Cape of Pointy heeled shoes

The day commemorating the liberation of the Bastille and the beginnings of the French Revolution dawned to the strains of Billy Blanks encouraging me to kick that little bit higher. The sun had just risen and it was Tae-Bo hour, or Tae-Bo abbreviated 40 minutes, fast forward to the cool down.

Kicking wildly, fists punching the air as my dogs looked on through the front window with concern, I showed the forces of morning lethargy a thing or two.

A filter coffee and some muesli and Bulgarian yoghurt later, Pat and I headed out for a Saturday morning wander. Our destination was the Cape Point Nature Reserve, a local attraction we’d both visited as kids, but not since moving to the area. We forgot to pack a flask of coffee and nutritious snacks and off we went.

Cape Point Nature Reserve is rather spectacular. It is strangely desolate with fynbos clinging to the rocky landscape and bays and coves carving up the mountainous shoreline. Rolling breakers that would have the saltiest sea dog intoning the rosary, crash far out to sea and the sky sends lines of thin white clouds to scout for baboons.

Arriving at the parking area below the lighthouse, the clouds are not the only ones keeping an eye on the baboons. Marshalls patrol the area with catties, those beloved childhood toys made from forked twigs and bits of tyre tube rubber.

The funicular trip up the hill to the lighthouse was R25 per person one way, so we decided we’d walk, but not before some tea and a bit of sustenance at the Two Oceans restaurant. Perched on a cliff face, overlooking False Bay, the views from the restaurant are impressive. There’s a lot of sea, a pretty shoreline back towards Simonstown and then the smokey blue Helderberg mountains across the bay. There is also the tower of Babel playing itself out before your eyes with folk from every corner of the earth sipping beer and wine and ordering seafood at 11am. If you want the serenity, the Two Oceans restaurant on a Saturday morning is not the spot, even in the middle of winter.

After hand to claw combat with a starling to protect our cheesecake, we headed up towards the lighthouse. Billy had already scuppered my thigh muscles with his round house kicks and squats, but I trotted after Pat, pausing to take tasteful shots as an excuse for a bit of leg rest. The climb is not that arduous, but the occasional muscle did twinge and we were both puffing by the top.

Our efforts were rewarded with beautiful views, but again, the magic was broken by the rabid buzz of stiletto booted tourists. It seems that for some, a holiday is no excuse to skimp on accessories and uncomfortable shoes.

We jostled; we vied for good photo angles and then made our way down to the car park. We could see what all the fuss was about. The mountains, the sea, the lighthouse on a mossy cliff face and the foamy beaches far below, but I think I prefer my natural splendor with a little more peace and fewer stilettos.