Lion's Head

2/25

This morning we planned to hike up Table Mountain (meaning Jim was going to hike and I was going to take the cablecar up), but the excursion was canceled as the mountain was socked in with dense fog and it was too windy to run the cablecars safely.

As an alternate, we were offered a hike up Lion's Head, which, although right next to Table Mountain, had no fog and no wind. I was assured by our guide that this hike was a "walk in the park" and that I would have no trouble – Hah! Famous last words….

Jim and I were the only non-students (read old folks) on this trip. We were accompanied by an African guide whose mother was an herbalist, and he stopped to tell us the medicinal use of many of the plants growing on the mountain (which gave me an occasional chance to catch my breath). He shared that his parents had been sheep farmers before having to relocate to the townships under apartheid.

We climbed to a fork in the path where the kids had the option to pull themselves up the sheer face of the mountain using chains – I opted to take the path around and meet the more adventurous climbers at the next rise. One of the boys didn't have a backpack, and was carrying his lunch and water, so good ol' Karen offered to put his stuff in her pack (like I needed the extra weight…)

Two of the young girls gave up halfway up and went back down to wait in the bus. The rest of us (yes, including ME) made it to the top, where the view was 360 degrees and spectacular! We could see down the coast toward the Cape of Good Hope (which is populated by cute little penguins) and out to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison. We could see the high rises of the city and the townships beyond. It was worth the sweat!

Behind us on the trail was a group of young Africans, singing and shouting as they made their way up the mountain. When they arrived on top, they joined hands and began to pray. One of our group, Carl, struck up a conversation with one of the young men, and received an invitation to visit their church in the District Six township. The next morning, Carl hailed a cab and set out on his own for the church. He was the only white face there, and was warmly welcomed and drawn in to participate in the praise service, which was held in Zulu and translated into English (Carl did not think the translation was just for him, but that they always alternated languages). He said it was the best experience he had in South Africa.