intersection
Dax and I’ve had a few challenges as we navigate and renegotiate the high seas of our new/old relationship. At the core, we’re scarily similar but the way we express ourselves couldn’t be more different: bit like pc and mac (but I’ve said that before, haven’t I?). Essentially both processors effectively do the same thing only the way of doing it, the operating systems, are totally different. Just try run a pc program on a mac platform: all hell’s bound to break loose.
However, you can get cool software which allows you to run systems in parallel thereby attaining a proverbial ‘best of both worlds’ middle ground. After many stubborn, painful fights over whose way is better, it looks like we are finally seeing the light of moving in unison along individual paths. Surely, harmony this way lies?
Friday rolled in on the back of a week rougher than a rhino’s right knee: Dax had had to go away on yoga retreat and I’d spent most of the week in a deep blue well – with little or no writing and a new home still needing a lot of attention. Vodacom signal dropped every time we tried to connect so I was in a RFM (Royal Foul Mood) by noon. But the sun shone cheerfully, the air was still and although stuff had to be packed, I needed fresh air (and some serious attitude adjustment). I walked down to the beach, met a charming woman en route who introduced me to her enormous pet pig (cross between Charlotte’s Web and Pumbaa – on steroids). The sea was calm and crystal clear as I waded out into icy shallows and watched shoals of fish, the colour of moonstones, dart beneath the gentle waves. A deep sense of peace descended, settling my troubled soul and the sun beamed warmly down.
88 Saint George's Street (image via http://www.captains-table.co.za)
Dax arrived post surf and whisked me off for a quick dinner in Simon’s Town. We parked outside a quaint stone building (duly noted during the midweek adventure with Ma Nguni), stepped inside (tripping back in time) and were whisked upstairs to safety after a swathe of malevolent looks from the pool playing locals in the downstairs bar. The restaurant, Captain’s Table, was unusual to say the least: situated in the attic above the vaguely piratical (first appearance: rough & dangerous) Two and Sixpence Tavern. While decor may not make it into House and Leisure, the warm, welcoming staff and excellent wine selection more than made up for stylistic faux pas. Their menu boasted mouth-watering dishes; the food delicious (I loved the rosemary sorbet we were served between courses) and unbelievably reasonably priced. We were struck by the thoughtful effort, passion and genuine care of the team: and we started to relax, enjoy ourselves and each other.
When it came time to call for the bill, our waitress brought us a couple of peppermint truffles – but nothing else. “There’s no bill” she smiled. Dax and I glanced at one another, confused and looked back at her. Smile widening Cheshire Cat-ish, she told us someone had already paid our bill. “Who?” we chorused. “The man over in the corner, dining with his wife.” “Why?” we asked, surprised. “He said you looked so love, it reminded him of he once felt – now he has the money to enjoy a lovely dinner and he wanted to thank you for the memory.”
We were humbled. On the drive home over Red Hill we talked about the man (according our waitress: a tourist leaving the following day) and his kind deed. What moved us was not so much the monetary kindness of his gesture but the affirmation that our love is visible, evident. During the difficult up and downs we’re experienced, the views of our respective friends and family members have become blurred. It took a stranger to show us the strength and real beauty of our love. To the mystery man in the hat, whoever you are: thank you *so* much.
