About New Year

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It didn’t start well, when the guys renting the place next door put their new Now That’s What I Call Shit Cover Versions album on their big flashy speaker at about 4pm. Who knew that ABBA’s pisspoor Rasputin could be any worse than it actually is?

Well, stick it on a generic dance beat, add a no name songstress from Pretoria, and wow… new levels of horror can so easily be achieved.

Thankfully, we were actually only treated to brief periods of high volume nastiness, and because of the gale force wind, we were seeking shelter inside for at least some of the time anyway. It should be noted that the last braai of 2022 was conducted during the last loadshedding slot of 2022, and featured a picanha steak which has to be amongst the best 3 things I have ever cooked.

Just. Incredible.

(Though I say it myself)

Off to Struisbaai beach at 10:30, but the usual car park behind the dunes had been taken over by gazebos, loud music and a lot of very, very drunk people. Something felt not quite right. And so we moved down towards the harbour in search of something that felt a bit more safe and calm.

We found it, but I’m going to just come out and say it here: it wasn’t as much fun as usual. A combination of strong wind, high tide and an (at least) partial ban on private fireworks just killed the vibe. The organised fireworks display was decent, if unspectacular (in so much as a fireworks display can be unspectacular), and I just wanted to have a pre-Covid Struisbaai New Year back again.

Still, it was very well attended, the several thousand spectators dwarfing the 20 or so joy sponges on the Municipality Facebook page saying that the blood of their pets would be at the door of the Mayor (yes, seriously) for allowing any sort of display at all.

If only fireworks had existed when they got Keith, their Maltese Poodle.

Home just about 1, to find the next door had apparently Klippie and Coked themselves to a midnight standstill, and all was (mostly) peaceful in the village. Indeed, our only issue was that in our absence, the beagle had helped itself to a packet of cake mix and a bag of Woolies Olive Crostini, which rather limits our snacking options for this evening. It’s also rather restricted the beagle’s movement for this morning.

Lump.

Today will be filled with lazing, beagle walking, napping and another evening braai, just as holidays should be.

Happy New Year, readers.

Tourist season down south

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I’m sure I’ve mentioned before (although I can’t easily find out where, as you’ll read below) about the difficulties faced by many small businesses in Cape Agulhas during holiday season. Put simply, because of the region being just too far out of Cape Town to easily attract day or weekend visitors, there are about 50 weeks of relative calm and quiet (which is why I love it down here), followed by 2 weeks of annual chaos.

Compare and contrast with Hermanus which is 75 minutes out of Cape Town (if you ignore the nonsense of Somerset West) and is busy most weekends with tourists from the Mother City. They can run businesses with plenty of staff all year round. They’re experienced in dealing with large numbers of people, and even when December is busier, they’re ready to go.

But Hermanus used to be lovely. Now it’s just like another busy city. So actually, vive le difference.

Reasonably though, you can’t set up a small business in Agulhas to effectively deal with that sort of wild seasonal dichotomy.

And so there are issues with too few tables at restaurants, not enough goods in supermarkets, slow service in both, and general frustrations for everyone concerned: the tourists are hungry and could be on the beach, the businesses could be getting more people in and out through their doors and making more money. And that’s so annoying, because this is their one fortnight chance to make proper moolah to last them through the harder times ahead.

There’s no easy answer.

And then there’s the water and the internet. Struisbaai relies on boreholes to get water for its +/- 4,000 residents. There’s no rain here in summer. Boreholes need electricity though, and there isn’t a lot of that about at the moment. There’s quite literally not enough water to go around at the best of times.

But there are over 20,000 tourists visiting throughout Christmas and New Year. They don’t care about the water restrictions, because their GP-registered Chelsea Randburg tractor is near the sea, and will rust overnight if they don’t hose it down each evening. And so we literally run out of water some days.

But remember that if you are a tourist, the place you’re visiting is completely yours for the duration of your stay. Never mind the other people visiting, and certainly don’t worry about the local residents – they’re just there for you to use and abuse as you wish.

But that’s another story.

Anyway, we’re a bit tight on resources, so it’s a good job they’re not planning on building 650 new housing units down here.

Oh. Wait.

And the internet at our cottage in our little village is via one mobile operator. There’s a single small mast here, and it doesn’t like loadshedding. It also doesn’t like it when the village is full of people. It can’t cope. And so this post, while being typed on my laptop, will then have to be transferred to my phone via Whatsapp, formatted on the WordPress app, moved into one of the larger villages nearby and uploaded from there.

Needs must.

I don’t like it when it’s so busy here, but I get it: without these two weeks each year, there wouldn’t be anything here for the other 50.

But I am looking forward to some February sunshine and a beach to myself (and the beagle) again.

They’re back again!

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After a couple of years off because of you-know-what…

It is going to be – as the above flyer suggests – MASSIEWE!

But this year’s effort does raise an interesting question. This is clearly an organised display, whereas previous years have been all about the joys of bring your own fireworks. And while (hopefully), this will be a bigger display with bigger fireworks, how are they planning on stopping the several thousand people bringing their own pyrotechnics onto the beach? And what will be the implications of them doing that? Because having bought them for beach on New Years Eve (like every other year), you don’t want to then drive them all the way back up to Pretoria after the holidays, so you’ll let them off back at your airbnb before you head home.

One of the main benefits of having a given area and time to discharge your explosives has always been that it was (relatively) easy to control and have appropriate fire and medical services in situ. It’s still a crazy couple of hours, and things can get a bit iffy, but it’s a lot of fun as long as you don’t get maimed.

But if they ban the fireworks from the beach, sadly, they’re asking for trouble in the next few days.

Quickie

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Long drive down to Agulhas along much busier than normal roads.

And the Southern Tip is packed. Loads of Vaalies who probably didn’t go to Durban this year for E.coli-related reasons. It’ll do the local economy the world of good, but it’s much fuller then we’re used to, and much fuller than I like it.

Still, it will be a great few days away. Sun is shining, wind is pomping, and the internet is crawling.

So I’ll get this up, and maybe add more if and when I can.

Right now though: a nap.

Early start

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Last night was a late one at the airport as Granddad arrived for a three week vitamin D boost in the South African sun. Sadly, he was greeted into the Mother City with unseasonable – although perhaps not unexpected – rain.

But this morning has at least got a bit more summery.

I’m still not sure why I got up at 7am though (and that was an hour after my wife!)

And that wind can ‘tsek.

Tomorrow, we’ll head down to the cottage for New Year and few days away on the beach.

But for now, it’s a going to be a chilled day with an afternoon nap so that I’m still alive and able to watch the ridiculously late kick-off in Blackpool this evening.

A late night ahead, but hopefully an enjoyable one. And on the big screen too, thanks to the magic of having electricity from 8:30 onwards.