I have recently learned that elementary geography is not standard across our colourful nation. Being a born and bred Joburger, I’m convinced that the writers at Miller-Longman textbooks didn’t feel it was necessary to enlighten us Vaalies on the intricacies of the Cape’s epic coastline. I have always had the idea that the tip of Africa was a well rounded congruous shoreline with Cape Town at the southernmost tip.
It seems I was completely wrong.
Whether this is indeed the fault of Mr. Miller and Mr. Longman, or purely my own geographical ineptitude remains debatable. But of this I am convinced: had I been born and raised in Cape Town, I would know the contours like the back of my hand.
So, with my internal GPS unusually out of sync, I left the southern suburbs on a southbound train (go figure) to Kalk Bay. This was my first real “˜out of town’ experience as a new Cape Town resident.
The train ride in itself was an experience. Heading in what I believed to be the complete opposite direction, we soon chugged down to sea level and started rounding the circumference of False Bay. I fought the urge to point out that the sea must have moved. I have, since then, come to learn of the talon like Table Mountain National Park that claws eastward and down around the aptly named False Bay.
The train ride along the shoreline is breathtaking and even a little scary. At times the tracks seem to teeter precariously on the edge of the small rocky escarpment, just meters away from the sea.
Only thirty minutes out of Cape Town, Kalk Bay feels like a different world. While walking down the main road, the word “˜quaint’ sprang to mind. But Kalk Bay is so much more than just that. It seems like the kind of town that time has not forgotten, but rather seems to visit only on occasion. It brings with it the important items, such as tarred roads, traffic lights, cellphone reception and Castle Light draught, but for the most part doesn’t seem too bothered about unloading its entire bag of modern endowments. Nobody that lives there seems to mind and neither did I. Everything seemed to be working and moving at the pace that it should be, and that makes a welcome change from regular city life.
The vintage clothing stores are what really caught my eye. Styles and designs that might be considered an “˜ontploffing‘ or a “˜fabric meltdown’ by trendy city fashionados seem at home and quite enticing in their street side windows. Only on occassion did they stir up the impulse to abandon life and join a commune in the Klein Karoo, or find the biblical Joseph and give him his coat back. For the most part, the clothing and the arts and crafts seemed like little treasures, exclusive and reminiscent of life in the colourful bay.
I spent most of the afternoon at the Brass Bell Restaurant right on the ocean. Having lunch and then being able to jump out of the window for a quick swim goes against everything my mother taught me when I was a kid, but I found it a refreshing take on modern day dining. The waves crashing over the rocks, slowly filling up the adjoining rock pool right beside me made me feel safe, but aware of the incomparable power of the sea.
Unfortunately the gripping South Africa/India cricket game all but ruined any chance I had of leaving the Bell and wandering through the colourful bath houses and onto the fishermans quay. In fact, it even caused me to miss the last train home. Fortunately I managed to nab a shotgun ride back to the city from a friend, but not before popping into Cape to Cuba for a well made mojito and some genuine lounging around. Kalk Bay, I will see you again. As soon as this bloody cricket is over.
Image courtesy of Ian Junior on Flickr
