There is something surreal about waking up with your tent right beside the sea, going for a morning swim before your first cup of coffee and only having to walk five steps to do so. Only the night before, the sun had already gone down before my trusty travel partner and I even reached Paternoster. Upon arriving, there were only a few paraffin lanterns to light the way around the camp. With no electricity, it was impossible to see the beautiful beach side cove we had stepped into.
That was until I woke up at 9am to an already scorching summer’s day. Even though the Beach Camp in Cape Columbine nature reserve was full for the weekend, I would never have known. Sitting beside the fire with only one or two other couples scattered around, one could be mistaken into thinking that you are isolated from the rest of the world.
Everyone was lulled into the camp’s laid-back, almost hushed atmosphere. The loudest noises came from birds perched on nearby boulders, bongo drum beats in the still of the evening and seals resounding in unison. The bubbly host, Sonya, assured us that it was indeed seals and not an all-night Klipdrift party on the coast.
The ultimate pleasure of this place was that I could do as much or as little as I desired and could still be utterly content. And by “˜much’ I mean jumping across salt-encrusted boulders and kelp-filled crevices, reading a magazine in one of the chill zone’s hammocks or playing chess whilst sipping mate through a bombilla in front of the bar. I almost wished I had more time here to enjoy doing nothing.
It was the first time I had tasted yerba mate since Buenos Aires six years ago and probably the only time I’d get to enjoy it for a while, as the beach camp boasts the first Yerba mate bar in Africa. I had been warned the night before to enjoy the mate, served in a gourd, only during daylight hours if I wanted to get any sleep at all. If I had to describe it’s taste I would have to say its very similar to green tea and more bitter when very hot.
The only time we did leave the camp was to search for waves in Shelley Point. Despite imperfect conditions and fairly little waves, I grabbed my board and jumped into the water on the empty beach front and had a merry time riding as many waves as possible before the gray sky looked like it would burst.
Passing the blue and white fisherman’s cottages with old boats outside, we made our way to Paternoster’s main beach. Red, black and blue fishing boats dotted the brown sand. With names like MacNoster, Free Willy and Vaatjie these assorted boats gave Paternoster such a pretty face. Fishing nets lay discarded, children frolicked in the water and I got hungry from the smell of hake and chips in the air. With no cutlery in sight, I ate my fish and chips and browsed around the little kiosks and market with it’s offering of mosaics, jewellery, wire art and paintings before heading back.
For many people, the beach camp may allow you to feel right at home. Everyone washes their own dishes, prepares meals in the tented kitchen and shares the bathroom. As Daniel, an artist and staff member, made wire starfish, penguins and fish, some guys welcomed the night with bongo drums whilst others lit the braai fire. General banter and chatter continued way into the night interspersed between the bar, the beach and the fireplace. A fire is a sure sign that you are camping, but roasted marshmallows will leave no doubt in your mind that you are well truly away from home, escaping the real world.
Whatever sadness I felt when leaving the beach camp, disappeared once I entered West Coast National Park and totally morphed into disbelief when I first laid eyes on Kraalbaai. Hurriedly grabbing all my beach gear, I practically hurtled down the wooden steps and onto the deserted stretch of sand that was caressed by the mesmerizing turquoise ocean. More than not being able to grasp just how perfectly blue this water was, I couldn’t understand why I had not been here as an adult. R30 seemed like a small price to pay to enter this tropical sanctuary.
Moored houseboats and yachts swayed in the oh-so-gentle breeze and the only movement came from a woman on a standup paddle board and another water skiing. The water felt just as inviting as it looked and if I didn’t get so much highly salted water in my eyes, I may have floated in there forever. Nearby at preekstoel, a holey rock formation, a kite surfer whizzed past a swimsuit shoot. For a moment I had forgotten that I was still in South Africa. And all it took was a two hour drive out of Cape Town in my Golf to enjoy the superb beauty. Driving away from the blissful bay, with my wire paternoster pig and sand between my toes, I made mental notes as to when I would escape here again.
To stay at the Beach Camp: Tel 082-926-2267, email [email protected], www.beachcamp.co.za
For more information on visiting West Coast National Park: Tel 022-772-2144, www.sanparks.org
