This is a one thought post. And, it is pretty much all in the name. Camps Bay. Everyone has weighed in with an opinion about the occupation of a luxury home in Camps Bay under false pretences, and most of that opinion is that these violators have broken the law, and been irresponsible, and are going to affect the tourism industry; all of which is actually true. What nobody is saying is that the obscene wealth and the flashing of it in areas like Camps Bay are an endless kick in the face to the poor and disenfranchised. End of.
Tag: Camps Bay
We have been up since sparrow fart, and we have already had two (smallish) cups of strong coffee, and it is only 6.18 and it is still very dark, but I’ve Got That Feeling. I can smell the Jasmine.
I know that it is still going to rain, and be freezing and winter is far from over, but there is that pre-sunrise Jasmine morning air, and it holds such promise. I love this time. It is a proper in between time. In Cape Town it is before the wind starts time. It is before the end of the year time. It is possibility time. It is whales in the bay time.
Having my boet in Cape Town means we do some touristy stuff, and on Sunday afternoon we hit Camps Bay for sundowners. Yo, yo, yo it was a scene I tell you. I can’t remember when last I was skeefed like that as we tried to find our tiny table of trend. Big Friendly kept hinting that we should just do Vida E but my boet was determined and we did find a lekker spot at a place that looked like it should have been full but wasn’t. Who knows why. I wish I could remember its name. We were in luck because they were doing R25 cocktails. So there we were, with Big Friendly and a pink girly drink that went straight to his head, my boet and his glass of Whiskey Sour and me and a margarita. Watching the sun set. And eating what Big Friendly and my boet called cajones (coujons). Damn fine for a local.