From The Coast To The Karoo - Summer Meanders Hermanus, Worcester And Prince Albert

Ahh, it’s quiet once again. The festive season has been wrapped, packed away, and stored for another year. Mothers are wiping their hands on a tea towel for the last time and have folded new family secrets into the dough.

Dishes are stacked, silverware polished and neatly slotted into the wooden cutlery canteen, and the best crockery and glassware are back on the shelves, and carefully ironed napery is smoothed into the linen presses for twelve short months, until we do it all again.

But who’s complaining? Not a single one of us. It was thrilling to be reunited with our families and friends. We got stuck in traffic, waited for long minutes in the check-out queues, and ignored the mess of wrapping paper, ribbons, and gift cards abandoned on the carpet, because we are passionate about showing our affection. Nothing beats having a whole house of chaos. The Elves’ message will be erased as the snow melts; they’ve run out of steam, it seems.

We indulged in all the festive platters, loaded charcuterie boards, decadent cake stands and bubbly flutes filled to the brim with glorious abandon. The last of the Mince Pies were warmed and served for dessert at lunchtime today.

I hear my mother say, “Spyt kom te laat!” (Regret comes too late!) as I struggle and wriggle to pull up and zip my pre-Christmas jeans, feeling a little amused by her sage words. The picture below was one I grew up with and always reminds me of my Mom. As a child, I thought she was the dancer in the picture.

Currently, Butch is recuperating in bed after a marathon innings at the Hermanus Medi Clinic, where he was confined for three nights. The initial infection turned out to be Vivax Malaria (recurring malaria), which was treated by his excellent physician, Dr Phindile Gina. They are now both determined to eradicate the malaria eggs from his liver, where they hibernate, waiting to burst forth at the slightest sign of a weakened immune system. Dr Gina said the regime should sort him out for good, and prescribed a host of medications that he’s taking with utmost diligence. His alarm signals that it’s time to take another dose.

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Hermanus and Onrus

Once the holiday busyness is done and you return to a calmer routine, there’s nothing more rewarding than the iconic cliff paths of Hermanus and Onrus, which run along the waterfront and beachfront.

On a clear day, you could, if you were inclined, walk the entire way from Onrus to Pearly Beach and beyond (which is a stretch and would take a few days, but it’s possible).

The paths are well-maintained, easy to navigate, and include a few convenient escape routes for walkers who choose to start slowly and build up their distance.

Most walkers are friendly, and there’s a lovely tradition where locals greet each other. I’m sure it only takes newbies a few minutes to realise this before they follow suit. (not always, I’m afraid, but I am keeping up pretences.)

Dogs are on leashes, with plastic bags attached for droppings (sometimes bags are provided at specific points, too, and out of respect and courtesy to other walkers, this rule should not be ignored).

Every morning we’d set off to follow the path, often stopping for a coffee along the way. The walk, talk, and coffee are a mood booster and the perfect start to a day.

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No sooner had we settled in to enjoy the sunshine and surf than we received Bushwakka’s call that work on the Honey Badger was complete. We could fetch the old girl, she was discharged.

After a thorough inspection, Butch gave a nod of approval; the work was perfectly done as specified.

We would spend a weekend at River’s Own Lodge again, this time to do a stint of dog sitting while the Van Der Westhuizens went off on a well-deserved long weekend away.

This trial run would inspire an idea that was later confirmed by Erin, my daughter-in-law in Canada, who endorsed our plan to become dog sitters.

We enjoyed the company of our three charges and discovered that caring for pets temporarily satisfied our desire for a pet and enabled us to travel. The responsibility of a full-time pet that might outlive us was not something we were ready to consider, but this was ideal. A seed was sown.

A super blood moon over the river was another delight, letting us enjoy evenings on the veranda with the dogs, while the cats went hunting.

And each morning, we were woken by the returning cats after their successful hunts, meowing or purring in our ears while kneading our chests with their paws.

My days were spent writing, which is such a pleasure: no interruptions and a clear to-do list let me catch up on some blogging.

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To celebrate being back in the Honey badger, we were invited to spend a few days at Uitvlugt Guest House on the N1, five kilometres from Worcester.

We had decisions to make, and this would be the perfect spot for contemplation. Our future awaited. We would do so under the watchful eye of the Hex.

It was wonderful to be back at Uitvlugt; we had set off from there to begin our African Adventure, and this would mark our official return.

Heléne, the owner of Uitvlugt, is a very passionate gardener, and her sprawling landscaped garden, herb and vegetable gardens are a delight. I was very keen to investigate the interesting nooks and crannies.

