post Apartheid), the museum changed its exhibitions to better showcase South Africa’s cultural history and indigenous knowledge. It acknowledged the error of the past displays, and apologized for its offensiveness. A formal acknowledgment of this is on permanent display. The museum encourages visitors to consider the ramifications of how a culture is represented and perceived when the subject of the exhibition’s voice or input is either excluded or included.

Now, in the 21^st century, when you enter the museum (once the restoration of the foyer is complete and you no longer need to enter via the planetarium’s doors), the first displays include video footage of people of different cultures (who call South Africa home) welcoming visitors to the museum. You are led through a cavernous display showcasing early indigenous knowledge represented through rock art. You can browse through documents relating to studies on indigenous knowledge and cultures that have been uploaded to an interactive computer in the room.

My favourite spot in this exhibition is the mini-cinema room where a looping video of traditional healers are shown dancing in trance. The clapping and singing transports me to another place and time and I feel like I could be right there with them. I always leave that tiny space feeling moved, both spiritually and emotionally.

I feel that the museum has matured alongside me over the last decade. After the death of Apartheid, with the freedom to befriend anyone, I had the opportunity to learn from my friends about various lifestyles, traditions, cultures and art, and discovered a real appreciation for the diversity present in South Africa.

Also, the museum now includes wonderful temporary exhibitions. My new favourite is the annual Wildlife Photographer of the Year. (It’s currently on from 9 December 2009 to 13 March 2010) I love dragging along whatever friends I can scrounge up to join me on these escapades. The only issue I have is that there aren’t enough hours to spend in the museum in one day. I suppose that explains why I keep going back!

Perhaps, one day, I’ll bump into you at my favourite place in Cape Town, catching up with some culture too…

Summer took its time to arrive in Cape Town this year, but lately we’ve been having the most glorious weather. Most of my friends headed off to the beach for some fun in the sun. They had a fabulous time, but I have to be honest, I’m not a big fan of sand – it just gets everywhere and sticks on my skin by holding onto dear life to my sunblock! So, when a gorgeous summer’s day presented itself last weekend, it wasn’t the beach that I hopped off to, but rather the heart of the city!

After spending hours in two of my favourite spots in the city, the Iziko South African Museum and the National Gallery [will blog about those later], my friends and I took time out over lunch to relax in the Company Gardens. By the time we’d devoured a hearty burger and chip special at the Company Gardens Restaurant, nestled beneath towering trees, we were ready to stroll through the Gardens, feel the grass between our toes, and do what we love best – people watching!

The Gardens, a haven situated at the top of Adderley Street, has been a sanctuary for the city’s overheated and overworked people for over 200 years!  For children who played with rag dolls in bygone days or children who play on Playstation these days, the opportunity to feed squirrels and birds, throw a coin into the fish pond and make a wish, or just run and play on the grass, remains the perfect ingredients for a pleasurable day. I do wonder though, if children in yesteryears would have been allowed to run through the sprinklers in an attempt to cool down in our Summer heat like the little ones that I saw having a ball getting wet that day.

I have yet to spend time in the gardens over a weekend without spotting a wedding retinue. It is common to spot brides, grooms, retinue and guests using the Gardens as a perfect backdrop for their wedding photographs. It was no different last weekend. In the time that we lounged about on the grass, we were able to watch the photo-shoots of three weddings.  They were all very different, except for a new trend that we spotted of the flower girls holding tin buckets instead of the usual traditional baskets.  One of the wedding retinue’s flower girls took advantage of the Gardens, removed their shoes, and decided to sprawl themselves on the grass in their beautiful white gowns to bask in the sun while the bride and groom busied themselves with posing in all the well-worn spots.

I spotted a miniature groom frenziedly running about and squealing with delight, until he was reprimanded by a four year old boy (who was walking by with his family) for being cruel to animals. I only realized then that the little groom was chasing a squirrel in an attempt to catch it by its tail. I was moved by the consciousness of the four year old being raised to care for animals, and even more pleased to report that the squirrel in question actually seemed to be happily taunting the young groom instead!

What I enjoyed most of all though, was “spotting the tourists”. There are so many tell-tale signs, but none more obvious than the fanny pack, the big group with cameras, and my favourite - the “high sock” (often worn with sandals). My friends and I counted a few cases that could be used as evidence as we giggled politely to ourselves.

