Heading back to Cape Town

It is a long drive from Plettenburg Bay to Hermanus, a town on South Africa's whale route, and it certainly felt like one when I completed it. Six hours in the car driving back along the N2 was pretty monotonous. In a perverse way, if there more cars and if the road wasn't so easy to drive on, it would actually have been more interesting. I was just on auto pilot driving at a similar speed through a landscape that, although impressive, never seemed to change.

Hermanus was a very pleasant little seaside town. I was only staying here for one night to break up the journey back to Cape Town, and it was a really nice place to kick back for the evening and have dinner in an Italian restaurant. The town is famous for being one of the best places in the world for whale watching, but it was the wrong time of year to see any and so I had to make do with baboons running around looking cute and menacing at the same time.

On Thursday morning I left Hermanus and made my way up along the coast towards Cape Town. The serenity of the journey was turned on its head as I got closer towards the city. I witnessed a masterclass in the best of South African driving as cars casually switched lanes without looking or indicating, people used whatever lane they felt like for overtaking and others careered all over the road like crazed lunatics. Fortunately I made it to my final destination of the trip, the suburb of Camps Bay, without incident.

Camps Bay is a glitzy, glamorous and expensive part of Cape Town that looks like the setting for a film about the rich and famous. It is not, however, a snooty place and its pristine white sand beach with Table Mountain glaring over it is one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen.

I was staying in a relatively cheap (for Camps Bay) guesthouse for my final two nights in South Africa. After dumping my bags I went and saw the owner to be shown where all the relevant facilities were. I was pleasantly taken aback to be shown first of all a huge fridge full of beer, which I was told I could help myself from. After grabbing a cold Carling Black Label, I sat down and chatted to this guy. He had been running the place for 12 years, was divorced from his wife, now lived here alone and had little to do every day other than welcome new guests to his home and show them where the beer, swimming pool and snooker table were. As I looked out from the top floor of the house and surveyed the stunning sight of Camps Bay below us, I couldn't help but feel that this was the kind of lifestyle one could only dream of. It was clear that this guy, Paul, despite being in his 50s, still enjoyed the finer aspects of life. "Every now and then I go on a drinking binge and get wrecked. I also still get to take some chicks out from time to time and do what I need to do," he said. Paul then regaled me with a story of how he had gone out earlier in the week in Camps Bay, got horribly drunk and inadvertently soiled himself while walking home. I laughed out loud, before wondering if all the guests staying here were treated to the same tale. He then volunteered some advice about which bars were best in the area for "picking up lovely girls with big tits" before making his excuses and claiming he had work to do.

Camps Bay was without doubt the perfect area to wind down the trip. I've seen many, many places in this country of incredible natural beauty, but none combine it with the vibe and atmosphere you get here. Speculatively, I had a look in the window of an estate agents to see what the money I spend on rent every month in London could get me here. The answer was a fairly nice apartment with lovely views. Reminding myself that the commute from here to Westminster might be a bit of a challenge, I trudged off. I may never live here, but I'll be coming back...