No place has come so far in so short a time as Cape Town. A generation ago, it was struggling with apartheid's dark legacy and a tarnished reputation. Today, it's bustling, with chic restaurants and celebrity tourists. Patrick Symmes reports from a city that's learning to cope with the shadows of the past while keeping an eye on the glittering future

It is true what they say: the hardest part is going back down. Around 6 p.m., when I finally clambered out of the shadowed Platteklip Gorge and stood near the foot of Table Mountain, looking down at a Cape Town all gilded by sunset—five hours, 3,200 vertical feet, two sandwiches, a salad, one espresso, and an excellent half-bottle of Stellenbosch white wine after starting out—my knees were ready to surrender. The brilliantly clear autumn day was ending fast, and on my left, an orange light picked out the last cable car of the day swiftly descending from the mountain's summit. I'd bought the ingredients of my elaborate picnic lunch at the summit station, but I'd had the climber's disdain for the car's crowds of women in high heels and men who looked at their digital photos of the view rather than at the view itself. And so I'd forgone a ride down to eat alone, gazing out at 270-degree ocean views.

Broad, gray, and flat-topped, Table Mountain has been Cape Town's signature landmark since the city was founded in 1652. South Africa is an arid country, and Cape Town's founders squeezed their city into the narrow coastal band between the sea and the steep, verdant slopes because of the mountain's ability to wring drinking water from the clouds. To my left, I could see the vast Cape Flats townships and the jagged peaks of the Twelve Apostles Range running south toward the Cape of Good Hope. Straight ahead, rising from within Cape Town itself, was sharp little Signal Hill, a popular hike for sunset views. By 6:30, when I reached the end of the trail and trooped down the access road to the cable car's landing station, the parking lot was empty except for a dozen taxis. I was the drivers' last chance for a customer that day, and the feeding frenzy was good-natured, a session full of laughter and quick jokes.

"Sir," the ringleader of the cabbies announced in a thick Afrikaans accent, "you are very tired. It is forbidden to walk anymore today."

I declined at once. It was partly the price: Cape Town taxis charge more than a dollar a mile. And it was partly the beauty of the evening. I'd exchanged a muggy spring in New York for the crisp, breezy autumn of Cape Town, and from the taxi stand, I could see the whole city laid out like a map: at the center, the verdant rectangle of the Company's Gardens; then the straight spine of Long Street, the eclectic epicenter of Cape Town nightlife; even the small and plush Cape Cadogan Hotel—the corner of my bathroom, actually, where I planned to soak my knees in the huge tub very, very soon. But it was mostly ego that sent me off on foot: The hotel was less than a mile away, and having come this far, I needed to see the day through. I set out alone, on foot, into the increasing dark of one of Africa's most spellbinding cities.

Once I was in the quiet streets, though, I wondered (as I always do) if it was wise to travel this way, taking no counsel of my fears. On the other hand, this was the new South Africa, changed in a single generation from a pariah state to a beacon of hope, an evil empire reborn under a new flag. In this South Africa, epitomized in so many ways by Cape Town, tourism is booming, with European visitors up seventy percent in the last five years. But despite a diverse slate of high-profile American enthusiasts—including comedian Dave Chappelle, photographer David LaChapelle, Ashley Judd, P. Diddy, Brad Pitt, Alicia Keys, and Oprah Winfrey (whose O Magazine maintains an office here)—the country attracts few U.S. citizens. Outdated visions of apartheid are partly to blame, as is the expense of the long flight (although the dollar's strength against the weak South African rand actually makes the country a bargain), but the city's reputation as a crime capital has also proved a deterrent.