Cape Point: Brightwater ...

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Make no mistake ... Cape Point is my favourite space but, for some reason, Gifkommetjie and Brightwater don't feature.

I do know why, but it's sort of antithetical to social networking tools to spell it out. There's no getting out of it, I guess, so the reason I don't bound down to Brightwater and its long, pristine stretches of powdery sand, curious rock formations and river mouths whenever I hit the Point is ... Other People. They live there. Well, they have houses there.

I've seen them. I was sleeping on a rock one day, woke up, and stood up to relieve myself. A guy with a large stomach and his wife were pulling their kids through the water in a disposable, inflatable boat of sorts. They were no more than a hundred metres away. I snapped off a couple of shots and got the hell out of there.

These days you never know — they might have been armed.

Besides, it's illegal. These Other People supposedly own the place and a sign to that effect, promising arrest and persecution should one tread their hallowed ground, is allegedly placed in a point of prominence at the point, i.e. the Hoek van Bobbejaan. I wouldn't know ... I studiously avoid such signs. Were I to seek them out, I shudder to think of the multiplicity of crimes and punishments to which I'd subject myself. Were I of such a nature, I'd probably also stick to well-trodden paths and couldn't imagine anything more boring.

Cape Point caters to people like me. There's a lot of land and any number of prohibitive signs would get lost there. Your path is your own and you either make it or you don't.


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It's easy to make a path at Brightwater; the beach stretches to forever on all sides, shading Noordhoek at every turn. Leading to Olifantsbospunt and bay, the endless expanse — painfully cold in winter and furnace-hot in summer, is broken by a series of small outcrops of rock forming inlets of cliched Cerulean calm. And then, dominating all — though you'd not see them until several huudred metres away, the houses in which the Other People reside. When they feel like it.

There are no more than four or five of them supplemented by large, built braai areas and a boatshed but, man, are they an eyesore! Decorated in a blend of Belville-Khayalitsha chic, their names — dutifully plastered to the walls on driftwood or ceramic blobs, are so banal as to be immediately repressed, and their exteriors, evoking the apartheid-era suburban architecture of the mid-70s, mar the landscape.

I imagine the great Tretchikoff came here — for inspiration. It's beautiful; in its own way.

It is a beautiful place; marred by buildings, people and other ugly things. And it's illegal to go there. So let's get out of here and head to Olifantsbosbaai and Cape Point as we know and like it.

Note: In the picture at top, the beach is disturbed by myriad footprints. I assure you they weren't caused by the Other People. Ostriches and other birds, especially Ibis, gulls, assorted waders, and the now-ubiquitous Egyptian geese and crows wander these shores. This particular stretch had seen a convocation of cormorants.