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This'll be the first semi-short Dispatch (note the self-important
capital letter) since Greece.   Tomorrow, after more than two months
in Cape Town, I'm venturing out for a side trip through Namibia,
Botswana, and Zimbabwe.  Should be an interesting menu--rolling around
on towering sand dunes, game viewing, white water rafting in the
deltas, canoeing, camping under a gazillion African stars, and peering
nervously over the world-famous Victoria Falls.  I'll be back in
C.T. around the first week of December, brown as a nut.

If that doesn't satisfy your taste for vicarious adventure, I can't help you.  

Honestly, I feel like I'm kind of cheating.  True adventurers don't
go with groups, even if they are youth safari groups traveling in
heavy-duty big-wheeled trucks, camping in tents, and wiping themselves
with sandpaper. True adventurers lighten their packs, put a thumb
into the highway, and follow the wind.  But as much as I've traveled,
Africa is still the Big Kahuna.  Even something like India is better-beaten
by backpackers' boots.  It's not like I didn't try to avoid organized
tours. I looked for weeks for a friend who would want to go up country
with me. I finally found one, too--but he was going over Christmas.  Bummer.

I can't wait to get back into the traveler's track. I've been rooted
lately.  It'll be the kick in the rear I need.

My final weeks of my current sojourn on the Cape have been phenomenally
pleasant.  Hiking to secluded mountainside waterfalls, inventing
rice dishes out of whatever edibles the kitchen musters, and trying
to explain to my African friends that in America we see a different
side of the moon.  (I have to physically tilt their heads sideways
so they can see the Man on the Moon.  They find it mildly freaky
to suddenly see him after a lifetime of lunar familiarity.)  Hanging
out at friends' apartments in formerly grand houses that still seem to hum with dark wood.

One of the greatest joys of staying in a city is also its greatest pain:
You start to care deeply for the friends you make.  

You know how when you life is rolling along pleasantly, there's not
really a narrative?  The story of your life falls away, and what
remains is a collection of snapshots.  A series of pleasant memories
forms the tune of your life.  Here are some of mine:

--Last Friday night me and some friends went to a Fun Fair.  It was
being sponsored by a Muslim radio station here.  We were--and I'm
not joking here--the only four white people at the whole carnival.
 There are many countries where you can be white and a distinct minority,
but few of them have the economic standard that South Africa can
have.  I've been the outsider many times before, but this was the
first time I've tasted what it's like to be an outsider in a land
of relative wealth.  Anyway, the fair was a blast!  Knowing that South
Africans can't even get the city buses (or VW Bugs) to function made
the rides truly thrilling.  Death, at least for me, really does linger
in the machinery.  Picture me riding Tilt-A-Whirls with a gaggle
of Muslim girls, head kerchiefs flying in the breeze.  The food stalls
were full of samoosas and koeksisters (a South African bready sweet).
 And everyone was running around eating not cotton candy--the term
doesn't exist here--"ghost's breath."  At least, that's the translation
from Afrikaans.  It's a highly poetic language, unfortunately offset
by cacophonous pronunciation.

--I made a friend named Jayson C.  It's not enough that one of my
best New York friends, Jason Kaufman, shares my name if you shout
it across distance.  Jayson Clarke shares my initials, too.  Anyway,
Jayson moved flats last week.  One Thursday night, we got some Chinese
food, got really really drunk, and then (lawsy, here it comes) opened
cans of paint.  We painted his room yellow.  (Well, "sunburst" or
some foo-foo name like that.)  It was my distinct honor-cum-horror
to spill an entire litre of white paint onto the hardwood floor.
 I also ruined my shorts.  And do you realize how cold paint is?
 I blamed the uneven ladder, but it was clearly the fault of the
Sociable Red wine.  I'm an idiot.  But it was fun.  After so long
abroad, you can't know how exhilarating it feels to just be a friend
to someone who could use a hand.  Painting walls can be so therapeutic.
 Painting floors, particularly when done by accident, can be humiliating.
 (I was, incidentally, forgiven, despite the fact the spillage occurred
exactly as Jayson's new flatmate was breaking up with her long-time
boyfriend downstairs.) Nothing makes you feel at home quite like behaving like an idiot.

