A road runs through it. Literally. Barrydale is really just a handful of buildings scattered across the highway, albeit a rather pleasant highway.
From Montagu, it’s the R62, through the Wildehondskloofhoogte and Op de Tradouw passes, the backdrop the Langeberg mountains.
If you’re coming from Swellendam, on the R324, however, you travel the spectacular Tradouw Pass into the Tradouw Valley. It was originally built by Thomas Bain, master road builder, and really should be driven at least once by any self-respecting road-tripper.
As you do, orange and ochre cliffs tower over you, green scrub gallantly holding out against the relentless sun.
It is hot and dusty, and starkly beautiful, raptors soaring on the thermals, the sky an impossible cerulean.
Whereas quaint, westerly McGregor is all gentility and shoo-wow, and Montagu all history and fruit, Barrydale is Route 62’s swaggering rebel child. The leather-jacket-wearing wild one.
It is a small town filled with eccentrics and artists, misfits and adventurers, yarn-spinners and stoep-sitters, pulled together by a shared shucking of convention.
If you’re in a hurry to get to Uniondale, you may just pull off the road, join the bikers for a legendary Diesel and Crème milkshake before jumping back in your car. But this would be a misadventure; it would mean missing out on the deep, yarn-spinning joy of spending time in this hamlet.
So start with the milkshake, and perhaps a burger, and then cross the highway, roll down the hill a block or two, and fetch up on the verandah of the Karoo Art Hotel. Book in for the night, maybe two. Or more.
Barrydale is that kind of place. It seeps into you.
The town is undergoing something of a revival, driven by the refurbishing of the hotel by Rick and Sue Melvill. They have brought back the romance, filled it with art, and invited all sorts of characters to come and play.
Weekends are often given over to such things as Harleydale, when the hotel is filled with Harley Davidson-driving bikers; or Ferraridale, when it is the Ferrari drivers who pull into town, or art happenings, workshops and other events.
On Sundays, there is open mic night at the pub, when locals gather with whatever visitors are in town and entertain each other.
An old hack once said that if you blow into any town in search of a story, always hit the pub first. It is there that you will hear everything you need to know. And this is perhaps true of Barrydale. Locals and visitors alike congregate over the bar counter here, on the corner of the hotel, where stories are told and tales are swapped.
Emotions can run high, too, and it is not unheard of for a push or shove to be dealt out, a few angry words spoken. It is, of course, all forgotten by morning.
It is also here that you can listen in on the village’s stories. The one about the out-of-town man who bought a house to refurbish, only to return to find the builder had done a splendid job – but had neglected to put in a bathroom.
Or the time that after a few jars, a group of blokes went to help the bank manager count the money, because he had had a skinful too, and was a bit addled.
Are these true stories, or just yarns spun on a stoep? They are whatever you want them to be.
It has become quite the place, has Barrydale ’s Karoo Art Hotel.
A Do-Nothing, Do-Plenty Oasis
Yet besides this, there is not much to see and do in Barrydale, at least not in the traditional check-list sense. But that is perhaps the point. If you want to step off the rat race for a while, relax, recuperate, find your zen, you need to turn off that R62 and stay a while.
Have a long cold drink on the hotel’s stoep out front, keeping an eye on Sputnik, the stylish Rolls owned by the man who owns the hotel. And then amble down the road to Anton de Villiers’ House of Books. It is exactly that – a house filled with books, every room packed from floor to ceiling. Here you can find Nordic noir side by side with Shakespeare’s sonnets, slushy romcoms stacked near antique Afrikaner tomes. There are rare finds, high-brow academic works and pulp fiction; non-fiction, classical works and Nobel Prize winners, too. If you don’t find something to read here, you won’t find anything to read anywhere.
Buy an armful; you’ll have plenty of time to devour them.
Just up the road, Magpie sells upcycled treasures, chandeliers made from found objects, strange birds and spiders, lights made from plastic bottles. The upcycled peace doves are bought by travellers and taken all over the world, where photographs of them in unlikely places are posted on Instagram. #peacedove.
Down the road, at the edge of town, opposite the only petrol station, Barrydale Hand Weavers turns out beautiful pure cotton handwoven items, from soft as silk baby blankets to large absorbent towels, stylish Turkish towels, table linen, dish cloths it would be a crime to sully.
It is housed at the Barry Joseph Distillery and is owned and operated by Arran Bastable, who hails from Scotland. You can taste the brandy, then tour the establishment, going behind the scenes to watch as the weavers work the looms, and then splash a whole wad of cash in the little shop.
There are walks and hikes to slough off the laziness – meditative morning walks; you can walk the labyrinth, even walk it with sound healing; go on a tasting tour; go on a botanical walk; or explore the mountains.
The town has undergone a bit of a growth spurt. Yvette Anderson has established Yamù Botanicals at Karoolkie, where she is regenerating the land and growing herbs, which are harvested and dried and sold as teas for whatever ails you.
Nicole Huke runs the Analog Photo Gallery, while analog evangelist Graham Abbott organises the annual Barrydale Analog Photographic Festival.
In the afternoons, the wind – named Betsy by residents – blows through the pass and buffets the town. Decades ago, the early farmers planted bluegums to protect their crops from the harsh afternoon weather. You’ll be glad of them too, as you wind down.
Another tale: a ghost walks the halls of the Karoo Art Hotel. Anna Joubert worked behind the bar, and after closing time, late at night, she glided through the hostelry, in search of more intimate entertainment. Today, it is said she still haunts the hallways.
If you are searching for some peace, a place to turn your back on the cares of the world Barrydale is not such a place. But then again, perhaps it is. Perhaps the madness and creativity that fills the town will infect you, encouraging you to follow your own creative path. It is a town for the ages, a place to switch off and to switch on. It’s a town where you can find your zen or let your freak flag fly.
This article was written by Lorraine Kearney for Getaway’s January 2023 print edition. Find us on shelves for more!
(Pictures by Peet Mocke)
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