Two Nights In Strandfontein A Reflection

I’ve been to Strandfontein twice before and thoroughly enjoyed myself both times. Once with dear friends from the UK, who were our frequent travelling companions during the summer months when they were Swallows to our shores.

On the last trip, we wild-camped for a night in the picnic area by the beachfront. It was exciting, with an element of danger. Would we be allowed to stay, or would the law turn up and shoo us away? They didn’t. We slept like lambs.

We stayed at the Horseshoe Campsite for two nights. That is my preferred minimum stay, and it gives us time to relax after a long drive. The next day, we explored on foot or by bike, and then I (she who suffers from FOMO) needed to explore with my real camera, not the point-and-shoot iPhone. Although very convenient, I prefer the quality of DSLR photography.

The Horseshoe Campsite is a few hundred yards from the beach, offers an unsurpassed view of the ocean, and has a few options; for example, we had our own ablutions. We felt safe, and there weren’t many campers. The only sound we heard was the waves crashing onto the shore. While waiting for my laundry tub to fill with water for my rinse, I spotted some pretty flowers growing between the cracks. Sometimes we need to step back from the big picture and notice the small things.

It was a perfect Saturday afternoon, hot, sunny and wind-free. A beach day. This would be our second or third “summer’s day”. Wearing a bather wasn’t an option for me yet. Digging it out of my swollen cupboard would be a challenge I wasn’t emotionally ready for, but I slipped into my Mr Price flip-flops and went slap-slap down to the beach.

Hundreds of weekenders and day-trippers were having a fabulous time on the beach. The picnic area on the embankment was covered in a patchwork of blankets, deck chairs, and cool boxes, spilling with delicious drinks, salads, and snacks. The festive air stirred summer feelings and immediately put a spring in my step. I couldn’t wait to dip my feet into the icy West Coast waters.

Children built sandcastles and kicked rugby balls, while bigger boys played cricket—the sound of a ball striking willow echoing. One little boy was so excited he shouted, “Aunty, it’s so lekker you should swim too!” as he spluttered, rubbing his fists into his eyes to dry them. A little jumping Jack, covered in goosebumps, his blue lips chattering. Adorable. His excitement was palpable.

The walk back to the campsite would, for someone not keen to walk, be uphill and could explain the lack of visitors, whereas the campsite adjacent to the beach was chock-a-block.

On my return, I did a recce of the facilities and found them wanting. I think the general ablutions were out of order and very neglected indeed.

We didn’t go for our usual Sunday morning ride or walk. Instead, I did some tidying and general housekeeping. We were starting to find our feet in the Honey Badger. We disposed of a few unnecessary items and emptied some loose storage boxes, making our space livable again. A cluttered small area can lead to injuries and tempers flaring.

Happy sounds from the beach soon had me putting on my hat and loading my camera. I spent a few hours walking along the beach while my laundry dried in the gentle breeze.

The coast is magnificent, with ever-changing landscapes around every cove. Rocky cliffs, boulders, and beaches ranged from fine sand to shiny pebbles, with boulders jutting into the sky. I turned after a 7 km walk. Although much of the walk was solitary, I was never completely alone and felt safe as a solo walker.

I collect things on walks: feathers, bones, rocks, and small pieces of ocean debris; those are my mementos. When we packed up our lives, I had to discard kilograms of my memory keepers. Although extremely difficult, I’m forcing myself to look, touch, and smell, but not to pocket anything! I love a flat, smooth pebble that fits snugly in my palm or in my grip, my index finger encircling the stone. Its weight, size, and smoothness determine how it will skip and skim over water. On leaving the beach, I emptied my pockets of a few stones. Old habits die hard.

Living in close quarters has its challenges. We must adapt and share living and personal space. Butch and I, although we’ve lived together comfortably for twenty years, have had to adjust how we use our space. Everything, whether personal, emotional, or straightforward, like a sock, must have its place. I recall the poster in our Domestic Science class, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”

As creatures of habit and routine, we’ve had to compromise, adjust, and learn new tricks for cohabitation. Not always easy. Opposites attract, but I’ve always maintained that the more couples have in common, the easier it is to live together and get along. We have much in common, yet our personalities are entirely different. I’ve got a lot of Italian, Gypsy and Irish blood in my veins. My mouth rules before my brain can catch up. Butch is a lawyer, and I rest my case!

While walking on the beach, I pondered these questions and realised I must adapt without doubting myself; I must believe in my convictions, be authentic, and be discerning. Sometimes I must step away, recognise the circumstances, and reserve my opinion. We all have bad hair days, but my bad hair day can’t rub off and become someone else’s indaba. Take responsibility and be respectful, considerate, accommodating, and thoughtful. We must change old bad habits and not be too pedantic or set in our ways. Old dogs must learn new tricks to grow. 

We will survive this journey together. We are doing well, but we need to be more forgiving, sympathetic and compassionate towards ourselves and each other at times. We all deserve a heartfelt “sorry”! Gilly knows.

The ocean air did us good, and we were ready to resume our journey north. Groenrivier in the Namaqua National Park was our next destination. If I ever visit Strandfontein, I would prefer the caravan park closest to the beach.