Jeff Spahr-Summers,
US
12:
Johannesburg
to
Cape Town
When I was
16 we moved to
Cape Town.
By this time, all my sisters were back in the
United
States.
I was the only one left at home with Mom and Dad. My girlfriend
(who was from Liverpool), a couple of ex-girlfriends (from
Scotland
and
South Africa) and some other friends threw me a fantastic going
away party. The party was incredibly surreal (they always are
when you’re the one leaving), but I think it was particularly
poignant at that time due to my age. Once again, I did not want
to leave. We spent our last night in the Transvaal at the
Carlton Hotel in downtown Johannesburg. The hotel was part of an
underground complex of shops, restaurants and an ice rink. I had
learned to ice skate as a child outdoors in Evergreen, outside
of Denver in The Rocky Mountains, but had eventually become a
huge fan of it in (of all places) Pretoria. There was one
particular rink where I loved blasting along with “Paint It
Black” by The Rolling Stones (the rhythm of the song was perfect
for skating). But I never skated in this rink at The Carlton in
Johannesburg, although I had been to many of the restaurants in
the complex for lunch on days my friends and I hit town for
billiards.
The next
morning we boarded The Blue Train en route to Cape Town. World
famous for its appointments and service, The Blue Train was
luxurious by any standards. It was reserved (by Apartheid law at
the time) strictly for white people, in fact (to my distress);
our maid Anna (who was Zulu and moving with us) was required to
travel on a completely different train, along with our car. It
was a blatantly shameful example of ridiculous racial prejudice.
The only black people allowed on the train, were the servants
that worked on it. I for one was ashamed. I had my own cabin on
the train, complete with gold plated bathroom fixtures, intended
I’m sure to impress me (as the occupant of the cabin), they
didn’t. Had they allowed Anna to ride with us, I would have been
suitably impressed. It is an interesting experience sleeping on
a bunk on a moving train, the movement (from side to side) is
almost disconcerting at first, but it quickly lulled me into a
deep sleep.
I woke up
early in the morning. I rolled over on my bunk and opened the
curtains by my head to look out the window, there was a thick
fog but I could see that we were flying through endless
vineyards. The Cape Province, I knew instantly (I had learned to
do my research). I stared out the window transfixed by the
beauty of the lush countryside, not at all like the Transvaal,
the Orange Free State or even Natal, I noted. We had been on a
trip to Durban once, and Zululand, but The Cape was another
thing altogether. I was getting excited (the traveler in me was
wide eyed and awake again). We ate breakfast on the train in the
dining car as we watched more vineyards roll past the windows. I
was looking for Table Mountain (arguably the most famous
sailor’s landmark on the entire planet), but we weren’t on a
ship and a full view of the front of the mountain would have to
wait. Later, once I saw Table Mountain for the first time with
my own eyes, I fell in love.
