It’s been a harrowing few weeks waiting to find dungeons, and we have basically been living in the Hout Bay area. Obviously much of this time has been spent sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time, just like Otis Redding, who sang those soulful words.
You might be interested to hear this. Or you might not. Either way, I’m writing it. I was born in the 1980’s and although Otis passed in 1967 in a plane crash, I still listen to that classic song. I think it’s a testament to the true soul of music back in the days, where singers truly had a passion for music. Too many bands these days seem to be manufactured, and I cannot stand to watch these singing contests, like American Idol and the like. Granted, some of the people have a true passion for music, but others seem to be too interested in the lifestyle, and not the music. I don’t see many songs these days having much of a lifespan, which is sad. Songs are made to make quick money, and it takes away from the real life and soul of music. I regularly listen to the old classics. Who can beat Rod Stewart, Lionel Ritchie and Tom Jones- The original crooner! Never mind The Bee Gees and Queen and…the list is long and distinguished. But wait…this is not about the music. It’s about the surfing. This is not Rolling Stone magazine.
But as I type this article it seems to be about the music once again! I am listening to the music channel on DSTV and they are playing Billy Joels “Tell her about it” on the 80’s section of the music channel. What a classic beat, it’s absolutely thrilling me right now! I wish you were here sitting next to me, helping me write this article. I do need the help, as this is turning out to be one long piece of writing and I’m not sure quite how to conquer it. I often have so much inside of my head and I have no idea how to get it out. A vodka might help, but I’m not sure. Right now I have absolutely no clue how I am going to tackle this article. The enormity of it is making me shake.
So Thursday morning, 12 July 2007 had started like any other morning here at SLXS. A quick check through the internet, a look through my notebook at the ideas I had written down, and which I should write on, and a little call to my entourage, to see who was going to accompany me on the days assignment. Mike P and Jerry D were busy, and so once again Charlie V was enlisted to accompany me on the finale of “Finding Dungeons”
No ways! Tom Petty has just started playing on the music channel. It’s “I won’t back down” This music should help get the article out of me.
I had left the SLXS Palace at about 1pm and I had packed the full reporters kit, which I take everywhere with me. Moleskine notebooks, a tape recorder, iPod, digital camera, pencils, money and a few beers. Obviously being the driver, drinking is not possible but a beer is still permissible. I had made the call through to Charlie V and he was currently residing in the quaint area of Constantia in Cape Town. Constantia has the old school feel of a village. It is where the wealthy go to live and is a beautiful place to live in Cape Town and comes highly recommended by the SLXS team.
I had said to Charlie V that this was the final day of this assignment, and we must finish it. I can’t have this turning into a full excursion, where I spend all my days searching for dungeons. It was now or never, I had to do this in order to get cracking with other assignments.
A few days ago we had thought that we were on the right path to dungeons, but it seems we were a bit far off. Instead of going over the mountain, we had tried to go around it and this route seemed a bit long and tedious, so we cut the excursion right there. Today however, was another day.
I’m not quite sure if my dress code was correct. I was wearing these flaired Diesel jeans that I had bought back in High School. They have such a huge boot cut that they look like hippie bell bottoms. They go well with mirror reflective sunglasses. So I had packed the Peugeot with the reporters kit and the beer. We are currently using a car not from our personal car arsenal, as we find ourselves in the fortunate position of being able to drive a Peugeot 307 for the entire week. It is quite an awesome car, and feels about the same size as the VR3. Only it is an 1800, as opposed to the VR3′ very small 1300 engine. It’s quite awesome really, and we are sure to abuse it for the length of it’s stay.
So I had kitted it out, and I was going in the direction of Hout Bay. But first, a pick up of an entourage member at Constantia. I was approaching Constantia when the CD player on The 307 started playing that song from Reservoir Dogs. If you have seen the movie you will know the scene too well where Michael Madsen/ Mr Blonde, cuts that guys ear off while the radio plays that song where the words go “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you”
I was busy driving to Constantia, and I was thinking “Wait, I am the joker, I am the clown” Seriously, I am all of these. This song was just so right, right now. Cape Towns weather was being nice to me, the sun was beating down through the 307’s semi-tinted windscreen. I was wearing the most bizarre outfit. White rimmed aviator style sunglasses, flaired Diesels, old school music. At the disposal of my right foot was a 1,8 litre Peugeot engine, which was going to be used to the max if we needed to. I sent it to the place Charlie V was staying at.
I arrived in style and found Charlie V waiting for me at the gate. Here we were, two guys in their 20’s, going in search of a feared surfing spot, with no particular idea if our directions were correct. I actually did not care anymore, I was just keen to take a drive around, maybe stop for a drink, chat to some people, relax in the winter sun.
