Living in South Africa, and especially Joburg, as a female I don’t go to many places alone. I don’t go out at night alone and we don’t really walk anywhere, let alone, alone. So what a thrill to hop on the gautrain yesterday and then a plane and drive into the city of Cape Town, just me, my gps and a little, plastic hire car. Listen to a radio station that I don’t recognise and breathe in the unfamiliar, salty air.
I took a stroll this morning down Long Street and stopped at a great new cafe called Yourstruly. I sat alone at a table eating a deelicious croissant and drinking a deelicious latte without looking at my phone or yelling out ‘I’m not a loser, I’m just alone’, even once. I listened in on the conversations of a group of chef students at the table next to me, talking about last weekend’s parties, how much they hated icing lessons and what kind of gerkins were in the sandwiches they were eating.
When I was 18, I lived in Paris for a few months and quickly got used to the feeling of seeing amazing things alone. I stood infront of the Mona Lisa, marvelling at this little (it really is smaller than you think) piece of history, smiling deceptively back at me and everyone else in the room and wished I had someone to say, ‘hey, we’re here, and so is the Mona Lisa’. But there is also a weird thrill in experiencing new adventures alone. A feeling that always makes me want to cry and laugh at same time, but ironically never actually do either because when you are alone, the experience is your companion and you don’t want to scare if off.
I’m fetching Mr Ameezing from the airport tonight, and whilst I can’t wait to spend a few days with my beloved in the city of no litter and no parking, I really enjoy the strange yet ameezing adrenalin rush that being alone in an unfamiliar place brings.
[I took this photo this morning whist driving around getting lost on purpose. It was, well, ameezing.]