A few months ago, the New York Times placed Cape Town at the top of its list of 52 places to visit in 2014. There's no denying it. This is an amazing place. It's about twice as expensive as anywhere else in South Africa, but still quite affordable. I love the sea-faring history of this city, first established by the Dutch East India Company as a victualing station for ships bound round the Cape of Good Hope for India and beyond. Nelson Mandela made his first speech as a free man from here. There's a monument just off Long Street indicating the spot where black slaves were sold off to all corners of the world years ago.

The natural setting is fabulous. Surrounded by an aqua blue bay on one side and iconic Table Mountain on the other, it is striking to behold. The Cape of Good Hope stretches away to the south and Langa Township, one of the first formal black settlements established before the enactment of the apartheid laws, is just north. The city centre itself is clean, safe and a haven for shoppers, foodies and people watchers. My friend Kevin (never a big fan of the ladies) keeps reminding me to take in some of the city's world famous botanical offerings. We drove by Kristenboch a few times and heard lots about it. Unfortunately it got added to a long list of things we would have done in Cape Town with another week, or month or year. Five days was not nearly enough. No other city we've visited, save possibly New York, has attached itself to us in the same way as Cape Town has.

Our backpackers, named "Backpacker" lies at the foot of Table Mountain. Recently voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the Natural World, its massive plateau is recognizable from 60 miles out to sea. Every evening a fluffy blanket of cloud comes up from the south east and sits along its flat top. The locals lovingly call it the Table Cloth. Despite an efficient cable car that takes thousands of visitors to the top each day, we set out to climb it on our first morning here. I wish I could report that the three hour trek was easy and painless. It was not. It was steep, hot, long and difficult and the kids complained nearly most of the way up. I would have joined them but was too short on breath to waste any on whining! The views on the way up and at the top were, in the end, well worth it. We enjoyed a nice lunch at the summit restaurant and gazed out over the city neatly cradled in the bowl of the surrounding hills below. Robben Island, 13 kilometres offshore, was easily visible atop the rich blue Atlantic waters. The cable car ride down passed over parts of our trail up and the hikers below looked like little colourful ants making their way up and down.

With this single most important "thing to do" in Cape Town in the bag, we spent the afternoon laying by the pool and soaking up the backpacker vibe. People came and went all afternoon raving about something they'd seen, did, purchased, drank or ate. Everyone we met was simply in love with this special part of this special country. Primrose, one of the staff at the Backpacker, convinced Mira to put her hair in African braids. After four hours, she emerged with an entirely new look that is taking some getting used to, at least for Dad. Oh well, I look at it as a temporary souvenir of Africa. At least it better be temporary.

On Sunday morning we headed out with a small group of new friends to visit Langa Township. Originally I was not interested in a tour like this for fear it would either be inauthentic or voyeuristic. The good folks at the Backpacker, some of whom live in Langa, convinced me that township tourism is actually helping the people in the settlements and was an experience would enrich our African experience. We took the bait and rescheduled our visit to Robben Island that day so we could do the tour on a Sunday morning which included a visit to church. Wow! I am no fan of organized religion, but these folks seem to have it right. The joyous singing could be heard streaming down the street as we approached the church. It was standing room only but even from the back, the girls were amazed at the voices, the dancing and the pure joyful energy of the place. There weren't many white faces in the crowd, but we were made to feel so welcome - like we were coming home after being away for a long time. It was one of the happiest places I've been and I caught myself singing along to familiar old hymns that sounded far better when accompanied by drums and a bass guitar than a dreary old organ moaning away sorrowfully near the corner. This wasn't prayer. This was celebration!

Our guide Chippa has lived in Langa his entire life. He started off with a lesson in the Xhosa language which includes impossible clicks, clucks and hisses thrown in with the sounds we are familiar with. We didn't come close to replicating them but had a ball trying. Chippa pulled no punches in describing what life is really like in the black townships. He criticized the country's political system wherein leaders are still selected by tribal, big man tactics sanctioned by the ANC governing council. He lamented the culture of apathy and misogyny amongst the men of the village and the responsibility that falls solely on women to raise children, earn an income and maintain a household. We saw severe overcrowding and failed housing projects everywhere we went. It did feel voyeuristic to visit a woman, not older than myself, sitting hopelessly on a double bed that took up most of her living space in half of a minimally converted sea container. This is where she exists along with her four children. It is mercifully hot in the summer and an ice box in the winter. The children are forced to roam the streets during the day because there is no space or privacy for them in the "house." They come home when they're hungry or to sleep, all of them somehow, in that tiny bed. Despite the noise and crowding outside, a blinking old television seemed to be her best company. The wretchedness of American reality shows contrasting starkly with her own wretchedness. "No, thanks Chippa, but I'll pass on taking a photo."

