Arriving in Bangkok

Wow.  A normal hotel room.

I sat awed by the free bottled water, the electric kettle and teabags, the new A/C unit and remote control, the crisp white sheets, the ornately carved bed, and the mini-fridge with the label still on it.

To be fair, it might have just been my jetlag that was awed. I'd been on a plane overnight and been through multiple time zones. I was exhausted and semi-delirious.

Aware that my old standby—the Viengtai Hotel on Rambuttri near Khao San—had worn itself out before my first stay there in the year 2000, I'd dug around online last night while tucked in under many blankets in Johannesburg Airport's Terrylin Backpackers dormitory room. (The southern hemisphere gets chilly this time of year.) I'd ended up booking three nights at Feung Nakorn Balcony, though it was in an in-between area by Wat Po, not really near anything I needed to be near. The TripAdvisor reviews were excellent and the price was right. I was trying to avoid the madness of Khao San Road—I fancied myself past the point where I could stand all the drunken kiddies—but I didn't really want to stay next to a downtown shopping mall either.

Landing in Tana

4 a.m. taxi to Cape Town Airport, heading to a connecting flight in Johannesburg.

Ugh. 

As soon as I got to the airport and checked my bag, I headed straight to Mugg & Bean for a "bottomless" coffee.

I hadn't managed to get to sleep early last night, between packing and remotely working at the comic book factory. I'd slept a few hours, then dragged myself out of bed at 3. I'd thought I was doing pretty well until I left my room, crossed the street, and tried to buzz myself into the main building at Cape Town Backpackers.

I couldn't get in. What? Oh hell. The gate was bolted from the inside. I could see the security guard's chair and folded-up newspaper. But where was the guard?

Two Rainy, Touristy Days at the Bottom of Africa

"Should have gone up Table Mountain when I had the chance," I grumbled to myself as I contemplated the bleak weather forecast.

Rain, wind, rain. And chilly! I shivered at night under a thin comforter, wore my fleece to bed, wrapped my toes in a towel. There was no heater in my room at Cape Town Backpackers.

I thought about doing a shark dive, but I couldn't sort out the ethics. Are shark dives okay? Are they not okay? They're certainly cheap enough in Cape Town. But is it acceptable to chum to attract sharks, to associate them with humans? What I needed was an expert.

A Morning Stroll

One piece of advice that I always give to tourists heading to Cape Town is this:

The second you have a clear, windless day, go up the cable car to the top of Table Mountain. You may not get the chance again.

I hadn't taken my own advice. I'd done laundry instead of grabbing my chance on the first day, when the weather was perfect. 24 hours later, the cape was covered in fog and rain.

Nevertheless, I dragged myself out of bed on Saturday morning and walked over to Tourist Information. I knew I could take a minibus along Long Street as I had dozens of times before, but I couldn't remember how or where to catch it. And I hadn't yet noticed that brand-new bus lines that had come to Cape Town along with the World Cup—these wonderful things could zip me all the way from a block below Kloof Street to the V&A Waterfront and back.

"It's only you today," said the South African guide who met me to lead the walking tour of the City Bowl and Bo-Kaap. "No one else is here because of the rain!"

Sunny Day on the Cape

Dazed and delighted to be in the Cape Town bus terminal, I stumbled out of the bottom of the Intercape double-decker bus after a long night, into the sunshine of a self-aware beautiful city.

Cape Town's charm isn't lessened by its awareness of its beauty. I love Cape Town as much as anyone else who's ever visited.

I picked a friendly old guy in a hat to taxi me to Cape Town Backpackers, and a young Australian couple joined me as they were going to a hostel nearby.

Over the next few days, I realized I was done with backpackers hostels after mornings of waking up to every cup, mug, and glass in the hostel being half-full of wine and in the sink. I'd have to do the dishes before having coffee.

But it was still great to be able to prepare my own morning coffee, to open up a few envelopes of Oats-So-Easy and have instant oatmeal alongside granola & yogurt, rather than greasy eggs at a restaurant. And I met some of the backpackers. Some of them were interesting, had driven down from Europe, and had great stories to tell. Others appeared to be solely interested in assisting the South African economy through the purchase of as much of its alcohol as possible. And I was almost always the oldest one in the room.