Sandy

I researched hiking routes from Hout Bay and it emerged that a simple and safe one is over the dunes into Sandy Bay, so in that direction I plopped. The descent from the top of the dunes to the beach was totally lovely, and it was awesome to get the wide expanse of Atlantic Ocean for the first time in a while. Sandy Bay is an optional nudist beach and there were a few people on the rocks in their birthday suits, avoiding those pesky tan lines.

I continued along the coast on the path to Llandudno. This is a stunningly beautiful beachside and hillside community with a gorgeous beach but is painfully exclusive and only has one entryway to the main road, making it feel like a high-end enclave which tries to limit movement of anyone who can’t afford to live here, i.e. 99.5% of South Africans.

Except for the people who work in the gardens and kitchens of wealthy residents’ homes; they are permitted to come and go between the houses and the bus stop at the top of the hill. I went to the bus stop to return to Hout Bay but wasn’t allowed to board as I didn’t have a specific card, nor is there a pavement in either direction for more than 50 metres from the Llandudno entrance, and after this red signs indicate that walking alongside the highway is a crime. The bus driver shrugged at me and told me get an Uber (which I couldn’t because the network was too poor, but at least that is obviously an option available to the likes of me with cash in the bank, a smartphone and ability to keep data topped up). The scenario angered me on behalf of poor South Africans who have no back-up options and I was surprised that even the road system is trapping people when the government has more than enough resources to install pedestrian routes.

This place should provide critical food for thought for anyone interested in the post-apartheid re-engineering of South African society. A system of spatial apartheid is alive and well and I didn’t feel comfortable in Llandudno. I should have retraced my steps and joined the nudists.