Cape Town - 1

There are those horrible Cape winter days, where it rains and rains and the rubbish bins become graveyards of umbrella's that have been flipped up and broken by wind. Those days of grey discontent where, living in the southern suburbs, I shiver vicariously for residents of the water-soaked Cape Flats. Those days where I appreciate every fluffy fibre of every fluffy sock, and thank whatever universe-lotto it was that spun me into my current cocoon. 

But then there are those days that defy the winter stereotype. When it is so clear that the mountain looks like a cardboard cut-out, pasted on a perfectly smooth blue sky. You can tell it's still winter, because the sun is so far and so low, but its rays still reach you. That feeling of sitting on the step outside my parents' dining-room, squinting into the sun and holding my hands out to the far-off fire; nothing beats it.

Yesterday, in absolute opposition to our sedentary series-filled weekend lives, I joined two friends on a spontaneous jaunt to celebrate the afternoon glow. Our desire was simple: find somewhere to sit where there was sun, food, drinks and a view. So we headed out on the M3, into wildly unfamiliar territory, and ended up at a wine farm in Constantia. There was a giant old willow tree like the one in Pocahontas, a vineyard--the rosebushes planted at the end of each row of vines alternated white and red flowers--and mountains, obviously. A whole waving roll of warm mountains.

There are some days that you really just can't beat Cape Town.