By Kathryn Fourie

Coming from the warm waters that lap gently at the maize coloured sands of the East Coast of Southern Africa, it’s no surprise that I was in complete awe when I first hopped out of a car on the other side of the country to face the frigid Atlantic which bites viciously into the beaches north of Cape Town. I come from a place where banana trees compete with sugar cane in a thick tropical atmosphere, its jungly, mosquitofied terrain where one sweats a great deal, and coastal food is limited to ‘fush and chups’ and Wimpy burgers. The West Coast is like a whole different planet my friends!

I don’t want to generalise about the West Coast too much, as it’s a massive stretch of land. Instead I will focus on the desolately beautiful arc from Elands Bay to Lamberts Bay. This is obviously due to my surfing tendencies, but also because the further North I go the more my head opens up with the vast space around me and I begin to calm down and forget about anything trivial. Yes, I could easily become a laid back camper van hippie up here, way too easily. I have made the pilgrimage three times this year. Ahem. Yes. Have yet to hook a rich farmer with a cranking left hand point break on his property, but I figure a few more visits should do it.

I suppose the first majorly noticeable thing about the beaches is that the sand is super white, and bordered by a sweep of arctic blue water. Kelp bobs around in the front, and no matter how many times you tell yourself ‘It’s just kelp for gods sake!’ you will kak your broek over and over again when it whacks into your legs. When the red tide is at play (phytoplankton breeding like no tomorrow making the sea smelly and eerily red) and you can’t see your feet beneath you, kelp will scare you even more. Trust me. The only slightly positive thing about red tide is that it warms the water up marginally, and gives you an excuse to gargle with Jagermeister after every surf, lest there be germs in your mouth. Well that’s my crews story and were sticking to it.

The water is bliksem cold, and I have only swum in it without a wetsuit and booties once. Tell you what though, that was the quickest way to cure a hangover ever. And why was I hung over? Ahhh…the Lamberts Bay Crayfish Festival! I fortuitously found a flyer for the Crayfish festival on my first trip this year, and vowed to come back to see Afrikaans kultuur at its best (much to my Afrikaans friends dismay who swear that most Afrikaners are ‘not like that in real life’). I was not to be disappointed, and I will treasure those precious moments drinking brandy and coke, eating fresh raisin bread with farm butter and preserved makataan (wild watermelon) almost as much as being 5m away from my idol, Kurt Darren.

The ou did 20 push-ups on stage, made grown women cry in ecstatic screeches of passion, and sang ‘Kaptein span die seile’…twice. Damn he’s good. Please click here to watch the music video of the above song, but be warned it may make you cry, for a variety of reasons. Also, I had to HAD TO include this picture of a drinks dispenser made from an Impala backside that was for sale at the fleamarket. You pull the uh, dingle berries, and brandy comes shooting out the pipe at the back. Genius. And they accept Visa or Mastercard.

Ah but what about the crayfish I hear you ask! Yes, there were crayfish at the festival, and that is what the West Coast is famous for – but I wouldn’t mission to the festival for that as it’s out of season and the ‘rooi see spinnekop’ come out of the depths of the freezer as opposed to the ocean. If you really want crayfish, come in season and head down to the docks and ask around with furtive glances, you should get them for roughly R30 a kreef – but don’t be a prat and buy them out of season because you’re being selfish and unethical.

I know crayfish are scrumpy, they are delicious, but really – if you’re into your food and want to experience something that will change your perception of coastal dining forever – head to the Muisboskerm open air restaurant. About 10 minutes out of Lamberts Bay along the ‘grondpad’ (dirtroad) that joins Elands to Lamberts one finds the wooden structure where people pay R175 to sit on the beach and tuck into some of the most divine chow this side of the Southern Hemisphere. Starting off with mounds of beautiful grapes, pickled fish, local olives and ‘bokkom’ (salty fish biltong), one moves onto the main course that consists of Greek salad, enormous jars of home-made pickled onions, black cast iron pots housing treasures of golden, gingery-sugary sweet potatoes, and braai grids packed with whole grilled fish of every variety.

Seafood paella composed of fresh mussels, crayfish, calamari and fish peppered with spices and yellow rice is limitless, while strips of freshly herbed and fried calamari are brought out, jostling for space with slivers of fillet steak. And just when you think it’s over bread loaves the size of an A-Span rugby players thigh are whipped out the ovens and served with butter and green fig preserve and cheese, with the most unbelievable koeksusters I have ever tasted piled up in silver bowls next to steaming kettles of coffee. Hungry yet? Call them on 0274321017 to make bookings.

Of course if you want something a little less full on there is the Plaas Kombuis (Farm Kitchen) tea house just over the road from the Farmer Burgers surf spot further along the road. Here you need to pull in and follow instructions to ‘Gong Asseblief’, which means one has to whack the enormous spanner hanging on the porch into a piece of metal to get the attention of the staff, who will come over to take your order. A delightfully quaint restaurant is set up in the old-school farm kitchen where tea and scones or sandwiches made the West Coast way are always available. Now if that doesn’t beat a Wimpy burger I’ll eat my rubber booties.

It’s hard to define what tickles my fancy about the West Coast. Maybe it’s just the way that life is a hell of a lot simpler than what I’m used to, and looks to stay simple for a while. People are friendly, they put up with your hacking attempts at speaking Afrikaans, they are proud of their area and every person I have ever asked help from has always been kind and patient.

So maybe it’s the people, coupled with the feeling of space that I haven’t experienced in many places aside from the Australian outback. One of the things you must do is pull your car over in the dark and walk a few metres off the side of the road and just listen…to the nothing. Dune fynbos all around, pitch black skies throbbing with stars that make your eyes sore and a breeze cold enough to make your skin tingle. ‘Tis lovely out there, it really is. Considering you can get to this ‘other planet’ in just over two hours from Cape Town, well I’d recommend the adventure.