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*Arniston to Hermanus  Above: Roger in a dark cave peering out at the sunlit Indian Ocean. Shan likes caves and she likes the sea. She also loves skipping over rocks. So it was a no-brainer that our first assignation on our first morning in Arniston would be the Waenhuis Grot (Waggon House Cave). Waenhuis Grot I'd been in there on a previous visit and had shed copious amounts of blood clambering on the rocks where Shan would now skip. I waited outside while Shan and Roger forged ahead with Sián looking a little apprehensive. Sián was the first to return and then Roj arrived looking suitably amazed. The Waenhuiskrans Cave is cavernous. In fact, it is allegedly named after its space. Apparently early discoverers of this spot had the idea that a wagon and a full span of oxen could turn around inside it. Of course there was no way of testing this theory given the challenges of getting an oxen or cart down there in the first place (unless the strandlopers had access to huge submarines that we were unaware of). After gingerly making one's way across the rocks, which hug the edge of the cliffs and with rather tentative support for fingers, your perorations will bring you to a small opening beneath a rocky overhang, which takes one into the cave proper. Except that the first chamber one encounters is not actually the cave proper and once inside there is more, much more.There is another, bigger cavern where one's eyes will need to adjust to the gloom, but then the cave's dimensions are impressive. The tide spills into the cave with its floor of rocks and pebbles. One's eyes gradually focus on the magnificent views out over the ocean. Having completed the internal tour of the grot the adjacent cove is a cornucopia of delights, too, with pools of anemones and fish and it is tempting to dally awhile before embarking on the climb out of the cove, which is more suited to mountain goats and klipspringers[1]. Above: [top l-r] the beautiful but ankle-bending rocky cove alongside the Waenhuis Grot; there be little fishies in that pool; [bottom l-r] Klipspringer-in-chief, Shan, has bounded to the top of the ascent to catch us in motion; having gained the cliff top path a mini-grot smiles, tantalisingly, from below. Hazing on a sunny afternoon It was too tempting after concentrated travelling to turn the remains of the day into a lazy, restful indulgence. We'd rushed out to the cave to make sure we got there for low tide as access became hazardous and then impossible as the tide came in. But now we (well the other three) had drunk from its pleasures we were feeling laid back. It had been quite a long walk from the closest place to sensibly park any car other than a Landcruiser or Unimog and we had to retrace our footsteps. Sián and Roj decided to take the low road along the bonny beaches of the Indian Ocean while Shan and I took the rocky high road reaching the car park before them. Clearly it had been too tempting to tarry a while on the banks and dip their feet in the ocean. In fact, if there hadn't been such a plague of bluebottles (sometimes referred to as Portuguese-men-of-war) along the water's edge, Sián our water-baby would definitely have dipped more than just her feet and enjoyed a swim.  Above: [top l-r] the Starrs hit the bottom of the low road; and almost the ocean; [middle l-r] a combination of bright sun and strong wind made it an ideal day for drying, flapping washing in the original fishing village; our destination had been Willeens for lunch; [bottom l-r] these days there is sadly a need for stricter security at the fishing harbour; dogs as spectators as their owners swim at Arniston's central beach. The bluebottles plaguing the beaches had almost certainly been blown there by a strong onshore wind that had developed during the morning. With bathing on hold we chose to stroll about the town in preparation for lunch. We parked our waggon outside the BIG hotel[2] in what must've been a picturesque fishing village at one time but had fallen into the debated territory between capitalism and traditional residents. It is difficult to establish exactly what was where in Arniston before that but the hotel appears out of character with its surroundings, dominating the ocean front. Who knows what would have been had small mercies not intervened with a sizeable chunk of the original fishing village, known as Kassiesbaai, declared a National Heritage Site in 1986. So the delightful Kassiesbaai sits on the North-Eastern edge of Arniston and we were off to experience some proper grub at Willeens on the Northernmost, Easternmost edge of the community. To get to the