As I write this, I’m sat at Heathrow, waiting for British Airways to fly me 30 000 ft or so above the warm African night. It’s a spur of the moment decision. I meant to call my friend from primary school, Ingrid, to see if we could find time for a coffee. Turns out she’s in Cape Town, so why not have coffee in Cape Town? Why not indeed… I needed to thaw out anyway. The thought of leaving -18°C (that’s the same temperature as my freezer) for the balmy African summer is nothing short of delicious.

I haven’t been in Cape Town since 1993 (the public computer I’m now using may have been here even then – looks it, feels it…)

Back then, this flying beauty was still in operation. Odd to think the 90s are 20 years ago. I remember them so well…

The Cape revisited

The Cape is on the list this time as well. Cape of Good Hope, that is. I’m oddly drawn to that nemesis of sailors through the centuries, where warm currents meet cold, where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. I remember standing there witnessing the fog suddenly coming in, covering the entire headland in a matter of seconds. A brutal and fascinating place.

This is how the treacherous Cape looked nearly 20 years ago. I expect it hasn’t changed much. Except, perhaps, for the pesky baboons in the car park, who thought nothing of getting inside one’s car. Can always hope. Of course, they have been here for thousands of years, and have the right to set the rules, I suppose.

Has the rest of the town changed much? We shall see…

And have my photographic skills changed much? Again, we shall see…