Avery Gets a Lift

After a long day of sightseeing, Madeline spotted a coffee shop nestled among some grungy-looking storefronts in central Cape Town. We made a beeline in, or rather, she made a beeline and I got stuck behind some cars and had to wait a little bit. The shop itself was half coffee shop, half antique store, lined with aging household artifacts and so forth (a mouldery baby carriage, miscellaneous glass bottle, and so forth) with a central wooden bar, where Madeline ordered coffee and a muffin to go.

We were trying to get back to our hostel, and after a questionable experience with a taxi "meter" this morning, wanted to opt for cheaper public transport. We asked the barkeep, and he went to consult with two older gentlemen sitting at one of the chairs, who appeared to be permanent residents of some sort. They steered us away from buses (this seems to be a typical White African fear of any local transport), we countered with our concern about the taxis, and then one of the older gentlemen offered to give us a lift. We reluctantly but gratefully accepted, and as he rose to go we were led out into the sunlight by another man to wait for our driver to arrive at his parked car .

About ten minutes later, the old man rounded the block corner. He was heaving himself along on two medical canes, at about the pace one would expect from an unenthusiastic beached fish. But he immediately launched into an explanation about how his mother always taught him that it was a good thing to bring ladies home, and to make sure that they get right into their front doors, so we got into the passenger seats and waited for him to round the hood.

His driving was much swifter than his waddle, and as he drove he told us a little about himself. He's a South African by birth, from Cape Town. His mother was a very nice lady. He doesn't own the little coffee shop, but after the lady who owns it was robbed several times, he decided to sit there as a guard. "I'm not the quickest of defenders," he pointed out, "but my presence as a witness discourages them." He wound us a few times around our destination by our poor directions before arriving at our very door.

This encounter was, in many ways, a perfect demonstration of the flaws in my travelling style. I prefer to be well informed and to have carefully inspected and memorized the map, so that I never have to ask for help, to look confused or lost. In this way I protect myself from harassment and from being embarrassed by any awkward entrapments. This keeps me from most major problems, but at the same time, I freeze out most daily encounters. I would probably never have accepted this ride on my own, for example. It will be a trick for me to figure out how to open up better to encounters like this without feeling nervous about being trapped in a bad situation.