Saturday, 14 May 2016

Suburban beach life

Sat 14 May 2016 - Ballito

Elfie, our host, was helping out at a B&B around the corner for the weekend to allow her friend to attend a wedding so after breakfast we drove there to drop the keys and say our farewells. She was her normal chipper self and enthused about our itinerary for the next few days.

Retracing our steps through the village and back to the main N2 road we were soon speeding through mile after mile of sugarcane fields. The road tolls, although small for us, do seem to keep the locals off and we were at Ballito, our next stop, in no time. Following the GPS on Glenn’s phone (a real help) we arrived at a large security post for the gated community where our host lives and after searching through emails and SMS messages we eventually found the instructions to allow us through.

Sylvia, our host, is a doctor and was at work but her housekeeper let us in and showed us to our room in a very modern, well furnished house - should be a comfortable night. We sat on the covered patio eating our sandwiches in the warm air, pondering what to do for the afternoon but, hey, we were by the sea, what else was there to do but go to the beach.

Grabbing a few essentials we donned our cozzies and made our way to Thompson’s Bay, a TripAdvisor recommendation, but after driving back and forth along Ocean View road a couple of times we were still struggling to find it until we spotted a lady having, what looked like, her first go on a scooter. Yvonne leaned out of the window to ask for directions and the lady and her partner/instructor offered to show us the way, which, it turned out, was only a couple of hundred metres away. We shouted our thanks and were then shown into a parking bay by a local guy who offered to watch our car for us. Hmmm.

A short walk down a narrow passage between two resorts, which explained why we couldn’t find it, and we were on a lovely sandy beach with a bored looking lifeguard sitting between two marker flags, surfboard and floats at the ready. We found a nice spot and laid in the warm, as opposed to boiling hot, sun for a couple of hours, something we hadn’t done for while.

As the sun sank low in the sky we found ourselves in the shade of some trees so packed our things and went to explore the headlands at either end of the small bay. As we left Yvonne asked some locals whether we should pay our ‘car security guard’ and how much. “Nothing” was the reply, “If he wants to sit there all day that’s his problem”. Good advice.

The first headland was a small rocky affair that we scrambled up in bare feet and watched a couple of fishermen, an Indian family taking dozens of photos and hundred of crabs scuttling around for scraps. They were amazingly nimble and climbed right to the top of the cliffs - the crabs that is, not the Indians.

After admiring the view we walked back across the beach to the other headland, the home of the infamous ‘hole in the wall’, a common euphemism in these parts for a rock arch. Passing the tidal bathing pool with its shabby toilets and changing rooms, another sign of this country’s decline, we arrived at, well, a hole in the wall. More like a doorway really that allows the footpath to access the next bay - no Durdle Door that’s for sure.

With our curiosity sated we returned to the car, offered our verbal thanks to our guard then returned to Sylvia’s house, where we met her daughter but still no sign of her. All the way home we’d debated what to do for dinner but with the Rugby European Champions Cup on TV, fast food was the only option so we settled down to watch Saracens muscle a victory over Racing 92 whilst munching Domino’s pizza and drinking beer and wine in very comfortable surroundings - home from home. 

During the match Sylvia arrived home, said hello, grabbed a shower, bolted some food down then took her daughter to a friends house. We managed a few words of conversation with her that evening as we sat on the sofa planning our next adventures in the Drakensberg Mountains but she was soon in bed - a busy lady!

Elfie takes a rare rest for a photo.
Our guides
Funky barnacles
Thompson's Bay

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