Cape Town

I have just been watching a World Triathlon race held in Cape Town. I had just got up and switched on the TV to be regaled by the light, warmth and beauty of Cape Town as a backdrop to an interesting race. A swim in the ocean, a bike ride up and down the hills on the Peninsular finished by a race through the streets of Sea Point. The mountain was on best behaviour with no South Easter blowing, looking majestic a clear defined profile sitting in judgement over the city at its feet. There were few spectators which contrasts with many of the other host cities for this world event where usually the streets are lined with spectators cheering the contestants on. I wonder why people didn't turn out to watch the race ?
I was certainly made to feel homesick (having spent 25 years in SA I think I can make some sort of claim for 'home') as I remembered the happy days when I first arrived in Cape Town on Christmas Eve, back in 1961.  My eyes were agog with this sunny country, a land of plenty, homes which looked like mansions and a people who were so warm and friendly. Of course it was a schizophrenic society trying to ignore the vast majority who were swept away out of sight after 6am into the townships, we were all to blame, going along with the Afrikaners attempt to ignore the political climate which arose after the war regarding the egalitarian nature of nations across the world.
My memories, as a 22 year old, were of the drop down gorgeous girls who lay on the beach amongst the boulders at Clifton Beach.The sumptuous steaks at Walters Grill in Sea Point, the welcoming warmth of my Aunt and Uncles home in Vrederhoek, their friends who were so unlike the closed relationships we have in the UK, they exuded  openness  and trust.
I was only in the town for 12 months before pushing off again this time to Australia but I would never again experience the strength of the bonds that were forged in those far off days in Cape Town.