CAMPS BAY

I am fully convinced that Cape Town is the best city in the entire world. Tonight we went to Camps Bay, a palm lined beach set against the backdrop of beautiful mountains. I was so enamored with this place I became the tackiest tourist ever. Literally leaning out of the cab the whole time we were approaching it trying to take pictures. At one point I think more of my body was outside the cab than in. One main street runs up and down Camps Bay. On one side is a gorgeous white sand beach and the other side is lined with bars, restaurants, and clubs. We were told that Café Caprice is the place to go on Sunday nights, but we should get there early. We walked up to Café Caprice around 6:45 and immediately understood what people meant—people in the lounge area were literally pouring out of this place onto the sidewalk. It seems like people go to the beach all day and then move across the street to the bars around 4. Tough life… We decided to go to a restaurant down the street for dinner and had an amazing meal overlooking the ocean. Then we decided to try round two at Café Caprice. We finally squeezed in and went inside, and saw why people were so intent on being there. The music was awesome the entire night, the djs played everything from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song to techno to house. It might sound like he’s a candidate for a Ritalin prescription and a budding career at SC during finals week, but it actually worked really well—whatever the dance flow was, he was 2 steps ahead. South Africa is definitely a country of beautiful people, which didn’t hurt the vibe in the club. South Africans definitely value working out more… or value eating less? Than we do.

As fun as Café Caprice was, I think the cab ride back might have been the highlight of my night. I knew this cab driver was a baller from the moment we stepped in his ride—he had a cell phone holder with an obscene Megan Fox-looking girl posed up against a red Camero. I can only assume this was his girlfriend or orthodontist. The moment we settled a price, a black and white checkered flag, that nobody but he could see, started waving. He became Dale Earnhardt. He was flying around corners, accelerating down hills, speed braking and double shifting. After running several stops signs without so much as a “whoops,” he ran a red light with particular vigor. He turned to my housemate, Kase and I and says, “I promise I’ll stop at that one twice tomorrow.” A) I am pretty sure that’s not the way this whole traffic thing works and B.) I am definitely sure that he will not stop at any traffic lights in this millennia. To most people, this would seem illegal, but Mrs. Earnhardt did raise no fool, her baby figured out a loophole. He turns to Kase and says, “If the police pull us over, tell them you hurt your foot and I’m rushing you to the hospital.” What a bulletproof cover story. Kase kinda laughed nervously, because it was clear this guy wasn’t kidding and he might have to learn how to feign a life-threatening foot injury in the next few minutes. By some miracle, we made it home safely and he sped off to take someone else on Mr. Cab Driver’s Wild Adventure.