Cape Town!

Travelers who are reading this well know what it's like to re-enter "civilization." I call it re-entry, like a space shuttle plummeting back to earth.

Early morning Maputo, I scurry onto the bus and start to cram my pack in the overhead rack. A man tells me calmly that I don't have to do this. I look around and there are only eight people sitting on a 53-pax bus. And this bus is so clean I feel ashamed because the shirt I'm wearing is the dirtiest thing on it. I must hide my utterly filthy tote bag under the seat.

The last border to cross is between Mozambique and South Africa. Illegal immigration into South Africa is a major issue, and here I walk through a no-man's land of razor wire, klieg lights, and barriers that resemble Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin during the Cold War. It's awesome and there are no money changers to block my way.

Once in South Africa, the road now feels like silk under the bus, and at a food stop, instead of a swarm of vendors pounding on the windows, there are fast food outlets and a mini-mart. No dust; no belching black smoke.

I stay in a guest house in Pretoria, and for the first time in months, I cannot find a flaw in the bathroom such as: water flooding the floor from the toilet/shower/sink; no hot water; no cold water--only scalding; no water pressure; no water; no light bulbs. I marvel at the plumbing here. I take a walk on broad sidewalks where I can hold my head up without fear of breaking a leg by falling in a huge hole or tripping over a random piece of rebar or concrete sticking up. However, I still can't quite command a entire line of cars to come to a screeching stop when I step off the curb like in California; but crossing the street here is slightly better than cars/motorcycles/bicycles accelerating into me as I run across the street like a hunted gazelle, which has been typical of the entire continent.

Fortress America in Pretoria. Next door is the Indian embassy built of brick with an open veranda.

And then there's the food: I can find things that aren't soaked and cooked in a gallon of cooking oil. If cornflakes were a wonder yesterday, today I'm eating muesli with yogurt, honey, and fruit.

After 2 1/2 months of African travel, you can imagine what it's like to eat a breakfast like this. And there are four kinds of sugar in the cup.

Suddenly this all saddens me because it represents the end of the journey, and this is a depressing thought. Immediately I start to think of the next trip and a new itinerary to return to this fantastic continent with its kind and gracious people.This trip has barely scratched the surface. I see a world map with so many more pieces of the puzzle that need fitting in.

The World Cup is still everywhere in South Africa.

In Cape Town I spend the first two nights at a wonderful and utterly charming guesthouse (La Rose) around the corner from this street in Bo Kaap, the Malay/Muslim district. It's fantastic.

And then for the final splurge, two nights across town in this bed with a bottle of wine. This is not Africa; this is another planet.

It's over :-(