In which things happen

In which I fail the South African driver’s test without even taking it.

I really doubt my abilities. I feel as though this is not the feeling one should feel when they set about accomplishing a task, yet it is the most pervasive between the hours of nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. I usually give up around three and just settle in to some monotonous task to fill the gap between then and the time when the sound of the minibus horn honks to let me know it’s waiting patiently for me downstairs.

Let me rephrase that, lest you think I’m lazy. I don’t give up. I try to go with the flow. I try to stay busy, or look busy, or seem busy. Maybe that’s stretching the truth. Maybe it is giving up. Maybe it’s throwing in the towel, begging for relief, praying for the four o’clock light at the end of the time tunnel.

But either way last Thursday began with “bobbelas” (Afrikaans for hung over) and ended with me miserable, disheartened and terrified to drive on hills.

We needed to go to the police department in Muizenberg to get some application forms for posts seen in some newspaper. Too far to walk. Neither Rochelle nor Brenda has their driver’s license. I do. (In hindsight, mentioning that I’ve only ever driven a manual car in Wisconsin may have been the best decision I could have made. However, I remained silent.) And thus, we get in the Cheryl’s car (kindly remember that she is the boss of all things internship related) and sputter off with Brenda at the wheel. About to turn onto Prince George Road (the big one. Road, not the king), she pulls over and I’m to drive. Oh dear god.

I drive. I did well. I shifted nicely, considering I was shifting left-handed and driving on the left side of the road. Things were going alright. Until we had to stop on a hill. Brenda throws the handbrake up. I chill, foot on the brake pedal. And then the light turns green.

Panic sets in. I go to drive and the car is not going and I try to accelerate, but I’m not doing it enough and we roll back. I slam on the brake. I am afraid to stall it. So I do exactly that. Twice.  I turn it back on and then I floor it. Problem – the handbrake is on. Smoke emits from the tires. I can now say, shamefully, that I have “burnt rubber.” Brenda lets the handbrake go and we drive. I’m not even breathing. I turn the corner and we pull over and we park.

Laughter. Peals of laughter.  (They easily could have been tears.)

They’re making fun of the way I yelled, “Brenda, you drive! I don’t want this anymore!” and I’m just glad we’re alive. 

And we get out. Rochelle proclaims that she needs a smoke. I am going over the whole scenario in my head.

We go to the police station. They are rude. I’ve got a full-on headache now; I could care less about the damn forms. They refuse to give them to us. We leave dejected, but alive.

And thus, I would not have passed a South African driving test (rolling back almost into the grill of a large truck – rolling back at all – is an automatic fail). When I get home, I am determined to learn how to smoothly accelerate up a hill without rolling back so that I never have to feel that fear again. When we rent a car to do the Garden Route, I am renting an automatic for sure.

In which we try to climb Table Mountain and fail

Awake at seven thirty on a Saturday, out of bed by eight and on the train at exactly 8:33 or 8:37 (so not quite exactly after all), we stumbled into downtown Cape Town around half past nine in order to climb the peak that looms above us daily. There was a cab ride to the base and then there was some confusion.
And so we began walking. We found a trailhead and began the hike. 

We hiked. It was lovely. Saturday was the first really warm day we've had here (spring started September first). We didn't quite make it to the top due to some trail confusion, but we got a good hike in and were able to see amazing views from the city. I only had 100ml or so of water with me, and Mike had a little less than that, and to get to the top was going to take at least another 2.5 hours, so we decided to attempt to summit (ha) again next Saturday. 

After that, we walked back to the train station (at least 10 km downhill - the quads are burning today). On the way we stopped and had some lunch at a cafe. I normally don't like ordering omelets out, because you never can tell if you're going to get a good omelet, but this one was delicious. We walked through Green Market Square and stopped to see all of the stuff being sold. It's the same souvenirs everywhere you go, really, and there are only so many times that wooden spoons with animals carved into them are going to be interesting. 

However ---- I found the mirror covers!!!! I found them! The guy was trying to charge me R50 for them so I bailed, but I got them today for R10! They're a little dirty, so I'm assuming they came right off of someone's car, but hey, I'll take them and wash them. So my only goal has been achieved. 

More to come later, sorry for the abbreviated post.