Cape Town Stories 14
My sister and I went to grab a coffee down at the heavily overpriced Biscuit Mill (or Biscuit Müll if I may try a pun in German). It was so full we sat on the floor between hundreds of tourists (92 Percent German), drinking our coffee and trying to ignore the electronic music (uhm, Mauerpark much?) accompanied by a didgeridoo (seriously though, did they just copy-paste Mauerpark into South Africa?). The South Easter was not joking that day and so we had to hold on to our paper cups (I know, we are all part of the problem) to keep them from blowing away and my sister was getting increasingly annoyed at her hair smacking her face so she removed her flowery t-shirt, rolled it up and asked me to tie her hair with it. Some people must have thought our hair-wrapping situation to be a performance piece, because as one old (white) man took a photo of us another old (white) woman literally stopped walking to watch us. No, let me rephrase: stare at us. I look up at her and say „Hi, what’s up?“. But she clearly does not enjoy crowd work because she just smiles and walks away. Oh okay than. Some moments later we bumped into the dad of an old school friend of my sisters. We went to a rich private school and he was one of those men that lives on that side of the mountain where bougainvilleas grow the size of most peoples‘ houses and the swimming pool is placed conveniently between guest house and private tennis court. Anyways to cut a long story short, he wanted us to eat with him and his wife (I said yes immediately, I was hungry and who says no to free food and wine anyway!) and now to get to what I wanted to say: he is so rich he does not know the name Mitchells Plain. No jokes! He talked about how they purchase their organic vegetables for the hotel he owns from a farm in a place called „Mitchell…? Something Mitch-Plain?“. Guys! I am being so fucking serious right now! He lives in Cape Town! But he is so rich his mouth does not know how to say Mitchells Plain! The struggle is real I tell you!