--A lazy afternoon driving from winery to winery near Stellenbosch.
 Drowsy with wine and sunlight.  Listening to the radio announce
the release of the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee,
which was assigned to investigate the human rights violations perpetrated
by both sides of the apartheid era.

--The Planet Hollywood re-opened last night.  It was bombed a week
before I arrived.  The media instantly blamed international terrorism.
 In fact, its origins were entirely local.  Identical bombs have
been placed all around.  (I'm referring to the explosives, not global Planet Hollywoods.)

--Last Saturday (Halloween, a week ago) marked exactly six months
since I left America.  Could you die?  Most people get depressed
or homesick around the six-month mark.  I'm no exception.  So I counteracted
an attack of the blues by climbing Table Mountain, locating a clear
waterfall, drinking from it (a natural communion of sorts) and then
stripping down to my shorts and basking in the sunlight alongside
it.  It sounds so good, I wish I were me, myself.

--Last night Jayson sang in the chorus for Bach's Mass in B Minor
at the opulent City Hall.  A bunch of his friends (which includes
me!) turned up to support him.  Among 150 in the chorus, he was the
only one absent-mindedly mouthing the words of the soloists.  I have
this wonderful knack for making friends with the most quirky person
in any group. (Remember Robin cheering Shylock at the Globe?) So
many of my friends are such quality originals, full of charisma,
destined for greatness.  I sat in the audience as a new-found friend
and allowed Bach to draw me into gratitude for everything I have.  (It made me think:
Do you think the human soul has a sound, the way whales have their
low, steady song?  I picture the music of the soul as something low,
thunderous and rolling, like Bach when you listen with your heart.)

--Ha-ha!  John Glenn.  Ape suits.  I get it!  Poor Roddy.

--I heard four states passed the marijuana referendum.  I don't want
to be too explicit here (after all, I'm traveling around the world
and I know what people infer of my activities) but did you know that
if alcohol were to be reclassified today, it would be in a higher
category than pot?  Makes sense; alcohol causes violence, depression,
liver disease, fatalities, addiction... pot just causes people to
tune in, man.  Comes from the earth, dude.  Peace.

--Tonight, a dinner party.  Can you believe that I'm backpacking
around the world and I'm still going to DINNER PARTIES?  I'm bringing wine.  (Surprise.)

I've also been thinking of my childhood.  I'm not going to get into
it too deeply here, but is there anyone else out there who thinks
of their 13-year-old selves as separate people?  Thought so.

NEWS FLASHES

* I've moved out of the Boundary Road flat!  Namibia calls. Don't
send anything there; use my New York address again.  And don't call either.

* I'm coming home!

Yes,

* I'm coming home!  Though not for good.  My father, in a burst of
foolhardy generosity, has bought me a plane ticket back for the holidays.
 I will have been away for eight months, with perhaps another eight
to go.  Yeah, again, I feel like I'm cheating if I come home.  What
kind of multi-cultural immersion has a half-time?  Then again, I
love and miss all of you so much that I'm willing to compromise the
morality of this round-the-world stunt.  Here are the stats:

+ I arrive at JFK Friday, 11 December, at 7:30.  The first person
to volunteer to ride the train back to town with me will receive
a big, sloppy, erotically charged kiss.  Unfortunately, it will be from me.
+ I fly to Fort Liquordale, Florida, first thing Thursday, 17 December.
+ I linger in Key West and F.L. until 30 December, when I fly from Miami back to Cape Town.
Then: New Year's in Cape Town, possible SCUBA lessons on the Indian
Ocean, and in short order, INDIA!!!

So that's it.  My adventures have been mostly emotional, which doesn't
make for a scintillating travelogue.  But rest assured that by the
next Dispatch (maybe I should add a ™) the storytelling should be
far more severe.  Snapshots, my ass--I'm going for sculpture next time.

Delta ho,
Jase

---
Right now I'm in:  Cape Town, South Africa

Day: 191