robots

That's the name for traffic lights here; if only they moved and blipped and served you finger foods...but I'm already wary of all of these wireless devices that communicate with each other, whispering plots against us warmbloods with their little blue teeth. No robots in the Drakensburg...or internet cafes, where I've spent about an hour deleting hundreds of missed messages over the months...oof.

While we've been hiking in the Drakensburg, sighting several varieties of houseplants in their native habitats, the botanical gardens in Cape Town formally introduced us. The king protea, the big, pink, fuzzy national flower of South Africa, presided over the downward sloping site at the base of steep mountains, with jaggedy tips eternally blurred by clouds.

We dined at a tasty gypsy joint to celebrate Konrad's 27th birthday, where he was crowned with a tiara and serenaded. Stopped along the little beach towns along the Garden Route...a restaurant built on legs over the sea, where watching the night tides slowly roll in and dissipate was mesmerizing...wading through a flooded road, to see if the car could make it through...elephants crossing in front of the car at Addo Elephant Park, a turtle crossing the road with an ostrich...warthogs that resembled distinguished old fellows, sans monocle and pocket watch...

Sad to see this break come to an end, but it's been essential to getting some outside perspective on the situation we were immediately immersed in, and to appreciate the bigger picture of what and who else makes up the country. Pockets of conspicuous consumption along the coastline, luxurious things that many South Africans will never see, between hours of untouched hills. Silvery menorah trees. Hoping the inevitable mini malls and crowds of tract homes don't come too fast. I forgot to mention that the Sunday before we left, we celebrated D.'s 33rd birthday with the gigantic cake pictured. She was thrilled to receive the lovely digital watch, kindly provided by Sarah's parents from overseas, that has an alarm that is set to go off at 7am, the time she needs to take the pills, for the rest of its life.

It's ten thirty in the evening, and I sit in the most elegant bedroom I've ever been in, with a bed with more pillows than I know what to do with, at a chic bohemian B+B in Durban. Alicia Keys slept in this bed a few weeks ago; yet it's the same price as a cheap motel room in the States. The French doors are open, with warm air coming in through the spiralling iron gates. The lights of Durban glitter on the horizon. A soft cat is rubbing against my legs. I have a cup of tea and unlimited wireless, so at last we have some visuals...