The last of the lemons would be harvested soon, she assured me, and the pomegranates, I asked, What about them? Unfortunately, not enough care had been taken of them, she admitted, and this year’s crop was a flop, but the quinces were ready for bottling.

The next day, as promised, I was invited to the farmhouse kitchen to learn all about quince preservation.

The next evening, for supper, the Quinces were served as a condiment to our roast.

Long balmy days in the Boland were perfect for thatching, and the next morning, a team of professional thatchers from Ceres arrived to renovate the thatch roofs on the manor house and many outbuildings on the property. A task that must be done annually to maintain the roofs.

This crew migrates year-round, thatching and reconditioning buildings across a large area where old houses and outbuildings were traditionally thatched.

One morning, we did a Worcester Brandwacht walk, the one Butch did a few years ago while he was preparing for his leg of the Portuguese Camino. It was good to be back, this time as a temporary visitor.

The road was quiet, the landscape beautiful and the walk a breeze.

As one does in a small town, I bumped into my Bridge partner Jacoba, whom I'd not seen yet. Her shopping spree could wait, she said, we had much to catch up with, and we did over many cappuccinos. I could finally leave Worcester knowing I'd seen and caught up with most of my favourite people.

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While we were visiting Heléne, I had the honour of being invited to Friday evening prayers, where she lit the Shabbat candles, followed by Ma’ariv–the evening service. In the Amidah [the core prayer of Jewish worship services] is the central reference to creation (Genesis 2:1-3). At the conclusion, I was wished a Gut Shabbos or a Shabbat Shalom, a good and peaceful Shabbat.

I had never experienced a Shabbat nor the Kiddush — Sanctification

This is recited over a full (brimming) large silver cup of wine. The wine symbolises joy, and the full cup symbolises overflowing joy and bounty. 

The Challah (a four-strand braided bread) follows the Kiddush, but first, we wash our hands in the ritually prescribed manner. When we were reseated, the challah cover was removed from the two loaves of challah (two in memory of the double portion of manna received by the Israelites in the wilderness), and Hamotzi — the blessing over the bread — was recited. The challah, which Helene baked, is then cut or broken and distributed.

Thank you, Heléne, for inviting me to your Ma’ariv table. Although we have known each other for many decades and have shared numerous experiences, we’ve laughed, cried, and swapped books. Sharing this evening with you was a highlight and a privilege. This Shabbat marks a new chapter in the story of your life and our friendship.

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Back to Onrus and a few days with The Knights.

The Knights were camping in Onrus, and we couldn’t resist joining them at the Onrus Caravan Park for the rest of the summer holidays.

In Villiersdorp, I made Butch stop so I could photograph the handsome red tugboat.

The story of the red tugboat in Villiersdorp is a tale of preservation and community engagement, our friend George told us. The Alwyn Vintcent, a historic steam tug, has become a tourist attraction and was purchased by the Villiersdorp branch of the Western Cape Tractor & Engine Club to prevent it from being sold for scrap. Plans are underway to restore the tug and get the engines running again. Once work is complete, the tug will be on permanent display in the village.

Alwyn Vintcent’s journey from Sydney to Sedgefield, South Africa, highlights its significance in the region’s maritime history. (I must admit, “region’s maritime history” remains a mystery to me!)

While we were based in Onrus, we enjoyed many lovely hours with my Dad, who would pop by to say hello and have a coffee during his morning walks. When we prepared a simple, favourite meal, such as boerie rolls and tomato relish, we would invite him to lunch, which he always enjoyed.

Most afternoons, the retired crowd gathers to swim at Davey’s Pool from 16h00; we’d stroll down, enjoy tea and oat cookies, or pack a basket for sundowners a little later. 

Being part of a community again really pleased me, and I loved seeing old friends and even one or two acquaintances who have moved from Worcester to live in “our” neighbourhood.

We walked a lot. Sometimes I’d go solo, but most days Butch would join me, and there were times when friends would tag along too, each respecting the other’s pace and letting them go ahead or behind with the knowledge we’d meet up for a coffee later.

Butch is always keen to highlight the advantages of living in Hermanus or the surrounding areas, as there’s so much to do, see, and experience. He says he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Our walks grew longer as our legs and Butch’s new knee strengthened, and soon we could stroll all the way from the Old Harbour to the New Harbour or to Duchies for breakfast.

Our favourite route was around the Island in Onrus and along the cliff path to the nature reserve’s fence.

