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* The tail of our big adventure has a sweet and sour tale ...  Above: Nothing wrong with the sunsets on the Weskus[1]. Rather fitting for our last full evening in South Africa. Fortunately the sour preceded the sweet. Having had four weeks' traversing this spellbinding country and its hospitality that had been hard to beat, it would probably have been spooky if there hadn't been one bad egg. We probably should just have stayed one extra night in our lovely Tintagel Guesthouse on the Tamboerskloof/Gardens border but I had made the decision to spend at least one day with an outlook over False Bay in the kinda Bohemian nook of St James/Kalk Bay. A bit of seawater swimming not quite as freezing as the other side of the Cape Peninsula where the Benguela current charts its course from the Antarctic to the Equator. Our day started with morning coffee and a swim. There is a pleasant walled pool between the two communities at Dalebrook. It is fed by the False Bay tides and we had our delicious swim having waited an inordinate amount of time for coffee at what was to be our home for the next 24 hours or so. Admittedly we had arrived very early and we made allowances but the restaurant was open to non-residents so it shouldn't have been problem. The place looked nice, though, and we consumed our fast-cooling condiments philosophically. We were joined by friends, Viv and John, for the swim and a light lunch and spirited conversation in the vicinity and after they had to leave took in the interesting cornucopiae of Kalk Bay. We eventually returned to our Sonnekus "Boutique Hotel and Bistro" at a time that should have been acceptable to be admitted to our room. Upon our arrival we were informed that there'd been a flood on the first floor where we were to be housed and that the carpet was having to be replaced as a result. Shit happens. We were ushered into a small lounge area for "about half an hour". A couple of hours and some erratic excuses later we were admitted to our rooms. I think Sián's and Roger's was OK but ours had nothing to recommend it. Apart from the fact that the hall carpet was still being replaced, which required incursions into Shan's and my room every time we thought it was safe to use the facilities, it became increasingly obvious that the "flood" had been a fairy tale. The carpet in our room was stained and sticky under foot and there seemed to have been no intention of replacing that that day. Worse, though, were the facilities. I am aware that it seems de rigueur in some establishments these days to have some degree of open plans to the bathing and sleeping arrangements but it was de trop for Shan and me, especially with that degree of openness! It might be mildly titillating to catch a glimpse of one's beloved through the frosted glass of a shower but there are, as we all (well most people I know, know anyway) know that there are some ablution sequences that can be less than sociable or titillating. There is a photo below of the extent of the gap into the bathing area and of the close proximity of the bed to the lavatory. One wouldn't want ... On a lesser note, the bathroom fittings were tatty and some were broken. We departed with some relief to our chosen dinner destination, the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay. It was fun and we had a hoot being observed eating our seafood under the close observation of a seagull. Fortunately there was glass separating us, otherwise he'd have had a feast. Above: (top to bottom, l-r) me doing a spot of crawl across the tidal pool with Roger checking on his wife; our lav in full view from the bed; cocktails overlooking False Bay at last; seagull envy. We returned from the Brass Bell for a reasonably peaceful night albeit with one partner or the other having to leave the room and stand on the landing on various occasions. In the morning we'd decided to put it all behind us and relax over breakfast before heading off for our last destination. After all we'd had a fabulous holiday and one bad egg wasn't going to spoil the feast. But no. It wasn't to be. We'd travelled the length and breadth of South Africa having booked mainly through Booking.com with the payments being handled adroitly and often on departure. Always slick. Always underlining the hospitality ethos that exists just about everywhere. But no. The Sonnekus had decided to use a different payment method and then got aggressive because we hadn't paid in advance. I immediately proffered my credit card, thinking that would resolve the issue but, no again, they'd have to get confirmation that my credit card was OK. Their system demanded it. No other system in SA demanded it. At this point the "manager" retreated, never to be seen again. We just wanted our breakfast and to continue our wonderful adventure. Eventually a manager's proxy appeared and was aggressive towards us but, having heard our story, came around to our way of thinking so I'm sorry she got caught up in this. But I'm also sorry that Siân, Roger and Shan ended up with an hour-late cold breakfast. It was small comfort that the breakfast was provided on the house, insisted on by Shan. That was our only experience of the kind. We still had a fab interlude to follow ... Leaving Cape town The spectacular (all but unique) Cape Town scenery with its the juxtaposition of mountains and sea always leaves one with a pang when bidding farewell. Dinner in the Brass Bell had allowed us the penultimate angle on the panorama and we paused in our 45 km circumnavigation of the city and its suburbs for an emotional peroration ... Above; (l-r) The mountains crowding the sea on False Bay in the moonlight as seen from Kalk Bay; Looking back from whence we came with Devil's Peak, Table Mountain and Lion's Head in a familiar landscape that epitomises the Fair Cape ... although a telltale plume of smoke from the Head was a reminder of the dryness and heat typical of a February Cape experience. So now we're on our last leg, a petit detour up the West Coast to show off one of the last reasonably preserved[2] whitewashed fishing villages in the country ... For some reason Paternoster has become a bit of a watchword for excellent restaurants. Of course Wolfgat[3] has put the cherry on the top in recent years but there are quite a few others, including Die Gaaitjie, The Noisy Oyster, Voorstrandt and Wolfgat's predecessor Oep ve Koep, all of which pre-dated Wolgat by quite some time in providing haut cuisine to the seaside town's lucky visitors. Sadly the cherry's