I got out the car and gave Charlie V a beer and had one myself. We were sitting on the pavement having an ice cold Windhoek, wondering how the day would pan out for us. I had a good feeling, but that might have been from the first sip of beer. There is nothing better than the first sip, ice cold. We finished them, and decided to get going. For some bizarre reason I only had four beers at home, and now we only had two left.
Charlie jumped in the 307 as I gave it a good dose of my right foot, and we sped past the Constantia Village shopping centre. I was on the lookout for any suspicious characters, and I have no idea why. I just figured that we were being watched by some sort of government task force. Cape Town’s most feared crew, trawling through the city in search of a story. I needed to get to dungeons, it was getting late and I did not want the weather to change and start raining, delaying this voyage by another few days.
We were cruising at a good pace, and by now “Paradise City” was playing on the CD. We were interrupted when I noticed a large back up of cars. What was this? Why are we being delayed? I can’t have this, I’m on assignment, I need a police escort. I arrived at the circle at Constantia Nek and I saw a traffic cop. The car was not looking good as a few stray beer cans were rolling around. I never drink and drive, but I always find that we might throw a can in the car, and leave it there. At the end of the week, we have cans everywhere, making us look like raging alcoholics. We threw the cans in my bag, so as to avoid the cops making a big fuss about it. It was starting to look like Lindsay Lohans car, not a good thing if I am going to gain any respect with this cop. Did my parents teach me these ways? I have no idea.
I approached this cop, who was looking very proud of himself. He had reason to be proud of himself, as he had managed to commit a fashion disaster of gigantic proportions. I was wanting to throttle him, maybe give him a subscription to GQ, throw him a beer, rap him on the knuckles. But I knew this was the fatigue speaking. I had a late night and I had to keep my composure, I could not lose sight of the goal right now.
We were on our way up to Constantia Nek, which feeds into Hout Bay and it seemed that we were not allowed to continue further. It’s always odd that when you want/need to do something that there is a delay. I asked the cop if I was allowed to go through.
“Do you live in the estate?” He said, in his classic cop uniform. Massive jacket, boots, smug look on his face. The look of someone who knows he can deny us access to a specific area, which seemed to make him feel good.
“No I’m going to dungeons, in Hout Bay” I said, with an air of grace and sophistication.
“You can’t go through unless you are a resident of the estate”
“Uh…ok…thanks!”
Yeah…thanks for nothing! I’m a writer dammit, I need to get through! I should have just said I lived there, idiot! Anyway, no point in arguing with this guy I thought. He will probably have me thrown in jail for trying to interfere with the law. He will use all his power to see to it that I never write again. And he will try and have The 307 impounded. This can’t happen, I don’t even own this car. This cop obviously did not realise what this car was about. I bet he did not know that 5 minutes ago it was playing Collective Soul. Do you realise how cool Collective Soul are? Did he realise that this car was about to play Gun’s ‘n Roses? This copper had no idea what sort of fire he was playing with. He was playing with fire of the hot variety, even though I was trying to keep ice cold and calm. My nerves were twitching, but I kept it together with my absolutely amazing mind power.
I let my right foot loose and we went around the circle and headed back towards the Kirstenbosch area. From there I would connect onto the freeway, heading into town. From there I would go past Clifton, Camps Bay, Llandudno and into Hout Bay. I was abusing the current petrol in my tank, but I needed to. Apologies to global warming. I must have used double the petrol that I normally would, but I blame it on the cop. He needed to come to terms with what we were doing. He should have just let us through. His loss, the earths temperatures gain.
We eventually arrived in Hout Bay, and now The Killers were playing on the CD player. Perfect. We were all in harmony with nature and I was at good speed to finally do this article.
We rolled past the harbour. The smell of fish permeated the crisp winter air. Fishy.
I put my foot down at the turn off to some sort of derelict housing establishment above the harbour. I was told to go right to the end of this area, where I would see a cafe on my right hand side and the road would come to a dead end.
In the street on the left of us a bunch of kids were kicking a wasted soccer ball in the street. I wonder if they had dreams of being like David Beckham? Big money, big cars, small wife. Anyway, everyone was looking quite happy, and more kids sat outside their houses, playing an assortment of games. They ran carelessly into the street, something you miss out in the suburbs. I don’t see kid’s playing in the streets in my area. The kids in my area are the by product of modern society where the parents are out trying to make as much money as they can. The kids are left to play TV games. This is probably the greatest reason for kids being so unhealthy these days.
Some of the older people were working on cars, or just sitting around chatting. It seemed like a sort of paradise, but a paradise unaffected by money. And plagued by what looked to be poor living conditions.
I sent it up to the end of the road and sure enough there was a cafe on my right hand side and the road came to a dead end. It did not look like there was much of a pathway, but I parked the car anyway. I got out and a little kid came running up to me, all glassy eyed.
“Can I look after your car sir?”
“No no, we’re cool. We’re just here looking for dungeons, it is up there right?” I said, pointing up to the sand dunes.
