Audi 2008 Annual Report Download - page 139

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We are not alone here. Let’s greet the imam, crisp in flowing white, on his way up
to the green-and-white kramat, the holy tomb that balances on the Lion’s spine;
and let’s offer our water and energy bars to these brisk and sweaty hiking girls –
German tourists, quite possibly – heading down from its cranium. So far, so good.
Now let your eye drift upwards. Above the Lion’s shoulders are some of the best
skies in the city: dappled with puffs of frosty breath from the southern oceans,
shifting from moody pearl to hot porcelain blue at the height of the day, soften-
ing to gold at sunset, and then distilling into clear aquamarine, most luminous
just before the evening star. Careful, now. It’s lovely, yes, but don’t go too close,
don’t try to touch. If we climbed over the Lion’s neck or drove under his muzzle ...
well, then we would lose the subtle delights of the sky, because – bam – we’d be
hit by the spectacle of the sea on the other side. A gleaming bowl under the bat-
tlements of the mountain, cupping a garish sunset, rimmed by decadently long
golden beaches scattered with the browning bodies of international models, etc,
etc. And we’re back in postcard land.
So you there – come away! Let’s keep the group together, shall we? Turn
around, turn away from the siren song of the cocktail bars and beach umbrellas,
leave the dazzling light.
I see the sea has seduced you, though; so let’s stick with the marine theme. But
we’ll head away from the foamy surf and down towards the grittier end of the
city: the harbour. No no, not that way! Certainly we won’t dawdle in the glittering
aisles of the Waterfront Shopping Centre. You can go there on your own time.
Right now we’re entering the working docks, oil-stained and noisy and populated
by sailors and gulls and other dubious characters. Breathe in deep the fishy air!
And look at those great rusty trawlers that seem like they should never float at
all, weighed down to the waterline with piled containers like gigantic kids’ build-
ing blocks. Step aside folks, and let this tough-looking crowd pass: a boatload of
Taiwanese fishermen, heading out to find a karaoke bar downtown.
Don’t you love the way everything is giant-size? Chains with links as thick as
thighs; propellers two storeys high; anchors like brutal sculptures; an amphi-
theatre of a dry dock. And the noises! Clanks, shouts, grinding, booms! Up close,
the oil rigs are roaring, dripping beasts, rusty and monumental, like well-trav-
elled spaceships that have somehow washed ashore in this 17th-century port city.
Because this is how Cape Town is: a city of incongruities, its history rubbing up
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Cape Town
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