Where friends become family, amateur photographers emerge, and 2.2km swims seem like “short” distances…

Thursday: The Arrival of the Eager Vacationers

Easter weekend rolled around, and we found ourselves blessed with an invitation to spend it with friends so special they’ve officially graduated from “friends” to “family.” You know the type – the ones who’ve seen you at your worst but still invite you back.

Thursday afternoon, we pointed our car toward St. Francis Bay, blissfully unaware that I would soon attempt what can only be described as an “accidental marathon swim.” But more on that fiasco later.

We’ve visited St. