We’ve Made It! Full Circle - The Last Stretch - Summer Part 3

Thank you, Hilana, Bronwynn, Deon, Ingrid, Steve, and Manfred, for your lovely comments at the end of the previous blog, which encourage me to keep writing and sharing.

I constantly revisit my blogs, hoping for a comment, and your words lift my spirits, showing me there is someone who’s truly engaged with our journey.

Without you, I doubt I would have had the courage, inspiration or motivation to carry on. Every reader of my blogs sat next to me in the Honey Badger, celebrated the colourful people we met, and shared in our highs and lows, or in how flabbergasted, and often overwhelmed or gobsmacked, we were by the beauty, chaos, or fragility around us.

You invigorated us when times were tough, especially when we were uncertain, but, most importantly, you were there to share our joy, keenness, passion, and zeal to carry on, to explore, to learn and to live our lives to the fullest.

You and Butch, of course, are the Muse writers, artists, musicians, and poets to whom they ascribe their passion. The readers of my blog inspired me, ignited my creativity, and continually prompted me to look deeper, see more creatively, and to live curiously and enjoy every moment.

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On The Road Again.

When we pulled into Calitzdorp, the reality hit me. We were home, albeit in the Klein Karoo. It was an inclement day, so typical at the start of summer when one expects warm weather, blue skies and everyone’s rushing off to the butcher for a lamb chop or delicious locally produced sausage (wors) for that evening’s braai, and then the clouds roll in and the heavens open.

Here are five interesting facts about Calitzdorp, including its location on the longest wine route in the world, Route 62, and its seven wine cellars, to pique your curiosity about this charming town.

We camped out at the very quaint Station Campground.

Calitzdorp Cellar is renowned for its Cape Ports, Hanepoot, and Muscadel and pays homage to the region’s affinity for sweet, fortified wines.

We had breakfast at Ebenharts Pipes and Restaurant, legendary for its handmade tobacco pipes. According to Mr Ebenhart, “I aim to create a system that smokes dry and cool with unrestricted airflow, one that makes smoking as easy as breathing.” I stifle a cough at this.

We visited a mineral-rich natural hot spring just 24km from Calitzdorp, where I immersed myself in the hot waters, feeling completely relaxed and connected to nature for hours.

It is one of only three places (de Rust, Oudtshoorn and Calitzdorp) in the world where one can see spectacular Red Stone Hills, which are iron-rich conglomerates.

The Gouritz Cluster Biosphere Reserve is the only place where three global biodiversity hotspots converge.

Calitzdorp is a town of many surprises. The architecture is mainly Cape Dutch, dating back a century. It has recently become a sought-after town for retirees and people seeking a quieter life away from the maddening crowds. The ambience allows one’s creative juices to flow, one walker, who runs a guesthouse and bistro, told us, when he stopped to say hello, adding that people can work remotely yet are not too far from Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, or George for access to air travel, shopping and a night out.

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The rain had not dissipated by the next day when we set off. Still, we snaked our way through some of the many mountain passes to Ladysmith, captivated by the shades of green and yellow of new growth of fynbos, aloes, and grasses, always encapsulated by the spectacular mountains of the Western Cape.

In Ladysmith, we stopped for coffee and pancakes. It was raining after all, and pancakes are how we celebrate the first rains.

The landscape was changing constantly, becoming drier, rockier, more stark, and more Karoo-like as we headed to Barrydale.

Near Barrydale, we irresistibly pulled off at Ronnie’s Sex Shop, a roadside bar known for its eccentricity, and I told Butch it might be criminal not to visit this quirky landmark.

Underwhelming, I thought. The manager was sullen, the menu nonexistent, the cold drinks warm, and the selection uninspiring. What I did find impressive was the graffiti and the display of ladies’ lingerie and T-shirts, casually draped across the room and virtually covering every inch of the ceiling.

How this striptease of one’s garments is done remains a mystery to me, and how you sally forth after you’ve discarded and coolly donated your undergarments for display baffles me. Are the men shirtless and the ladies? I shudder at the thought. A reminder of childhood dreams in which one runs down the street sans knickers… What I've realised was.. I am not a prude; I am just curious.

It’s fascinating how the name Ronnie’s Sex Shop, in this context,  titillates and tickles one’s inhibitions, as guests freely donate money, badges, and coins, writing on walls, doors, and ceilings, creating a lively, rebellious atmosphere that intrigues me. Butch was nonplussed. A man about town, I suppose.

Kudos to Ronny, who took the gamble knowing that titillation tickles the fantasy and stirs curiosity, and when the words sex and shop appear on a nondescript building in the middle of nowhere, you’re sure to arouse a reaction.

Do wily traffic officers set up their speed traps a few meters from the gate for easy pickings to increase their Christmas Fund’s coffers, I wonder, or do they turn a blind eye at the shenanigans?

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Warm Waterberg Spa

We came across the Warm Waterberg Spa by chance on the iOverlander platform we use for finding camping spots.

Quite unassuming, the entrance gate was, and it felt as if we were going to visit friends living on a farm. A dirt road leading to an unassuming white-washed, flat-roofed house with traditional paned windows painted in antique green, so familiar in the Cape.

The garden’s borders were laid out in stones painted white, and on the stoep was a potted Amarilla in flower. On this sunny day, guests’ cars were parked under pepper and Camel thorn trees. The land all the way to the big road was carpeted with fynbos.

Butch parked the truck adjacent to the hot pools, and without any preamble, I was in my bather and then the pool. Heaven. I floated and bobbed and dunked myself until my skin wrinkled and the pads of my fingers crinkled. Yet I did not move. It was sheer bliss—the perfect temperature for a cold-blooded creature like me.

A few guests joined us, and soon we were having a heated political debate about the state of Africa…. The usual mumbo jumbo and so annoyingly cliched. My hackles rose, but Butch saw what was coming and diplomatically suggested we ready ourselves for supper in the dining room. I took the bait.

We were the only diners until, lo and behold, the American cyclist Connor Chemelli stumbled through the door. Exhausted after a hellishly long day on his bike. He was ready to hit the sack, he said, soon after laying his knife and fork down. We did introduce ourselves; he is Connor Chemelli, a veteran from Texas, I seem to recall. His WhatsApp description “Hey there! I’m Connor, I ride bikes around the world”! He rides unicycles, too, I believe. (Credit for the following photos is Connor Chemelli's)

The next morning, we got Connor’s nod of approval, took the group photo, and then headed off to brunch in the beautiful Karoo town of Barrydale.

There is no shortage of excellent restaurants, coffee shops, antique shops and guest houses in Barrydale. Making a selection is almost impossible. We would go on the fly. Karoo Daisy caught our attention immediately. It must’ve been the colourful wall art?

Our coffees were excellent, and my scone, cream, and strawberry jam were perfect. We were expected in Montagu for dinner, and experience has taught me that we were in for an extravaganza when the lost brother (Butch) was welcomed back to the fold.

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A mysterious Pelargonium

Years ago, on a Herb Club outing to  Barrydale, a guide informed us about a geranium (Pelargonium) that is exclusively indigenous in the Barrydale mountains behind us. Whether this is a fact, I do not know, but the Hooded-leaf Pelargonium is a widespread shrub that grows on the sandy and granite slopes along the Cape coast from Saldanha to Baardskeerdersbos.

When in flower, it is covered with pinkish, purple flowers and is the most conspicuous pelargonium in the south-western Cape, especially when growing in dense masses.

It is a tall, fast-growing, hardy shrub tolerant of coastal conditions and is also excellent for growing in containers on a sunny patio, informal borders, and rockeries.

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We were in familiar territory now, we know this landscape, the mountains, hills, valleys and passes. Early summer colours in the fynbos, fields of flowering onion bulbs (the onion seeds are exported), tilled soil ready for planting, vineyards bursting with grapes and wheat fields ready for harvesting filled our senses as we trundled along at our leisurely pace.

The Honey Badger was in top form as we passed Swellendam, and farms and landmarks named Het Goed Geloof (have good faith), Farm 173, Kruispad (crossroads), Riet Rivier (reed river), and Derde Heuvel (third hill).

Then we turned off the R62 into Montagu, home to iconic Cape Dutch, Victorian, Cape Georgian, Neo-Gothic and British Colonial architectural styles. Driving a truck at 60 km/h, holding a cell phone to photograph, does not do the magnificent buildings any justice, and I was only able to snap one gorgeous example of Montagu, the white Ice Berg Roses in full bloom and one example of the architecture.

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The brothers Ian and Butch were thrilled to be reunited. Elsabe served tea and her famous cupcakes, and we spent the afternoon catching up on three years apart. There had been some ups and downs, but the years had flown by mainly with only positive reports.

Although we are always delighted to sleep in our bed in the Badger, this time Elsabe insisted, and we happily took up her offer of a bed. Crisp, ironed, white sheets, a heavenly mattress (my own pillows) and a hot shower felt like a night in a five-star hotel.

While Ian was defending his client in court, we set off driving through the Kogmanskloof pass, also known as Cogmans Kloof Pass, a mountain pass linking the towns of Ashton and Montagu. It is renowned for its natural beauty and historical significance.

The pass was built by Thomas Bain between 1873 and 1877 and is named after the Cogmas, a Khoi chiefdom that once inhabited the area. It is a Poort (gorge) through the Langeberg, following the course of the Kingna River, and is almost surrounded by the sandstone of the Table Mountain group. The Kogmanskloof was formed 500 million years ago.

Additionally, ruins of a fort from the Second Boer War can be seen atop Kalkoenkrans Hill.

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Instead of heading straight to Ashton and then Worcester, we decided to turn left and go to Bredasdorp for lunch.

The saturated colours of the landscape, with all its shades of yellow, immediately stir a sense of cheerfulness, positivity and joy. Things were going to turn out perfectly. We were back in the Mooie Ou Kaap.

There was method to our madness. There was no way we could be in this neck of the woods, only two hours’ drive from one of my favourite humans, and not stop to say “Hi” after all this time.

Louise and Sam were on our radar, and while visiting them, we could kill two birds with one stone.

The obligatory selfie at the very southernmost point of Africa in L’Agulhas.

Bredasdorp Square Eat, Sleep Shop is situated in the middle of the village and can’t (and shouldn’t) be missed. Green lawns, white Iceberg Roses, and a Cape Edwardian double-storey house are where the magic happens.

The shop is a compendium of gifts, household items, wines, local Witblitz, clothes and all things nice. The veranda is a meeting place where one can sit and watch the world go by, (husbands sit while ladies browse, shop and dream to shop).

Giant Christmas trees, decorated to the nines with all the latest tinsel, baubles, and tree décor, welcome shoppers and detonate the good cheer (could it be dopamine?) hormone and neurotransmitters of the holiday season.

A good bowl of heartwarming soup on a miserable day also ignites happiness in me, and the spicy, curried chicken soup and sourdough bread did just that. Butch tucked heartily into his Cape Malay curry.

Bredasdorp is the gateway to weekends at the seaside. From here, there are numerous options for visitors: Waenhuiskrans, Arniston, De Hoop Nature Reserve, Agulhas National Park, Struisbaai, Suiderstrand, the Elim Wine Route and even Elim itself.

Our last sighting of Connor Chemelli was in Bredasdorp; he was also en route to Agulhas for the selfie at the southernmost tip of Africa.

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Struisbaai, Agulhas and Suiderstrand

These three areas lie comfortably close together, all within the radius of the Agulhas Lighthouse.

We rattled and rolled straight down to the beach below the red and white candy-striped lighthouse to join the small group of tourists already there to stand in the queue for our selfies at the beacon marking the southernmost tip of Africa.

This, I have been told in no uncertain terms, is where the cold Benguela current and the warm Mozambique current actually meet, NOT at Cape Point as is often believed.

The proof of the pudding is stamped into the curb stones on two blocks on the left, clearly stamped is the Indian Ocean, and on the right, the  Atlantic Ocean. And there we were in all our glory.

Next, we walked the African continent laid out in concrete. This new attraction, a 3D relief map in a 30-metre circumference, is called the Iconic Map of Africa Monument.

The project also included the construction of a 1km road, the realignment of the boardwalk, and the rehabilitation of the surrounding terrain.

During construction, skills development opportunities were provided to those employed, including painting, plumbing, tiling, and plastering.

The tribute is a map of Africa, hand-sculpted in concrete. It is characterised by ridges, peaks, and hills, showing the mountain ranges, volcanic sites, valleys, major river systems, and deserts, depicting different biospheres across the continent. Visitors are encouraged to step onto the monument to explore.

We walked it, wandering our route, marvelling at the extraordinary distances we travelled and reliving the many astonishing places we’d visited from the Cape to the Congo River, from Somerset West to the South Sudan border, from Somalia to Suiderstrand or Eversdal to Ethiopia!

Along the path, a group of rocks have been upcycled by artist Hannelie Coetzee and is titled “The Lesser Spotted Cape Creature”, which is a representation of the plants and animals that face extinction here, as they cannot migrate further south. Meanwhile, sea levels rise, and marine pollution clogs the beaches. This sculpture serves as an anchor to build a climate culture.

Unfortunately, I did not capture a photograph, but do look out for the sculpture when you next visit.

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The eerie black steel hull of the Meisho Maru shipwreck is an iconic sight in Agulhas. The ship ran aground and the wreckage has stood vigil against the waves since 16th November 1980. But this Japanese fishing vessel holds a remarkable tale as everyone on board survived, leaving the steel ship to its end against the rocks of Cape Agulhas. Ironically, the boat ran aground only a kilometre from the lighthouse’s warning beam of light.

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Our next stop for a night or two was with my dear friend Louise and her charming husband Sam, who live in a double-storey home with views of the fynbos, the sea, and the surrounding landscape of the Reserve.

Louise is Sunshine. Everything you think about that could qualify for the name is relevant to Louise. She’s fun, warm, caring, game for anything, a host with the most, and her home is a warm, familiar cocoon where guests can wrap themselves in essentials like friendship, kindness, empathy and genuine interest. Her motto is "you don't need much to thrive, a little bit of nourishment and sunshine is all it takes to flourish."

She and Sam love the outdoors; they are keen gardeners who love birds, trees, and the nocturnal critters who come out to forage in the garden at night. Every plant is indigenous and almost has permission to run wild.

On our first morning, we all set off on our bikes to explore the area around them. We stopped frequently to catch our breath, to photograph the landscape and the plants, and to listen to interesting anecdotes and experiences from those who live in this pristine haven.

The Veld was ablaze with colour and a variety of different plants. While the rest of the gang went ahead, I dawdled behind them, my nose to the ground, enjoying the indigenous flora all around me. I suppose when you live amongst such beauty, you will become slightly blase about it? I think my travels have sparked a curiosity that often compels me to look more closely at my surroundings. My head might be in the clouds, but my nose and eyes are firmly focused on the ground. 

This is their Suiderstrand, and we had the opportunity to share their piece of heaven with them, guiding us and gently leading us back into our familiars.

The following morning, Butch and I set off on our bikes to explore Struisbaai. This area has never been at the top of my wish list, mainly because I found the village a little, dare I say, boring.

The landscape is flat, with early-1960s architecture following the completion of the fishing harbour in 1959.

I always found the architecture unimaginative, quite institutional, square or oblong boxes with steel or predictable wooden windows, asbestos roofs, a lot of South African Railway, or post office, governmental housing face-brick (my least favourite building material and one that will bite me on the derriere later! Karma, they say, is a bitch.)

Fast forward to today, and I am delighted to say that I was blown away by the improvement in the village’s aesthetics. The transformation is remarkable and exciting.

From an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan. Many homes are white (my favourite paint colour), and windows and doors have been upgraded to modern designs, there are seamless stacking doors, aluminium door and window frames in a range of colours from white to black and even school-house windows. Roofs are no longer asbestos (or have received a lick of paint). Modern homes have mushroomed, yet old houses have been transformed into quaint cottages with a lot of pavement appeal.

Now I can see why this is such a popular holiday destination, loved by hundreds of families in the Western Cape, the Boland, and the Overberg. I believe people have emigrated from South Africa in search of greener pastures only to return to their beloved Struisbaai. I can see why.

The harbour is still a busy, productive launching area for small and large fishing vessels and a favourite spot to launch ski-boats during the summer holidays. Butch bought a magnificent fresh yellowtail for supper, which he later braaied to perfection.

Congratulations, Struisbaai, your transformation from rustic to ravishing is incredible.

Every sunset was a masterpiece, and we’d rush upstairs with our sundowners to enjoy the last pink rays before they tumbled into the ocean.

Butch did a sterling job of braaiing the yellowtail, which we tucked into once the sun had set, and all we could hear were the breakers crashing onto the shore. Louise's table was a cosy affair around her small antique table. To accompany the fish, we had a family favourite, potato salad with all the traditional trimmings, a fresh sourdough loaf and a proper garden salad.

We did not overstay our welcome and have been invited back. I can’t wait to return to your beautiful sanctuary, Louise and Sam, you make life seem so effortless, colourful and fabulous.

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On a fine, windless, blue sky morning, we set off on the final leg of this journey. We took the dirt road adjacent to the National Park and enjoyed being the only vehicle on the road.

The 171-year-old lighthouse’s light was extinguished in August 2024 by a lightning strike, which left the building severely damaged. After extensive renovations, it reopened a year later.

The iconic red-and-white-striped lighthouse was the third lighthouse built in South Africa and the second-oldest still operating, after Green Point lighthouse, and is operated by Transnet’s Port Authority.

