Even on a cool winter’s day, it was an unpleasant ride out to Simon’s Town. A bus that was supposed to carry only sixty people was stuffed with nearer to a hundred, and the interior was hot, sweaty, and stifling. At first Kristen thought she was seated among half a dozen jockeys headed for the ostrich races, but soon she realized that they were just wannabes, kids hoping to attract the attention of the right person at the track. They chattered and laughed and pointedly ignored her, which suited her; she stayed quiet and just waited, increasingly miserably, for the trip to end. The ride took nearly two hours, the bus crawling around the western coastline before it veered east past Da Gama Park on the way to the broken-down old naval port. Next time, she thought. I’ll make Manoj give me the extra rand for the train.