Where Two Oceans Meet

Cape Town is a city of contradictions, and it knows it. Wealth and poverty exist side by side, often separated only by a highway. The natural beauty is staggering—mountains and oceans and vineyards—but the history is brutal, and the present is complicated.

I hiked Table Mountain on my first morning, taking the Platteklip Gorge route straight up the face. It nearly killed me. But reaching the top, spreading out on the flat summit, watching the clouds roll in like slow-motion waves—it was worth every burning muscle.

Bo-Kaap was my favorite neighborhood. The brightly painted houses—pink, turquoise, lime green—cascade down the hill toward the city center. The area was once the heart of Cape Malay culture, and you can still smell the spices: turmeric, cumin, coriander, the holy trinity of Cape Malay cooking.

I drove out to the Cape of Good Hope, the southwestern tip of Africa (not the southernmost, despite what the signs say). The wind nearly knocked me off my feet. Baboons raided a tourist's car for snacks. Two oceans churned against rocks below.

At night, I ate at a braai restaurant in Woodstock, surrounded by locals and music and smoke from the grill. South African hospitality is aggressive in the best way—strangers become friends by the second beer, and everyone has an opinion about everything.