STELLENBOSCH, South Africa

Sharkie drove us up to the Cape Winelands today where I volunteered in a demonstration of the delicate art of sabrage. It's simply corking a champagne bottle with a sabre (for those who happen to have one lying around) with the rather dramatic effect of having the lip of the bottle missiled across the room with the cork inside similar to a man with a barrel around his waist crashing over Niagara Falls (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sabrage). This escapade took place at Haute Cabriere in the village of Franshhoek, a lovely green valley surrounded by mountain ranges in every direction.

Our hosts for lunch (delicious babootie) were four bright Afrikaners at the University of Stellenbosch. It was refreshing to hear the hopefulness they have for the future of South Africa. This sentiment is not widely held by the adults we have encountered. Hildegaard, Anka, Marcus and ?? (I'm at a loss to even guess at spelling the name of the curly blonde) say they will stay here once they graduate to help strengthen the homeland they love. Though as the conversation grew more candid they conceded that the necessity of finding a job might propel them to Australia or Europe.

Stellenbosch is the second oldest town in South Africa. It maintains the charm of the spare Dutch architecture with whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. Our tour took us to BlaauwKlippen. Joan and I skipped the wine tasting and explored every crevice of this farm, now winery, built over 325 years ago. We explore in similar fashion – if we see a door, we must find out what's behind it. At the outer edge of the vineyard we spied a shanty village on the opposite side of a barbed fence. We didn't open that door but I went as close as I could to discreetly record the image.

And here I have veered back to the beauty and the beast of poverty that butt up against each other here in South Africa. It is impossible to capture the magnitude of the miles and miles of squatter settlements we drove past today with my little point and shoot but here is my feeble attempt to capture this sad moment in a history that is infinitely more complex and layered than any cultural melding that I have endeavored to understand.

Oh, and we also stopped for a photo op at the gates of Victor Verster prison where Nelson Mandela took his long walk to freedom on February 11, 1990 after 27 years behind bars. 

Joan has gone off to a home-hosted dinner cooked by a colored family. Having not slept more than four hours a night since I left New York on Tuesday I've opted to stay in where I've tucked my toes in for our last night here in my Westin Heavenly Bed. Tomorrow we head to Zululand and the rest of our trip will be hit and miss with internet access so I will dash emails off when I can.