Some you may remember a post I made several months ago about becoming an international correspondent for an online magazine called Glimpse. For the last six months, I’ve been writing, editing, and revising essays for publication on their website.
Well, the day has come. My first article, In the Shadow of Table Mountain, has “gone live” (do they say that?). It is about my decision to leave Cape Town and move to the Eastern Cape. They give me a twizzler for every comment, so if you leave me one on their website, I’ll give you half.
Several more articles will be published on their site in the near future. Thanks for reading!
For those interested, this is the Mission Statement from Glimpse’s website:
Glimpse believes that independent travelers, particularly those who spend significant time abroad, have a unique and often overlooked opportunity to effect positive change around the world. This begins with bearing witness to place, people, culture, and especially the stories and struggles that might otherwise go unrecorded.
Our goal is to build a worldwide community of “Correspondents,” travelers with strong creative visions for storytelling through words and images, and to provide them with a professional platform–including stipends, community support, and one-on-one editorial training–for publishing high-profile journalistic work based on their travels abroad.
Laboring up Buitenkant Street after school in the evenings is a privilege, as Table Mountain towers ahead and above, beckoning and repelling. The cloud layers change frequently. At times, it is a giant granite cauldron, oozing potion upon the city.
The mountains that encircle my home in the City Bowl District of Cape Town are all marked by evocative “Where the Wild Things Are” names. Devil’s Peak, Lions Head, and The Twelve Apostles all take their seats around Table Mountain, the landmark of the city. They’re helpful when navigating your way around the city, and I like to picture them personified (or animal-ified?). Sometimes they come to life at night as chess pieces strategically surrounding the checkerboard city. Other times, they are an epic-sized Davinci painting. What do they talk about up there?
The more I pondered, the more I thought that somebody somewhere should have illustrated this by now. To the rescue…
This is becoming a trend. I may not finish another paper all year.
The sun is hot, the air like an oven. It pools around your head and rains sweat. Thoughts rustle and swim in the pool of heat: articles to read, essays to write, decisions to make about cars and housing, grocery lists, phone calls and presentations and vocation… A stiff breeze pushes the heat through the gate as I perform the familiar song and dance to pacify the numerous locks and alarms…. And I’m free.
Like Michelangelo working with a stone to set it free, sculpting it to become itself as eternity has determined it to be, there are certain places I have to find for a city to become home. That special coffee shop. The local pub. A quiet place for meditation. And a running route.
I have found my running route. And I’ve never been so content with running. Typically, running is a chore, something I know that I need to do, and should do, but don’t enjoy. In Cape Town, I crave my daily jog. I’ve become an addict. Sometimes, I use a new route to explore a new part of the city. Just as often, I cut across town above the city to my favorite path, the one that circles the giant Molteno Reservoir and shoots off into De Waal Park where dogs frolic and chase tennis balls.
Behind me, the cable car climbs Table Mountain its wire with alacrity and speed, racing in front of a burst of yellow as the sun makes its last charge behind the mountain. The city expands below into the bay and I can read the corporate names on the buildings. The waterfront is hazy from this distance, disguising the large freighters and dark blue bay.
I have begun to know even the cracks in the pavement. Its quite the yeoman’s tour of Cape Town: