The boat out to the island and the island itself were really nice (except for the island housing a former prison, that is). We had a bus tour around the island with some commentary and learned a little of the African language along the way! Mandela's cell was significantly smaller than it looks in pictures, despite them having removed a couple of cupboards from the walls.
I was asked about my meals. Last night, I had 'tripe' and 'samp' in a traditional African restaurant. Tripe isn't a particularly nice word (c.f., 'spam') but I ordered it anyway because the girl recommended it. To be honest, I had no idea what I was eating. I thought it was soggy animal fur with a bit of flesh but dictionary.com tells me it's the first and second divisions of the stomach - mmm.
I don't feel safe here. People (not of my colour) harass me terribly on the streets, day and night. Some don't take 'no' for an answer so I dart into a shopping mall or give them a tiny coin to get them off my case; I don't want to but it seems the only way. One yesterday repeated, "I don't want to rob you, I don't want to rob you." At least I'm attempting to be smart with my valuables, leaving all but one of my cards locked away in the hostel and using my wallet as a decoy (i.e., carrying most of my little cash loose in my pockets and in my concealed money belt).
Today is my last full day. I am meeting Phillipe, a Swiss backpacker, at 9am outside my hostel. We're hiring a car and heading down to Cape Point. I haven't had enough time here to see everything I wanted but, to be honest, not being able to feel safe probably means it's time to move on.
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