In 2006 I was fortunate enough to travel from Nairobi to Cape Town with the indomitable P. Olmsted. Traveling through Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Bostwana and South Africa, it was far and away the greatest trip I’ve ever taken. Because you know what? Any trip that involves an amorous endangered black rhinoceros getting creative in using his horn on the unmentionable region of his would-be female mate just has to be.

When we finished that trip, I was immediately in love with the awe-inspiring views, the energy, the everything of Cape Town. It just seemed to have it all and I always hoped I would get to return.

(Sidenote: I could really just describe how happy I am here with the fact that, as I write this, there is a blind band comprised of keyboards and saxophones repeatedly playing the introduction to “St. Elmo’s Fire” in the town square below me. Ah-mazing. I guess I’ll go on anyways.)

One of the fringe benefits of law school was that it provided a few extra years to spend money I don’t have on traveling. Also, it presented the opportunity to go on exchange for my last semester, and when the time came to make a choice, there wasn’t really a choice to be made at all. A chance to study law in a country with such amazing recent history? At Africa’s best law school (Think of all that competition!! This is the continent with the Ouagadougou School of Law!!!) To see the World Cup of Soccer in person? To live in a city that has great weather, a great icon (Table Mountain), great beaches, great accents, great mountains to play on, great surfing, great kiteboarding, great food, great prices and GREAT WHITE SHARK DIVING?

Welcome to Cape Town.



[I realize you may at this point already be irritated with what you’re reading. You get it, you say, you’re having a great time asshole, we don’t need to be beaten over the head with it. I would first note that I completely understand, second that this is why you’re reading this in a blog and not in a rage-inducing mass email, third that you are welcome, indeed encouraged, to visit, fourth that you should hate the game that is played not the player playing it (or something) and fifth that I probably love you very dearly and desperately wish you were here alongside me. Boop.]

So, how is African law school? Fantastic, thanks for asking STCleery.

Presumably because the fine people at UBC felt living in Africa was a tough enough thing to do (it’s not), we were told, indeed forced (earmuffs Papa Fin) to take just two classes while we are here. And since those two classes were still too much to bear, they do comprise an entire 7.0 hours at school per week after all, the powers that be decided it would be best to grade us on a pass/fail basis. Thanks! Oh, and fifty percent of our classes are ending 6 weeks early because the professor is a father-of-twins-to-be (isn’t that great!?!) and needs to go on paternity leave. Lawyers get 6-day weekends too, right?

The University of Cape Town inhabits an incredible plot of land on the slopes of the Devil’s Peak and of Table Mountain. It’s a pretty amazing place to go to school. This is the law school:



This is a view of the rest of campus from the patio at the law school:



And this is the main drag on campus:



I also like the University of Cape Town because it houses some of the world's last remaining hair bands. Evidence:



The school’s original benefactor, Cecil Rhodes, aside from being a notorious racist, was also known for his love of ivy. He mandated that every building had to be able to host ivy, and thus it is so. Hurrah!

I live with two fantastic young ladies from UBC. Her:



And that jolly young lass in the middle (that's me on the right!!!!!!!!):



The former is a half-Jewish, half-Asian super-overachiever who goes by the name of The Salzberg. She has odd penchants for hardcore rap, taking notes in pass/fail classes, and running fifty-six kilometer marathons. It does little for one’s self-esteem to come home from the bar to find a roommate putting on shoes to go for a 30 kilometre training run. That’s a picture of her and her boyfriend Matt. He’s great.

The latter, going by the name of The Swift, attracts large Congolese men seemingly daily (most notably, our boisterous apartment building doorman) and has a heart even bigger than the smile she sports in the above picture, which biologically means that she has a really goddamn big heart. While The Salzberg and I felt that “volunteering in Africa” was a liiiiittle too much of a cliché, The Swift is all over it like a fat kid on Smarties and will be heading up a project in some nearby refugee camps.

We live in an awesome apartment:



in the city centre, just off the main street of restaurants, clubs and bars. This is the view from our balcony, which overlooks Greenmarket Square and Table Mountain, no biggie





Taken at about 7AM after watching the Canada-Slovakia Semi-Final game:



and this is the view from the roof-top pool (I would like to refer you to the previous statement about hating the game, not the player. And calm down, it’s not even a full-sized pool):





I have an infinite number of witty anecdotes centring around international modeling season in Capetown, chicken curry served in a loaf of bread, Olympic celebrations and the wrath of armed guards, powder blue Mercedess(?) and accidentally ass-grabbing would-be pickpocketers, but the morning is drawing nigh and I must conserve my energy to wrestle these guys tomorrow.



With much love, Dunc