After an ever-increasing intense last few days in Kota Kinabalu, 13 January rolled around all too quickly and, following sad goodbyes, I boarded the flight back to Cape Town.
31 hours later, having flown Kota Kinabalu – Kuala Lumpur – Doha – Johannesburg – Cape Town, my grey-haired mother stood waiting with a warm embrace.
In the years past my mom sold the house I grew up in, so instead of a 15 minute drive from the airport, she now lives more like 40 minutes away, near Franschhoek.
She had prepared a room for me and I settled in, getting used to what will be my home for the foreseeable future.
The next 2 weeks flew past.
Thanks to FICA and RICA, some overly complicated laws that appears to have easily circumventable objectives, it took me a whole week to get a local bank account and mobile phone number.
In the meantime I rekindled my love of beer with, first – mainstream beers, and in between also local craft brews, which are often twice the price. Most have been from bottles, but I’ve also had a few delicious draughts.
My mom lives in a beautiful holiday resort, which is a hub of activity during holidays and long weekends, but is otherwise deserted. Cabin fever set in quickly.
The fact that it’s a an hour drive from the Cape Town doesn’t make things easier and will be an interesting challenge to overcome when the time comes to find employment.
During the week I met up with old friends, an powerful reminder of why I missed Cape Town.
On Friday I connected with Ultimate players in Stellenbosch, which took care of the cabin fever. Not sure if it was the additional human interaction or the awesome run on a spectacularly beautiful field.
Today I touched the core of my soul: Table Mountain.
I feel energised by mountains in general, but Table Mountain is something special. I climbed it with glee, in an hour. Surprising, as I’m pretty out of shape.
I ran most of the way down, but halfway down my legs turned to jelly and I had to slow down. I’m going to feel, and probably regret it, tomorrow.
The Ultimate scene is quite busy. Sunday is pickup. Monday it’s a the summer league. And these guys don’t play play: games to 17 or 2 hours. Die la, me. But in a good way.