Between a Rock and a Wet Place
by Roxana Bouwer
I fell in love recently. For the first time, in fact. It was on my summer holiday. I took on a larger-than-life lover and entered into an affair to rival all affairs in the history of romance. Basically, what this means is that I had one of the best holidays of my life. And that I am a cheater.
But before you judge me, allow me to elaborate. You see, his power and majesty were so overwhelmingly refreshing. The winds of his whispers had me entranced and the way I was able to relax and just breath around him was spectacular…
He’s a rather large fellow, my summer lover. He has the charisma of ten princes combined, and a capricious character that grabs hold of you like an episode of Greys grabs hold of over-emotional, unstable women. He’s been around, gets around and will continue to be around for a long while to come. And chances are, you’ve made his acquaintance. Cape Town is his name. Ring a bell?
I realised my love for this magnificent fellow the moment I laid eyes on him. And my feelings were only made more concrete as I danced to The Beatles in a shop crammed with every vinyl I have ever wanted to own. My heart expanded as I ate the best pizza of my life on a beachwood deck poking out just high enough above a natural forest for me to be able to marinade in a summer sun setting over the ocean. And marriage was a sure thing after vintage clothing and trinket shopping, daily beach walks and swims, serendipitous meetings with friends, adventures in Observatory, live bands on Long street, and a meander from wine farm to wine farm. *Insert long, dreamy sigh here.
That said. I do have a conscience. Joburg was certainly on my mind, albeit rarely. The convenient thing about getting away is the wide-angle lens that positions itself in your mind, allowing for an entire gamut of perspectives to filter in. And perspective is a very healthy thing.
You see, I realised a very interesting and important detail while going about my affairs. And it all has to do with the f-word. Friends. Sure, Joburg cannot be awesome because of an ocean, or a mountain, or bergies that pee into the wind, oblivious to the laws of physics (hilarious by the way). And Joburg will never boast the daily strutting of bikini-clad hot bods or moonlit beach walks. But do you know what Joburg has? It has your friends and my friends. Our friends. And that’s why we still get excited when we see the outline of our city as we approach it, the ultimate signifier of the end of a trip to anywhere. And that, dear reader, is why I left my part-time lover and returned to the familiar arms of dear Joburg. I will stray again, it’s certain. But what is more certain is my inevitable return. **
**That is, of course, just until I can convince my pals to move down to CT with me. Then I’m outta here faster than a kugel running away from a parktown prawn (of which there are none in CT). Okay, okay, just kidding. (But not really.)