If I have to name one of Hermanus’ redeeming features without mentioning the words restaurant, antique shop, bookshop, friends, fabulous food, fine wine, fine dining, the ocean, or Woolworths, nor the medical facilities or mountains, my defining word would definitely be ART.

There is art everywhere. Wall art on buildings: there’s art in every medium celebrating the ocean, our fynbos, or people along the coast.

There are numerous art galleries for browsing; art is encouraged, and artists flourish in Hermanus. We are all invited to enjoy the art, admire it, buy it, and have a Sunday picnic in the botanical garden while enjoying Art in the Park or at the Saturday morning Farmer’s Market.

Where creatives live and thrive, a community blossoms and grows through creativity. We'd need to do some creative accounting to explain the parking ticket in a spot where parking attendants keep an eagle eye on every vehicle’s comings and goings. No use saying "I told you so!"

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and soon it was time for visitors and the Knights to pack up and head home. They were still the working class, they said, and we were left to our own devices. Which is not bad, but the road kept calling us, and the thrill of adventure was still bubbling in my blood.

Old habits die hard, even when the voice in your head tells you it takes bravery to break old habits. When we’re in the Honey Badger, the call of distant horizons is hard to resist.

Bronwyn saved the day by inviting us to spend a week in Prince Albert.

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Prince Albert

In my opinion, Prince Albert is the Cullinan diamond in the royal crown of “In” towns and villages in the Western Cape and the Karoo.

Situated in the Karoo and a four-hour drive from Somerset West, it is a destination well worth the effort. The N1 was how we’d get there, but that’s not the only way, and a more scenic route would be one of the following:

Prince Albert is:

332 km from Barrydale and 162 km from Calitzdorp along Route 62
185 km from Mossel Bay via Robinson Pass
245 km from Knysna via George / Oudtshoorn: 3-hour drive
175 km from George via Oudtshoorn / Meiringspoort: 2-hour drive
115 km from Oudtshoorn via N12 / Meiringspoort : 1.20 hour drive
67 km from Oudtshoorn via The Swartberg Pass
45 km from the Cango Caves via The Swartberg Pass: 1 hour drive
77 km from De Rust via Meiringspoort: 45-minute drive
55 km from Meiringspoort and Klaarstroom
157 km from Uniondale and the entrance to the Langkloof valley
148 km from Willowmore and the entrance to the famous Baviaanskloof via Klaarstroom and the Prince Albert Valley.

A neighbour offered us a spacious backyard as a site for us to park the truck, and there we’d be for the duration of our stay, shaded by an ancient Karoo Pepper tree. We couldn't be happier with the arrangement. Bronny had her privacy and could get on with her chores without us meddling, and we felt "at home", snug in our own bed.

There has to be a lemon tree in a garden, and in the Karoo, old gardens often have the obligatory old-fashioned Mediterranean fruit trees like guavas, pomegranates, and quinces, along with a Rosemary bush, trellised grape vine and a cactus.

Butch and I, on our bikes, would do our regular cycles to investigate and cycle a few of these routes to get a feel of the landscape and mountains. It was exhilarating and fun, and for the 25km we mastered, we found the routes comfortable and safe.

Coffee at the Bushman Valley Lodge in the Oukloof Mountains is part of the Swartberg Private Nature Reserve on the outskirts of Prince Albert, where cyclists stop to refresh and catch their breath after a gruelling cycle through the passes. Nothing has changed in the years since we camped there, and we are reminded of our very comfortable stay. On this visit, the interior of the main building caught my eye. Yes, we must look closely sometimes to appreciate the effort people put into creating a peaceful and inviting space. It also tells us a little of their story. The vintage Rolls-Royce parked in the shade intrigued me.

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Bronwyn had one proviso for this visit. She was going to work and prepare her home for builders who would start with major renovations, she said. Well, I don’t know how she did it because she spent many hours entertaining and guiding us.

On our bikes, we rode along the dirt roads out of town while she packed up, threw out unwanted items or packed those into a box to return to Somerset West.

There were moments when I heard her pause to give instructions on her phone; being far from a building site must be stressful, and she needed everyone involved to be clear on the finest details.

Butch and I didn’t mind mooching around the village during the day; there is so much prettiness to see.

In recent years, the moniker “Franschhoek, of the Karoo” has been used to describe the town’s appeal to the art community and  South Africans who seek a quieter life, many of whom have become residents of the town.

The architecture blends Cape Dutch, Karoo, and Victorian styles, creating a distinctive and picturesque setting.

The town’s buildings are characterised by their symmetrical facades, flat roofs, and distinctive gables, especially the Prince Albert gables from 1840.

