Bitterly Pleasant.

In fields next to the road from Cape Town piebald ponies roll in deep green grass. Sheep wade stomach-high. After Hermanus it's rolling hills of wheat stubble and fynbos. In Arniston the children play on the streets after dark. We drink a beer at Willeen's and stumble home. 

Every day there are walks to be walked and beaches to be combed. In Agulhas the people name their houses things like Bitter Aangenaam, Mamma Moan and Pondjie Botter. We contemplate the Southernmost Point of Africa, climb the lighthouse ladders. No-one wears a watch.

In the ruins of an old cottage off a gravel road, there are drawings of cars and muscle men. A child has written: I was born in the garden of even blood...

Sleep here is a gentle affair, with waves crashing in the distance, fire sighing in the grate and crickets chirping under the window. And sailing in the skies - alongside a Perigee moon: the constellation of Hydra the giant water snake and Carina, the mystical ship.