LETTER FROM Johannesburg
The late-afternoon Highveld thunderstorm was pretty spectacular, but now the walls of my Southern Sun hotel room are closing in on me. There has to be a bar or a stoep somewhere where I can read until dinnertime.
The lift glides down without a sound, until a robotic voice announces, with a hint of surprise: “Ground… floor.”
What do we have here? The foyer is filled with groups of guests, drinks in hand, helping