Despite the poverty they live in, the children were happy and incredibly lovable. We were followed around by crowds of them as we walked through the dirty streets and alleys. They held the girls hands, ran, played and insisted on being picked up again and again. Whenever we took pictures they insisted on seeing the shot on the screens of our cameras. At times I thought it was all staged to make our experience more memorable, but I really don't think it was. I think these kids, like kids everywhere, are curious and fun living and simply delight in having fun with visitors who show them the time of day. Next we visited a local watering hole were a woman mixes an ageless home brew recipe in metal buckets and sells it to local men who seem to hang around there all day. We all sipped directly from the metal brew pot and cringed at the unfamiliar taste. This was not a tourist trap. It was a stark slice of real life in a poor land. Chippa told us afterwards that the regulars there like it when he brings in tourists because when we leave, they share the remainder in the pail that no one cares to finish. Maybe this is how they, too, benefit from township tourism.

We ended the tour on a high note by visiting a project called Happy Feet where kids are taught to dance lively modern and traditional dances to a rousing drum beat. They were lively and fantastic, especially the young girls who looked so determined and hopeful.

Our girls hated to leave, and kept wanting to go back and play with the township kids for the rest of our time there. It was really something to see the inside of one of the countless settlements we had passed on the highways all over South Africa. The tourist towns are largely white and cultured and beautiful. As soon as you get a mile outside of any one of them, however, you invariably encounter the shacks and haphazard power lines and garbage and rows of outhouses lined up around the ramshackle abides. There's hope and happiness interspersed with the poverty and despair. Chippa says he will always live in Langa and that things are getting better. Economic power continues to reside in the exclusive hands of the whites. But it's slowly changing, he says. "People need to start taking responsibility for their own lives and prosperity," he said. "We can't keep blaming the whites for all our problems. We need to start by electing leaders not for their charisma or because they were once political prisoners, but because of their vision and policies." It didn't sound like a political speech (and I've heard a few) but I wonder how it is that people like Chippa, who speak the truth and explain things as they really are, worts and all, find their way into positions to affect real change? I'll keep an eye out for his name in the news.

On the next two days we squeezed in a tour of Robben Island, a half day stroll along Cape Town's beautiful waterfront and a quick drive down to the Cape of Good Hope. The Robben Island tour was a little disappointing. The focus seems to be giving everyone a chance to file by and take a quick picture of the tiny cell Mandela lived in for 17 years of his political imprisonment. There's no doubt this was a moving experience, but there really wasn't much opportunity to learn about his life here and meditate on what it lead to. Notwithstanding, the view of Cape Town from the island is spectacular and we got our first look at African penguins waddling along the shores. By the time the rolling one hour boat ride back to the mainland was over, we were happy to be heading home to Backpacker! Given my time back, I would spend the time on Robben Island at the Mandela Museum or simply strolling through the fabulous shops stretched out along the Victoria and Alfred Wharf. Despite my view of shopping as one if the inner circles of hell, I have to admit enjoying the few hours we spent meandering through the lovely shops along the waterfront.

Ruby and Catherine were waiting for us back at the Backpacker when we arrived about an hour later than planned. Monday night is Braii night where they provide all the fixings for a wood fired barbeque. There was a real party atmosphere in the common room where all the travelers sipped wine or beer, laughed and told stories while their meat was cooked over the hot coals of the wood fire. We spent a fun evening with new friends from California, France, Africa, Holland, Australia and Nova Scotia which ended with a late night visit to a local Irish Pub for a Paddy's Day toast. (I regretted that at checkout time the next morning). Ruby and Mira fit in far too well with the early twenties backpacker crowd, shooting pool and dancing to the Bob Marley music until it was time to say farewell.

If you haven't figured it out yet, South Africa has now moved to the top of the pack as our favorite place visited to date - edging out Nepal for Deb and Shannon and Vietnam for Mira and I. From the the wildlife of Kruger, the urban beat of Jo'burg and Soweto, the beaches of the Garden Route, the wines of the interior and the charm of Cape Town, South Africa has knocked our socks off from beginning to end. There are troubles here to be sure. But unlike some other places, these troubles add a level of complication that enhances the natural beauty and wonder of this place. In our seven months of travel, we've been to places we've said we would gladly come back to and others that we likely won't. South Africa is the first place we've said we WILL return to - the first place, other than Canada, where we could seriously consider living. We may find more places like this, but I almost hope we don't. You can only have one favorite after all, and I don't want anything to upset the superlatives that define our memories of South Africa.

In a few hours we get on a plane for a thirty-hour trip back to the northern hemisphere and to the edge of Europe. We are getting glowing reports on Turkey from the Pontin/Harris' who have already been there for a week. We're looking forward to seeing them on the Med in a few days as we start the final third of our trip. Farewell Africa. It's been a slice!