A day at the Bay

The east view from Honeyville

It was cold when I got up. I packed up my rooftent with cold hands in preparation for a trip to Jeffrey’s Bay (a disadvantage of a rooftent is that one has to pack up whenever one needs to drive the vehicle).

I was nervous about driving in traffic in a strange town, fearing that I would have an accident, get hijacked, not know where to park, get lost and have my car broken into. None of that happened. Jeffrey’s Bay is an easy town in which to find your way around and negotiate traffic (at least out of holiday season).

I had coffee at the beachfront, at a coffee house where the waitrons alerted patrons whenever dolphins showed themselves, leaping about in the surf. I watched a column of girls in wetsuits, in pairs, carrying their boards between them, being marched to the waterside by their surfing instructor. I exchanged second-hand books at a shop that seemed to be bursting with books, stacked to the ceiling and overflowing onto the pavement. I sought out a leather-work shop seeking to have a sandal repaired. The interior was dark, with strange objects lining the walls and with the ambience of a muti-shop. When I presented my broken sandal to the tall, sinister looking figure blocking the doorway, he looked me up and down and asked ‘How much you gonna pay?’. I suggested that he rather state his price, and settled on R20. He checked that I had that amount before accepting my sandal and disappearing with it into the interior. I collected it an half-hour later.

I shopped at the mall for a new back-pack and lunched there on a homemade pie and vegetables. Looking for the way back out of town, I passed a barber shop and stopped to have that done. Stepping out of there, I spotted an architecture office across the way, and stepped in to get some advice on the site development and approval processes that I am having to tackle for my erf.

Heading back home, there was heavy traffic on the narrow dirt road to Honeyville. There were protests on the main Hankey road, with protestors blocking the road, and heavy vehicles carrying farm produce to market were all diverting along our road.

When I was about to retire to my bed, I heard sounds of movement from the shed on the unoccupied erf down below my camping site, and feared that  there might be intruders there, but it was Nku, a worker on the eco-village who goes down there in the evening to have a smoke and listen to his music, as smoking is not permitted in his quarters, and his room-mates were already asleep.

Common Duiker
Grassbird

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