restaurant we traversed the interstices between the traditional white-washed cottages, the sun and wind seemingly enhancing the ambiance of the dwellings with colourful washing flapping on lines in the small plots in this township. The pace of our walk to Willeens was sedate - in keeping with our newfound lassitude and sense of relaxation. Kassiesbaai residents greeted us friendlily and we returned the greetings. Cold drinks and fresh fish for lunch were on our radar. Perhaps Willeens serves fish and chips but the thing to go for is fresh fish and potatoes. Sublime, pukka grub. I think the others may have had a "lovely tuna salad" ... no sense of adventure! Sadly, there is a disturbing dichotomy in Kassiesbaai with the atmosphere of the village being threatened by the affordability of houses that in some places were becoming desirable B&Bs, perhaps a welcome source of revenue for owners who could find cheaper accommodation elsewhere while letting out their homes to holidaymakers. This is a becoming a worldwide controversy threatening what have been delightful communities. Parts of Spain, such as the Canaries, have come under the spotlight of the government, which has decided to take action to curb excessive tourism[3]. And Venice, too, has just introduced an entrance fee for day trippers to the city. Above: [l-r] Kassies Kove, a popular restaurant when this photo was taken for Google Maps in October 2010; restaurant no more in Feb 2022 - reverted to Kassies Baai 1938 Vissersunie saal and looking dilapidated. It is worrying that the Kassies Kove Restaurant with its authentic local food and recommended to us in 2022 was no longer in business when we arrived for our first visit to Arniston and continued to look even more dilapidated in 2024. I do hope it is not a sign of a slippery slope. A low key late afternoon in our B&B allowed Sián to take a dip in a pool before a good but more generic South African supper with a couple of congenial German fellow tourists (now living in Zurich). Above: [l-r] Readers, please caption this in the comments section of this blog; our new friends, Chris and Dagma enjoying the Blue Sky Arniston Guest House with us - regular readers shouldn't need any introduction to the other 4 in our posse by now. The southernmost tip of Africa - it had to be done Our trip to Hermanus required a quick detour to Cape Agulhas ... not particularly attractive but it had to be done. Stretched our legs on the boardwalk to where "X"[4] marks the spot. Above: [l-r] Sián striding off to Africa's bottom; our heroes have reached the spot. A bit bizarre that the plaque is only in Afrikaans and English. A few SAN languages, and possibly even Portuguese, might have been appropriate? Next stop Hermanus But first a quick pause en route in the village of Elim. In fact the pause was no more than a hesitation to turn right at the main T-junction in the town. A straw poll in the car suggested that the occupants would prefer to press on to our destination, although the neat houses lining the road did draw some admiring glances. Fact is I probably didn't sell the place properly so I'm going to leave readers in the far more capable hands of South African author Roxanne Reid[5] from whom I stole the picture below.  Above: According to Roxanne Reid the stone artefact in front of this splendid pink building in Elim is South Africa’s only monument commemorating the emancipation of slaves in 1834 - read more about it in the link in the Endnotes.. We finally arrived in Hermanus where Shan was reunited with her sister, Kerry, and chins wagged ninety-to-the-dozen over lunch before we repaired to our home for the next 3 days and nights. The home of our dear friend, Emma, whose generosity included the use of a substantial pool for Sián (and even Shan and me) to swim lengths in. Above: [l-r] Sián, Emma and Roger, having just met; Sián, contemplating her first proper swim of the holiday while standing outside the beautiful cottage Emma had lent us. What to do in Hermanus? What indeed? First and foremost, reacquainting with friends and family, followed by eating and drinking (well the first two are not mutually exclusive) and then shopping (more so for some). Our first evening was a cosy affair on Emma's verandah and what better than a pukka braai[6]. This was expertly executed by Kerry (hereinafter referred to as Kinks) and her husband, Tim. Well, the braai was pretty much Tim's doing with a perfectly moist whole chicken but the salad was Kinks's and fully up to the job of accompanying the meat. I may be biased but I cannot think of a place I would've rather been that evening. Pas op[7] for this oke[8] if he ever enters an