Cape Town

First off, allow me to be smug one last time:

Sorry about that. Had to be done. That's me on the top of Tafelberg (Table Mountain), which was a bit of effort to climb. Anyway, here's the changing of the guard at the Castle of Good Hope:

French, Dutch, British, you name it. They've all called this fort their own.

I'm in Cape Town for the day, and Tafelberg and the Castle of Good Hope are just a few items on the agenda.

Cape Town itself is a sprawling metropolis set on rolling hills that lead up to the mountains and then down to the bay, which is occupied by a hive of docks, complete with a network of cranes, barges, and waterways:

Cape Town's swankiest neighborhood by far is the waterfront, which boats a gigantic mall, a casino, and my personal favorite; and Aston Martin dealership.

Some day, baby...some day.

It's not all chic and glam in Cape Town though: beggars camp out in the rocks on the shore, and emerge pitifully like moles at the prospect of tourists, with cries of "God will bless you" abundant at the sign of prospective aid.

The best, however, is not the waterfront. It's Bo-Kaap.

I mentioned in one of my previous posts that Islam has been around since Indians and black slaves from further north in Africa mad it here in the 1600s. Consequently, Bo-Kaap (known in less politically-correct circles as "Malay Quarter") feels less like a part of Cape Town and more like a North African city like Tunis or Casablanca: dusty, sand-colored buildings decked out with vibrant, colorful murals:

Beautiful.

Bo-Kaap is also, as I said, very Muslim-affiliated, having had religious institutions and leadership since the 1700s. Stores advertise signs in Arabic, and restaurants' signs boast that the food is halaal.

As I'm walking down the street, I notice a minaret rising slightly above the surrounding houses. As if on cue, a melodic, echoing call to prayer starts, and feeling a bit adventurous, I walk over and step inside the mosque.

I was joined on this endeavor by Nadia, who is Muslim, and I would have hoped that she would show me around. Unfortunately, as we step inside, Nadia informs me that women pray separately from men, and then abandons me on the ground floor with a small group of strangers.

Fortunately, I was able to exchange a few pleasantries in Arabic with one of the men, who was curious about me and where I came from:

Enta min feen?
Aish feen fii Ganuub-Afriqya?
Fii Stellenbosch! Ahsan jamiyah, ahsan jamiyah. Walidi seken bi Stellenbosch.

Shukran gazilan, Ragi and Fatima, I couldn't have done it without you.

The mosque itself is a nice, quiet place to pray, so I take my shoes off and find a place on the mat.

Who says the world is too Americanized?

Special NO THANKS to Nadia for ditching me.