international status and its tiny size has made it almost impossible to obtain a seat at the table and we were unlucky this time. Although I, at least, had been lucky enough to sample Kobus's cuisine on two earlier visits, sharing the occasion with Shan on the first of those. Above: (top 3) our first visit to a van der Merwe establishment in 2014; (middle 3) this time in 2016 with Federico Tibone at Wolfgat; (bottom l-r) No room in the Wolfgat inn in 2024; at the Voorstrandt where the food was a little more basic but the view was equally stunning. Our accommodation in Paternoster was a short walk from the Voorstrandt restaurant and was a fitting venue for our last couple of nights. Close to the beach with plenty of space and tastefully decorated our only complaint was that the cooking facilities were too posh for us to figure out properly ... none of the 4 of us had ever come to grips with Miele electrical appliances before. Not that that was much of a problem given the surfeit of decent grub in Paternoster's dining establishments. And Sián got a proper swim in the sea for the first time on the trip on our all but private beach. Even she didn't stay in for very long, though, with no wetsuit and the brass monkey temperature of the Benguela Current. Roj stayed on shore to protect his block and tackle. Paternoster tranquility  Above: (clockwise from top left) a sunny nook in our spacious accommodation at Bougain Villa; our path to the sea; Sián's private beach; Gaaitjie - the restaurant that got away - if only we'd had another night; Of course Paternoster is not entirely a re-pristined resort and does still retain some of its fishing legacy which is a source of income for locals and of delicious plates for visitors. While we dined we entered into a pre-nostalgia phase. The holiday was coming to an end and we began to ruminate on what now seemed to have whizzed by. The inevitable questions came up. Had there been any low points? Honestly there really hadn't been apart from our recent one night in the crappy hotel in St James and resolved that even that hadn't been so bad as Sián's and Roger's room had passed muster. So we'd spent 4 weeks in a country that often draws a bad press from inside its own borders, and a little less so from the outside world, and we'd had a ball. We were sad to be going home. We reminisced over our highlights and pretty much came to a unanimous opinion of what the top two had been, the ones that had stood out above so many other enjoyable adventures. And there were also the other places we'd missed out on and the wine-provoked conversations of what might still be to come. More of this conversation will be revealed after a quick pictorial roundup of Paternoster and a thoughtful meander back to Cape Town airport for our flight home. The business end of Paternoster  Above: the day to day activities of the real people in Paternoster Alongside: It did come to my notice that my good mate, Roj, had developed beer envy while we were in Paternoster. Meneer Starr had taken it upon himself to place a few proprietary fingers around my pukka pint when the camera came out. Presumably in the hope that he wouldn't be copped drinking what South Africans deem as a beer, i.e. Darling Brew in a half-sized container. Of course drinking fizzy pop was perfectly acceptable in the sunshine but there were the occasional artisan beers in the remoter parts of South Africa that invited attention and this particular one was genuinely quaffable. Our last evening took us to the Noisy Oyster, which was Shan's choice over Gaaitjie. A good choice it was too and I must confess that the children's pies were particularly tasty when consumed in concert with some really rather fancy South African wines. Apparently our Friday evening repast had been uncharacteristically quiet owing to some sort of festival that night at Tietiesbaai 7 km away. We dared not ask.  Above: hopefully the top two shots speak for themselves; in fact the moonscape probably does too although I seem to remember we were a day off a completely full orb. Our final day was a little subdued. Maybe the wine contributed but we weren't really ready to go home. We chose to have a slow meander back to Cape Town airport with a sneaky fillip in Darling, home of Pieter Dirk Uys. Pieter's alter ego was Evita Bezuidenhout, ambassadress of Bapetikosweti, the chimeric existence of an ephemeral "Bantustan[4]". His satire was much enjoyed during the years that South Africans were trying to shrug off Apartheid. Actually Darling was a little surreal and had made the best of the artiness that survived Uys's sojourn in the town. We found the delightful Old Forge where we enjoyed a desultorily drawn-out delicious lunch over a few hours before commencing the final 130 Km to Cape Town International Airport. Our pace back was as fitful as the weather as we diverted to the splendid Jordan Wine Estate where, out of respect for the driver (yours truly), we confined ourselves to coffee while contemplating the beauty of the surroundings and our own thoughts of the 4 weeks past. Heading home Above: (l-r) perhaps the weather at the Jordan Wine Estate was a harbinger for what we would encounter on our return; what we did encounter on our return ... at the lovely Gatwick Airport. When you return from a fabulous holiday with the dearest of friends nostalgia takes over and wistful conversations occur in which future plans are discussed and liberally toasted. Maybe something will take place again one day, maybe not. South Africa again? Or maybe Southern Africa. Or maybe Spain, Italy, Scandinavia or Greece? Only time will tell ... Contemplations So we did contemplate some sort of reprise that got at least as far as an informal poll during a splendid meal in Oxford ... the outcome was unanimous. The highlights of a varied and much enjoyed road trip had been:
But the whole trip had been almost unremittingly splendid, between the four of us and with the friends and relatives we spent time with along the way. But maybe we just ought to be spicing up any future visits with destinations that had been omitted from our 2024 sortie. None of us is getting any younger. But where? Well, the following may be few locations to conjure with:
Coming next I guess that's the end of a holiday so perhaps a tale of three[5] 2024 elections ... or maybe not? In the mean time there's a reprise below of the lekker picture from the beginning of this series[6] [Endnotes]:
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April 2024
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