In 2016, the American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) identified the lighthouse as a prominent engineering project, and it is now an International Historic Civil Engineering Landmark. Bravo!

I love the preservation of thatched, white lime-washed old fishermen’s cottages and labourers’ cottages we passed on our way.

 

The rains had only recently stopped, and the land was still saturated with large pans of water in the wetlands, still visible.

This year’s wheat crop was ripe and golden, ready for the harvest, and the first Blue Cranes had arrived. Next would be the Buzzards, Harriers and Kites who feast on the critters and rodents scuttling about between the rows of threshed wheat.

The first house on the farm Vogel Struis Kraal came to our attention, a sign that we were near Elim, a village on the Agulhas Plain. The settlement was established in August 1824 by German missionaries as a Moravian mission station.

When selecting a location, the missionaries placed a high priority on proximity to water and on terrain suitable for planting vines to produce wine for communion.

Besides preaching the Gospel, the missionaries taught the villagers a variety of trades and skills. Elim’s thatcher’s continue to be renowned for their craftsmanship.

The village is picturesque and has changed little over the years. It is filled with colourful cottages, fruit trees and fynbos. All the roads in the town lead to the thatch-roofed church. The community, still mainly Moravian, consists of farmers, farm workers and artisans.

Elim is becoming known for its fynbos exports and as an emerging wine-producing area.

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When we were children, (and I did the same thing with my children), parents would say “the first one to see the sea is the winner!” we all wanted to be winners of course so our attention would shift from the car cricket to competitive children craning our necks, sitting upright and concentrating on the view rather than who was breathing down someone’s neck or hunger pangs or the need to stop for a leak and focus on the horizon. The kid with car sickness immediately felt some relief, while the smallest had to sit on his feet for extra height. This time, sitting in the middle paid dividends, while the guy behind Dad, in the “window” seat, saw the ocean last.

Half a century later, I had that same feeling of expectation bubbling in my tummy. Who is going to see the sea first? We scuttled over a knoll, and there it was. I screamed, “I can see the sea!” Indeed, far away in the distance was a thin blue line on the horizon, our first glimpse of Walker Bay.

We rolled through the Overberg’s wheat fields on a perfectly windless sunny day.

Before we knew it, we were back on the dirt road, slowing down in the one-horse village of Baardskeerdersbos, where coffee shops and bars were opening their doors for lunch within the hour.

We’d take the scenic route to Gansbaai Campground and made a slow meander through the now familiar landscapes of Uylens Kraal,  Franskraal, where I saw that the Van Der Merwe house had been painted a sandy colour, no more face brick there either,  and my parents’ little cottage had blossomed into a double storey with two garages, American shutters and a paved driveway. The house’s selling point was still the unsurpassed view of the rocks at low tide and the crashing waves onto shore at high tide.

The old house on the little peninsula was as serene as ever, and I wondered, as I always do, who can be so fortunate to live there behind the little white picket fence on a private beach with a large NO Trespassing sign. “Reeked of Old Money!” I thought with a smattering of envy.

We cruised through Kleinbaai, where a dozen mega-shark cage-diving boats were on their trailers in the harbour, and here, in Kleinbaai, the aesthetics had improved too. Bravo to the new generation of homeowners who realise looks do count.

All along the coast, we trundled, the Honey Badger slowed down on the old dirt road, negotiating the rocks, potholes and ditches with her usual grace as the road led us to the Danger Point Lighthouse.

Butch decided he’d had enough driving for one day, and the salty sea air would do us good.

Gansbaai Caravan Park was just right with its view of the fishing harbour, fishing trawlers and a huge flock of Arctic Terns on the rocks.

We were well and truly home. The sudden rainfall mirrored the pang I felt as our windows became speckled with tiny raindrops.

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Gansbaai would be our destination for a few days, not many days, but we’d walk down to the harbour, have fish and chips. We’d walk around town to all the familiar places, explore the second-hand shops, and poke our nose into Fish Fever, the tackle shop adored by fishermen, and we’d see the geese (die Ganse) foraging for snails.

81,155km to get here, and in my mind, this was the end of our African adventure. The only thought that went in an endless loop through my mind was “and what now?” Had I become an adventure junkie?

Fortunately, life has our path mapped, and in the silence around me, all I had to do was take it one day at a time, and everything would pan out exactly as it should.

I remember this passage by Cormac McCarthy in his brilliant book The Road: “They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether, as is often the way with travellers approaching the end of a journey.”

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