Touring

So I've been quite touristy lately--went down to the Cape of Good Hope the other day, where Vasco de Gama sailed around Africa to complete the trade route to the East. Bartolome Dias had tried before and failed, naming it the Cape of Storms. When de Gama made it around, it was rechristened. All those fifth-grade lessons on the conquistadors really do come back to you.

The Cape of Good Hope was long believed to be the southernmost tip of Africa. Actually, Cape Argullus a few miles away is, but it's not nearly as good a name or story as Cape of Good Hope, so we'll keep believing the myth. So I have stood at the end of the world. You know how when you're younger you make lists of "Things to Do by the Time I'm 30" because you'll be so old and decrepit by 30 you won't be able to accomplish anything significant after that? Standing at the end of the world was on mine. Check that one off the list. And it was just as cool as I had imagined it would be. Some of the dreams you had at 16 you look back on later and think, "Why on earth did I ever think I wanted to do THAT?!" But sometimes it's just as satisfying as your 16-year-old self had hoped.

I went on a day-long safari on Saturday at a game reserve about two hours outside of Cape Town. It's so strange to see animals just wandering around like they belong there. Giraffes, lions, cheetahs, ostriches, antelope, rhinos, zebras, wildebeest, it was like the road show of The Lion King. What's disconcerting is that it doesn't feel like Africa--it feels like being in a movie of Africa. You half expect Meryl Streep and her Afrikaaner accent to pop up. You drive past a herd of zebra and say, "Wow, it's just like 'Out of Africa,' except not so long and boring!" I guess that's because Africa has taken on such a mythical quality for us that even when you're here, it feels a bit like living in a myth.

There were several Americans on this tour. Let's start with the bearable one--and yes, that was singular. The guy next to me was a very interesting man, in town for the World Association of Newspapers convention. "Oh, which newspaper do you work for?" I ask. The New York Times, he replies, and explains he is not a journalist, he is on the business side. "So you were part of the Times going digital?" I ask. He confirms. So I did what any of us would do: I launched into a tirade about Times Select. I'm like look, you're basically making me pay for Kristof and Friedman and occasionally Dowd. Who the hell reads Krugman? Or Rich? And I can't even remember the others. It's only after he takes me to dinner and gives me his card to keep in touch that I find out he is the PRESIDENT of the news division. I harangued the president of the news division of the New York Times about the $8 a month the Times online costs me.

People, I think we all know there's a change a-comin'. I think he heard me, and through me, the will of the people.

This brings me to the other tourists, who are the reason the world hates Americans. We really are dreadful in groups. I won't dwell on the woman in the "It's good to bee Grandma" shirt festooned with bees, or the chain-smoker, or the couple who talked loudly about how they couldn't figure out their camera while everyone else was trying to listen to the tour guide. No, I think I'll just leave you with this exchange:

Loud American Tourist: The Africans, how many of them have AIDS now?
Me: Well, it varies by country. South Africa and Botswana have the highest rates at around 25%.
LAT: Yeah, and just think about who's fixing our meals.

Wow. I mean, wow. I thought we were past all that. Does she know you can't get it from toilet seats either?

NY Times guy said later that my face was priceless, so Kim, you'll be glad to know I haven't lost my inability to keep my thoughts from appearing on my face.