The Mitchell Effect
COLLISION 00015
I knew the moment I met Mitchell he would be a young man to remember. His wholesomeness, positive energy and sense of wonder and curiosity were simply too big to contain, to not write about, to not later reflect on. To not be grateful to have met him along my journey in this extraordinary part of this extraordinary country.
I met Mitchell in the lovely wine village of Franschhoek, South Africa. Franschhoek sits tucked just so in a valley nestled within these epic African mountain ranges. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn this is where the concept of place as breathtaking was first conceived. It is that and then some.
As the sun rises here it casts a warm, mystical glow over the valley. And as it sets it seems to cinematically dim the daylight into darkness in such peaceful stillness that I imagine it could even lull God, Himself to sleep.
The air is crisp and fresh. The lane leading up to my hotel is simple, serene perfection. There are white, bright pink and yellow roses, bright green sunbirds perched on winter’s picked-over, resting vineyards, smoke spilling out from chimneys of the white Dutch rooflines that pepper the horizon. My morning runs here were as much spiritual exercises as they were physical.
I stayed at the Cape Vue Country House. It would turn out to be all the things an inn in a place as picturesque as Franschhoek should be. Charming with every attention to detail thought of, but not overbearing, uptight or pretentious. The people who worked at Cape Vue: from Roger, the hospitality manager, to Mitchell and the waitstaff, to Bongi and Zola, the night watchmen, were heartwarming delights to talk and connect with. Human to human. I never wanted to leave.
When my eyes opened every morning, I thought of one thing first and only. Their phenomenal breakfast. That was where I first came to meet Mitchell. I enjoyed our daily conversations as much as I enjoyed the plates heaping with fresh fruit, the right-out-of-the-oven muffins and croissants and the locally curated meat and cheese tray.
Every morning at the breakfast table, after Mitchell brought my americano and took my order with a great big good morning greeting and smile, we would chat about everything under the sun: life in America, life with Trump and life with Obama, the Chicago diner scene, the CIA, fate, love and heartbreak, but of course travel.
When I asked Mitchell where he’d go in this great big, bountiful world, he replied, “Athens,” without the slightest bit of hesitation. “I’m obsessed with Athena,” he explained. I loved the conviction and passion of his reply. The way his eyes lit up and his whole body loosened when he spoke about Greek mythology. I could only shut up and listen. And hope that I had done my part to encourage him, as I suspect I was meant to, to see the world in the way he so clearly hungered to one day.
I acknowledged silently that so many had done that for me along my path to the right here and right now.
My second morning at Cape Vue, Mitchell surprised me with an off-menu Bobotie Benedict, a South African specialty of minced meat, sweet and savory at once. It was so very Mitchell as I would come to understand, and so very delicious.
Usually when I travel I keep my head low scrolling Substack, returning emails, cycling through silly games. But in Franschhoek? I never once looked down at my screen at the breakfast table. How could I?
Not only was the view from the dining room like nothing I would ever see again, I had found through one of the universe’s unlikely pairings a kindred spirit to connect with. Someone with whom to share what I knew about moving with meaning. And someone I suspect, too, I was meant to learn from about fostering childlike joy and marvel for the wonders of our world.
As I hugged him goodbye, I wished deeply to myself that life and circumstance would, in fact, carry Mitchell to the places he dreamed of and to the collisions he deserved. I wished it for him, but mostly I wished it for the rest of us.
For if I learned one thing after four breakfasts in Franschhoek, it was that The Mitchell Effect under our one and only sun was magnificently and truly contagious.