When you get down to it, there’s a little bit of fun for everyone in the Gardens. You should visit, take your shoes off (and your socks!), and chill out like real Capetonians on a sunny day!

An institution in Plumstead for 59 years, the fisheries has been the source of countless takeaway dinners in the local and surrounding suburbs since it opened its doors in 1950.

I recall the glee that the fish and chip parcels were greeted with in our household on the odd Friday night. Our family favourite was the snoek fried in batter, and a pile of slap* chips with salt and vinegar. That parcel fed our entire family of six; my mother, father, his mother, my two older sisters and me. Today, those family parcels can still feed a family of that size, no matter what inflation says!

The smell of fish and chips from Plumstead Fisheries immediately takes me back to my childhood. I can see myself at the dinner table with my sisters. My mother made sure that we were indoors from half past four in the afternoon, to be bathed and in nightgowns by the time our father came home from work. Each sister had a turn to lay the table, wash up and dry off after dinner. The one to have a turn on the fish and chip night was lucky, there was a whole lot less cleaning to do!

In my adventurous twenties, working around the corner from the fish shop, I decided to broaden my late-blooming palate and try fish other than snoek, kingklip, angel fish and tuna. I was told by a customer of the Plumstead Fisheries that they sold the most heavenly calamari. The thought of eating a squishy eight legged sea monster terrified me just a little at the time. I will never forget the moment when I finally opted to try the calamari instead of their chiproll for lunch – I think I fell in love! My teeth sunk into the soft white flesh that simply melted in my mouth, while the aroma wafted up my nose and filled my being with the sense of being at the ocean. After that, I was hooked…

I’ve come a long way since then – not in age, just in tasting different fish, (and confess that I may have turned into a bit of a sushi addict along the way); but the most important thing I’ve learnt is that there are not that many fish in the sea! If you’re on the same wave length as I am, and feel passionate about the environment and sustainability, check out my post script for some links to fantastic fish facts…

It’s Friday today, so it’s no wonder my colleagues left the kitchen smelling like a fish shop. Whoever thought that smelling something fishy could be so pleasant?

Glossary: *slap – pronounced: slup. Description: chips that are deep fried, soft and soggy, often slathered in salt and vinegar, sometimes dusted with peri-peri or other spices depending on the takeaway outlet

Post Script: If you are in South Africa and care about the environment, then I would recommend that you stick to eating fish on the Green List provided by WWF SASSI that names the fish that are legally caught and sold, and are from the healthiest and most well managed populations. Be aware that the following Orange List outlines which fish populations are under strain. Please pay particular attention to the Red List – the fish listed here are ILLEGAL TO BUY OR SELL in South Africa. Some may be protected, or reserved for recreational fishing only – which means that you need to obtain a valid permit to catch them, and you have to follow specific regulations. So when I encourage you to eat fish carefully, it’s not just to look out for the bones, but also to support Sustainable Seafood!

I could have hung out with friends in their backyard for a party and the obligatory braai. I could have been seen chilling at one of the cafe’s on the Atlantic seaside. I could even have strolled down Long Street and St George’s Mall just soaking up the excitement of the city, but in the end, I chose to take a train ride to Kalk Bay.

After losing myself for hours  in the second hand stores and other treasure troves housing exquisite finds from jewellery, clothing, to fine art, I made my way over to my usual haunt, The Brass Bell, for a meal and a cider before catching the train back home.

I was delighted to meet the most interesting artist, James Southey, as I emerged from the subway leading to the restaurant. He collects detritus and other rubbish washed up along the shore and turns them into functional pieces of art.  According to James, he is a descendant of the wizard Merlin and this fact inspired him to craft the ‘Magician’s Bench’ out of an old railway sleeper. I have to admit, I fell in love with the piece and couldn’t resist buying it! (It’s still in Kalk Bay since I couldn’t carry it by myself on the train!) I did leave with shell pendants, crystals, an owl shaped candle holder made of wood and sea shells, and a praying mantis figurine made of sand and broken glass.

Besides creating these other-worldly pieces from what would otherwise just pollute our seashore, James also trains some young unemployed youths from a nearby township to create art that they could sell for a much needed income.

Here is a man that really sells seashells on the seashore…