Musician. Photographer. Writer. Teacher. Living in the pursuit of compassion and excellence.

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Tuesday, June 7 in Cape Town. Today, I’m meeting up with Hillary again. She’s been kind enough to offer to drive down to Cape Point with me, the world where two oceans meet. But first, she’s arranged for us to meet with an acquaintance of hers, Joyce Scott.

We set out down the coast together around 9:30, heading straight to Joyce’s house. Joyce is an 80 something year old woman who’s face reminds me of my grandmother on my mom’s side of the family. She welcomes us into our house, and offers us tea. She also offers us the South African equivalent of biscotti. We sit down in her living room where a grey cat from the neighborhood wanders in and out freely while we chat.

Joyce spent years as a missionary in Africa, working in a long list of countries. She was a musician and music teacher, but along the way she realized that she needed to local music. “In Africa, anything important that needs to be said is sung,” she says. Without intending to, she has become quite the scholar of African music and ethnomusicology. The conversation continued, her showing us instruments, playing recordings, singing a few songs. We ended our time playing the amadinda together, a Ugandan xylophone of sorts.

Meeting Joyce was amazing. She has notes on songs she has learned in one of the townships, Xhosa songs. I’m trying to get back to her to copy her notes to transcribe. She also has an extensive library which she’s catalogued, and she was kind enough to let me photograph the list for me to look through later. At 80, Joyce has accumulated a wealth of knowledge that she wants to pass on, particularly to another missionary who will continue her work. I know I’m not the man for that, but I think working on those transcriptions would be a great way to help her.

After our morning meeting, Hillary and I continued down the coast to Kalk Bay. Despite being just a thirty-five minute drive from the heart of Cape Town, Kalk Bay feels like a separate world, the smell of salt from the water and a cool breeze blowing off the ocean. The main drive is dotted with little shops, and we pop into a few galleries where I saw some fantastic pieces. Eventually, we end up at a restaurant called Live Bait. It’s right on the water where the boats are bringing in the fish and hhe fish sellers are hawking them to people walking by. Locals fish off the pier. We have a nice leisurely lunch looking over the water, and time gets away from us.

Original plan was to get down to Cape Point. We managed to set foot there for a few minutes, and I snap some quick pictures before hopping the car to get back to the city. I’m scheduled to teach swing dance lessons tonight. It feels like the least I can do for this wonderful community that has taken me in this week. I teach classes on improvising in the dance, getting away from moves and steps, thinking about communicating rhythms. I want to broaden their view of the possible to return to them the gift that this trip is giving me.

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Monday in South Africa. I wake up before my alarm goes off, and make sure to get myself out of bed and moving. Today’s a big day. My new friends, Brendan and Muriel, are picking me up to hike to the top of Table Mountain. I’m not much of an outdoor enthusiast, but Brendan is a hiker/climber/surfer. He knows the mountain well, and will be my guide for the day.

They pick me up at 8:30AM. I’m automatically translating time zones to home in my head now…2:30AM at home so no one’s awake yet. A quick post to Facebook before I head out the door. I don’t know when I’ll get on wi-fi again, and someone should know what I’m doing in case I die on the mountain. I squirrel myself into Brendan and Muriel’s car, and off we go. There are options for routes, but I don’t know anything so I let them pick. I’ve already warned them that I don’t climb because of my piano fingers, and I don’t do well with exposed cliffs where there’s a mountain on one side, a foot wide path to walk on, and a precipitous drop. They know my limitations.

We pick a path, and it starts with just some steep paths. It’s hard hiking, a fact that the burn in my thighs is reminding me of, but it’s also manageable. We keep working our way up, heading into a gorge in the mountain. Now, we’re starting to scramble up little chunks of rock that involve me thinking about where to put my feet to climb up. Muriel is a beast, and Brendan jokes that she has one pace for everything. Brendan is practically a mountain goat, and seems to navigate with ease. I’m feeling the months without running training and gym visits now, but I’m motivated to do this.

After a few bouts of scrambling up rock faces followed by flat paths where we cross over to another chunk of rock to climb, we eventually start just going up. We are climbing up the ravine. The burning in my legs has gotten worse. I know I’m paying for this tomorrow, and probably adding grey hairs by the minute. We reached a flat outcropping, and paused for tea. About an hour and change into the ascent, and we’re probably half way up. The view is spectacular, and Brendan and Muriel have packed tea. It was a wonderful moment to spend with new friends, suspended in air and time.

But the mountain still beckons. We pack up, and continue slogging. My legs were thankful for the break. They aren’t fresh, but the fire has faded into a familiar ache in every step. ‘Friends with the pain,’ I think. I’d like to tell you more about the rest of the ascent. The beautiful flowers…pincushions, proteas…I don’t even know what else. Birds and their songs in the air. All I hear is the voice in my head saying, “One more step closer. Don’t stop.” Brendan seems to know when I need a moment to rest my legs before pushing ahead. Maybe he heard it in the heaving gasps of my breath.

It took a little over three hours, but we reached the top. This was no Lion’s Head. I had gracious guides leading me up the mountain, helping me find the right path for me to reach the summit. Once we reached the top of Table Mountain, we continued hiking our way around to the main area where the cable car takes the less athletic (and less crazy) to the top. Now, I was able to think and talk. We shared some of our dance stories and histories. I pulled my camera out for photos, and started enjoying myself.

Eventually, we started making our way down, a different path with a more regulated descent. It’s a bit hard on the knees and muscles. I think we all reached the bottom a little battered, and glad to be done.

The day ended with dinner at their place, and a little dancing. They had asked me about taking a private lesson with me while I was here, but I suggested we just call it friends hanging out and talking about dancing. Much like everyone I meet here, Brendan and Muriel have been incredibly generous to me, and the least I could do was share what little I could.

Throughout the day, I also learned more about them, their passions, about their advocacy for ethical veganism. I can’t say I’m down for that, but I appreciated the conversation, their deep convictions and values, and the way they practice those values in their life. They are two truly amazing people, and seem to make each other better. I hope some day I have a partnership like that. I may not suddenly be vegan, but I do know that my time with them has changed me. I have been to the mountain top. I have seen the world from new points of view. My deepest gratitude to my guides.