These gables feature the outlines of the “holbol” gable with a narrow pediment, while horizontal mouldings connect the outlines of the gables.

The architecture is a testament to the diverse influences of its early citizens, including the early Khoisan People, Dutch Settlers, and British colonialists.

The well-preserved buildings and the town’s slow-paced lifestyle contribute to its old-world charm, making it a charming destination for architecture enthusiasts and visitors like us.

It is heartwarming to see that new buildings still honour the styles of yesteryear, even as they are modernised and reflect today’s lifestyles.

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One morning, Bronwyn and I rose before sunrise and climbed the hill overlooking the town to watch the sun rise over the mountains, colouring the sky in crimson, pink, and yellow.

Watching the village emerge from its slumber as the sun rose was a joy, and eventually, we spotted the Honey Badger beneath the pepper tree. It seemed that Butch was still asleep, as there were no lights on yet.

We took the long route home after our morning coffee from a flask, contemplating the town stirring after the street lights dimmed and switched off.

I experienced the same sensation there, sitting on a flat rock, as I did as a child when we played “freeze” and all activity stopped, then being “unfrozen.” Suddenly, the frozen would pick up where they left off and carry on as normal. As the sun rose, the mood changed, and the world came alive again.

Down in the distant valley, we heard the milk truck, the cough of a motorbike, and then we saw a bus with a billowing cloud in its wake. To pick up school children on farms, Bronny said. We heard doors slam, cars start up, and so the day proceeded unchanged.

A cock crowed twice, and a windmill’s tail squeaked as the blades started a slow turn in the breeze. It was going to be a hot day. A cacophony of cicadas had also started up, competing with the resident speckled pigeons.

We made our way home, slowly taking the longest route. Neither of us wanted to break the spell.

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Not only do the townspeople want newcomers to invest in properties or visitors to fill up guest houses, but they would also like visitors and local residents to be entertained.

Whenever I’ve been to Prince Albert, there’s been a festival going on. This time, it was a cycle race in which participants had to cycle from De Hoop to Prince Albert.

The streets were lined with enthusiastic supporters waiting for the winners and slower cyclists to cheer them on as they entered the town and made their way to the winner’s podium, where the lively commentator bellowed the riders’ vital statistics from an electric megaphone! Not only were they the focus of his comments, but anyone crossing the street or blocking his view was likely to be mentioned.

Butch and I went for a walk, and as soon as we could, we crossed over and decided to take the next block up, where we watched the local rugby team play against a neighbouring team.

Sadly, one of the organisers asked us, the few spectators watching from the sidelines, to move. We were on the wrong side of the fence and meant to enter the grounds and sit in the grandstand, but we were causing trouble, as residents complained and threatened to end the club’s use of the sports fields.

”This was a small town with some small minds.” Someone said. We grumbled our vexation and moved on.

On Saturday morning, we went to the Farmer’s Market, where we were told it was too late for pancakes! Did we have pancakes written all over our faces, I wondered? But that was precisely what we had hoped to find. With our tails between our legs, we ambled off disappointed to enjoy tea and apple tart at the antique coffee shop on the Main Road.

During the afternoon in preparation for supper, I picked a bushel of quinces, baked them in the oven as I'd learned to do in the Karoo and served them with my slightly charred lumpy custard the old-fashioned boarding school way. 

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Two restaurants stood out and came highly recommended, and we decided that Bronwynn was working too hard and needed to relax, so we made reservations and enjoyed two suppers out in the town.

Who could resist such an invitation?

Our pre-prandial cocktails at the local pub kicked off a most successful evening out.

Jeremy’s was terrific! Located in a recently renovated house, the décor is minimalist, the menu is small but offers something for every palate, and the food was fabulous. A tasty, well-portioned, and beautifully presented serving.

There was a buzz which added to the ambience, and soon every seat was taken in this popular restaurant.  

The Rude Chef was a delight, and the chef is not rude at all. Here we enjoyed a farm-style dinner with comfort food. We all eagerly snapped up the Malay curry and rice with all the sambals and condiments.

Another one of Prince Albert's charms is that one can walk around at any time of the day or night. An atmosphere of peace and tranquillity prevails here and what's more everyone does it.

There are many restaurant choices suitable for every palate. From Hamburgers to fine dining, Prince Albert should not disappoint foodies.

History runs through these old Karoo villages, and where there is a community of older residents, one often confronts the past. A gentle reminder lest we forget. 

Antique or second-hand shops, where it’s hard to resist one’s inner thrifter, mushroom in these villages filled with history. But not only that, all natural resources are utilised to create jobs for talented artists, whose works are showcased and sold in cleverly curated boutique stores. As with all places with an artistic streak, these spaces are adorned with art. I am in clover!