all-SA braaing (spoilchucker changed this to braiding and it b****y nearly got through! If you've seen Tim[9] ...!) comp. On the shopping front, Hermanus is a bit of a honeypot, catering for various strata of pockets. Shan and Sián went shopping the next day. Roj and I were allowed some time off while our partners had some quality time together. A few beautiful garments were acquired, which, thanks to the uniformly crap UK Spring '24, haven't had much of an airing yet. Roj and I did manage to slope off to Wine&Co in the centre of town ... the best wine shop on the strip. Hermanus has the most impressive coast path, 6 km as the crow flies (it must be more than double that with all the twists and turns) of well-maintained, secure walking joy. It wanders through indigenous bush, almost always with magnificent views of Walker Bay and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Roj and I had a bit of a meander, knowing full-well a repeat performance would be in order once the parallel shopping expedition had been completed. We also needed to get into training for the evening's dinner in a cave. A bit of afternoon reading, and I have to admit to a bit of a kip, too, before heading off to the sea again, this time for some slap up seafood in a cave at the bottom 0f the main cliffs of Hermanus. Above: [top-bottom l-r] a few random shots during daytime perambulations starting with a view of the Old Harbour that is a lovely haven for leisure; some detail on an old upturned boat; a pretty sophisticated photoshoot about which we knew nothing apart from what we saw; a gorgeous flower spotted by Shan in the undergrowth beside the path. Above: [top-bottom l-r] from Bientangs se Grot Roger turns his camera to the East; and then the West; and then across Walker Bay as a cat sails past in the evening light; finally handing his camera to our server so we can get a full group shot - Tim is the hitherto unnamed subject between Sián and Shan. Above: [l-r] Roger was busying himself with a shot of the often-splendid sunset lighting up the seaside mountains; when a poacher in the water less than 100m away revealed himself as blatantly as brass. Poaching on the waterfront We noticed movement in the water just in front and to the side of the restaurant and were mildly curious about skindiving in the area. Tim, who knows about these things, immediately identified the person as a poacher. Apparently it is quite common that perlemoen (abalone) poachers strip these rocks and load up sacks, prepared to drop them at any sign of intervention, when they become all innocence to the authorities if or when they get there. Tim phoned the relevant authority but didn't really expect a raid, explaining that understaffing meant these incidents rarely resulted in any prosecutions. We were disappointed but not particularly surprised ... try getting a copper out in time to catch a perpetrator of a crime at this level in the UK! The following day we woke up to a grey morning and nestled ourselves into a cosy corner of The Rock, a restaurant in the New Harbour. Soon we were treated to the wrath that the Atlantic Ocean can vest on these parts as the plate glass windows facing Walker Bay turned black ... almost as dark as night. There is something simultaneously dramatic and cosy about these storms when one is wrapped in the shelter and eating sublime Eggs Benedict for breakfast. As is also often the way with such storms they blow away fairly quickly, leaving a strong residual wind to play out during the day. Not really a day for Sián to relish the Hermanus tidal pool then. We bought samoosas and biltong and ate them back at Emma’s; a bit of an indulgence in defiance of (certainly my) gathering girth. A walk was essential and we opted for the cliff path to its Eastern end at Grotto Beach. Continuing along the beach (with attendant blue bottles) we reached the lagoon to find that the windy day had brought out seemingly every kite surfer in the region. Entranced by them. Lingered for ages - none of us really wanted to leave. But we still had Piet se Bos, a local nature reserve, to explore before a quiet evening with family ... peri peri calamari in a perfect setting for watching the rain that was now returning. Back home before lights out (load shedding a curiously comforting excuse for 10PM bed time ... again). The next day we were continuing our trip Westwards. Above: [top l-r] a bit blustery for the beach but near-on perfect conditions for kite surfing on the lagoon; and even out to sea; [bottom l-r] Piet se Bos
Coming next Franschhoek and Paarl and an Eriksen family reunion. [Endnotes]:
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