“Yeah, do you want me to show you?”
“No it’s cool, we’re going to just cruise around and try find it, thanks”
He ran back across the road, and sat on a porch at one of the houses. He looked on, a lone figure on the empty porch. I pulled my bag out of the car and looked ahead, to where we were going to go. I believed I had the gaze of a man on a mission to conquer, but I think I might have had the look of a washed out writer. Not good, not good at all.
Charlie V got out the car and I laughed at his choice of clothing. The laughing nearly took the last of my energy away. He had seemingly dressed for a night out. Leather shoes, jeans, and a polo shirt. Little did he know we would be going through sand dunes and then down a steep rocky hill into dungeons. He opened another beer and we got walking in no particular direction. Not that my stupid hippie dress code was great either mind you. Looking around all I could see was a lot of sand, and no path. We walked up for a few metres and then took a left turn, down into a small stream. We crossed over, as mud splashed all over my shoes. I am a complete idiot. We then walked up through a stream, all the way until we reached the peak of this hill. The walk was not long but when we made the summit we were greeted with something we had been looking for for a good deal of time. It was dungeons, in all it’s glory.
The view over dungeons- It looked quite tame that day
“By the beard of Zeus” I wanted to shout. I kept it in though. We looked over dungeons for a while, scanning for any big waves and for any crazed surfers. It seems no one was surfing, and we were literally the only people at dungeons. I could not see anyone else nearby. It felt like a setting for a cheap movie scene where the zombies would take us away to the depths of dungeons soon enough. If we survived, it would be a story I could tell my kids one day. Sitting on my porch overlooking the sea, my kids would want to know what happened that day.
“Dad tell us tell us!” The little tykes would shout
“Well I’m not too sure, it might be a little too scary for you guys…”
“No TELL US!”
“Well my kids, I was 22 years old and we were out to cover an event at a famed surfing spot by the name of dungeons. It was sponsored by Red Bull and we were adamant that we would do a write up on it, even if it would consume the very last of my vast writing talent. So myself and my friend Charlie V, who you might know from those celebrity magazines, well we were running through these sand dunes when out of nowhere this little green man threw a boat at us…knocking Charlie V clean out…”
What am I doing? Let’s get back to this story. The real one. I need to stop thinking things up in my head, it’s not normal. Who do I think I am? John Grisham? Come on, keep with the story Sean.
Our view to the left- With Chapmans Peak far in the background
Ok…so…this path we were going down was beating my Tigers into nothing. Luckily for me they were really cheap, about the price of two cases of beer. Charlie V was complaining that his disco dancing shoes were about to kill his feet and eat them. We made a few stops on the way down, and our fatigue was probably due to staying up late the night before, partying in Cape Town with various people who still speak to us.
When we eventually made contact with the land at the bottom it was as if we had found gold. We were there by ourselves, massive waves crashing in the distance, a haze of mist reflecting the winter sun, the most awesome view you will ever see. There was nothing for miles and miles. You could not see any cars, houses or people. This was isolation, something you need every now and then to get away from the city. We had one extra thing packed in the backpack, a Red Bull, because this was where the Red Bull Big Wave Africa was being held. I cracked it open and we drank it in a second because we were so parched from the walk down. It was a fitting tribute to dungeons, and I found myself being mildly excited that I was away from the normal rush of a city life. It was relaxing to see waves crashing in, looking over the bay to Chapmans peak, watching a few boats cruise past in the distance and just sitting listening to the ocean.
Our view to the right- Relaxing
This was it, dungeons. A place that I would never dream of surfing in my life. It’s a place where, hopefully in the next few weeks, we will see some of the worlds best surfers surfing some of the worlds biggest waves. It’s a place where some crazy/lucky surfer will walk away with R100000 for surfing the biggest wave.It’s a place where dreams can be made and broken, where the beauty of Cape Town truly shines through. It’s also a place where you feel that you are far removed from the city life, where you are relaxed, and where you can dream.
I will obviously be back to visit dungeons when the competition organisers give the green light for the competition to go ahead.
In the meantime, if you find yourself in Hout Bay it’s probably a good idea to go for a drink or some food at The Lookout Deck. It’s quite a unique place on the waters edge at the Hout Bay Harbour and I often find myself there on a Sunday afternoon. It comes highly recommended by myself and my entourage, and many a story can be told from Lookout Deck.
Sundays are also good to visit the craft market, if you are into that sort of stuff. You can also take a drive through Hout Bay and connect onto Chapmans Peak, where you can then drive to Noordhoek for lunch. I must write on Noordhoek, it’s a beautiful place to live in and visit.
Hout Bay has that old school feel that I enjoy so much. Every day you will see people riding their horses around the area, and many of the houses have stables for horses in their gardens. It is a relaxing place and I will soon find myself in the area again.
Until then…
Sean Lloyd
Editor