One afternoon, after finishing all the daily chores, we piled into the 4x4 and headed to the Weltevrede Fig Farm and Coffee Shop for tea and their famous Fig Tarts with clotted cream. This certainly was an afternoon well spent, I might even say sublime or emperean!

The drive along the foothills of the Swartberg Mountains was an eye-opener. One always expects the Karoo to be flat and barren, yet there before us spread out was a magnificent valley of a thousand hills.

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The Swartberg Mountain Pass

We were in for a treat, Butch said while we packed a picnic basket with delicious sundowner snacks, a bottle of chilled Champagne, a tablecloth, glasses, and a full ice bucket to accompany us on our road trip up the winding dirt road of the Swartberg Mountain Pass.

The pass is a renowned UNESCO World Heritage Site, the highest-rated mountain pass in Africa, and one of the finest in the world, winding to the summit at 1585 metres above sea level.

Hand-packed dry-stone retaining walls, a hallmark of Thomas Charles Bain, support the pass.

Along the way, there are relics of an old prison, a toll hut, and other historical sites.

In winter, the pass is often snow-covered, and this unique micro-climate supports fynbos and a rich birdlife, contrasting with the arid Karoo flora and fauna, or with the lusher vegetation in the kloofs.

The winding Swartberg Pass is a 27km gravel road with steep inclines, taking about an hour to traverse.

I can’t think it’s suitable for anyone with acrophobia, but it can be driven in any vehicle in fair weather, though I would be nervous in the Honey Badger!

The spectacular views and natural beauty made this a must-visit outing for us. We set up our table and laid out our sundowners and snacks once we reached the summit, when the unthinkable happened.

Bronwynn sat down on the road Dept's concrete bench, which wasn’t anchored at all, and, with the bench, fell arse over kettle while trying to save herself (and the culprit) and almost cartwheeled off the mountain. Within minutes, her elbow was swollen and bruised, and she was in agony. We realised the champagne, although heavenly, would not numb the excruciating pain. We needed to get her to a doctor asap.

With a light foot on the gas, Butch negotiated us down the mountain with its winding roads, trying his best not to cause Bronwynn any more discomfort.

The next morning, we set off to Oudtshoorn for X-rays.

The weather reflected the mood in our vehicle: a grey, misty day with a drizzle.

Good conversation always lightens a mood, and we have much to talk about, being three enthusiastic travellers. We always have a new destination in our sights, and reminiscing about our past travels makes us laugh or cringe at some of our experiences. How quickly time passes is a reminder that we mustn’t let our dreams fade as we negotiate life.

While Bronwynn was waiting her turn at the X-Rays, Butch and I went in search of a coffee and found this fascinating coffee shop housed in a warehouse in downtown Oudtshoorn.

My last visit to Oudtshoorn was nearly thirty years ago, when a friend and I spent a long weekend there attending the KKNK festival, which we thoroughly enjoyed. The poetry slams were the highlights. Imagine giving a poet just a word, and within a minute, they can compose an insightful poem with fluency, passion, and meaning. Oh, to have the gift of the gab.

We took our time, and once Bronwynn felt up to it, we stopped in De Rust for a cuppa and a browse at one of her favourite shops where local art, handicrafts and decor are sold.

It was time to move on. Bronny had done all her chores, but more importantly, needed to get home to see an orthopaedic surgeon for a second opinion. Her battered and bruised arm, still unbearably painful, was not looking good, and we were sure she’d not have much use of it for a long while.

With me behind the wheel and Bronny sitting shotgun (a rare sight), we headed home. When we reached the N1, we turned left to head back to Onrus. The Doubting Thomas in me needed some reassurance, which led me to this passage I’d read years ago: “Life is allowed to look like a Renaissance piece and a work in progress at the same time. Don’t wait until the day is perfect to look up and watch the sunrise.” Anonymous

Next time, I’ll bring you up to speed with the Honey Badger and our plans. It’s a ride on the wild side.

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Last but not least

 

 

UITVLUGT GUESTHOUSE: Where the rest is the best on the N1

http://uitvlugtguesthouse.co.za/ 

PO Box 283, Worcester, 6849
Cell: 082 658 2397
Fax: 0866 973 705
E-mail: [email protected]

GPS: 33.37 14.42 S  19.29 40.30 E

 

RIVER’S OWN LODGE (whether you're a crowd, a family or a couple seeking romance, look no further, your dreams start here.)