Sometimes, it is the ordinary that I miss, when searching blogs for South African stories and flavour. So here is the ordinary.
I drove home from the Department of Home Affairs, housed in a mall on Wynberg Main Road.
The Main Road, changing its name as it clocks off suburbs en route, used to be the only way you could travel from Cape Town's city heart, between Table Bay and Table Mountain, to the False Bay coast by way of the eastern route, to Muizenberg, Simonstown.
Now, you take instead the freeway, greening smoothly and fast (not at rush hour) along the edge of the mountain's eastern heights, through the suburbs and and towards the sea.
The Main Road is not smooth. It is matted and clogged with many stop start lights and jay walking pedestrians and working taxis and life on the street.
It is where, in America, the strip mall would reign.
The surviving colonial buildings, turned utilitarian, have lines I could live in: cool walls, high ceilings, removed by three feet from the working street where hungover bergies hunch on the curbs and car guards hawk their services to every pausing vehicle.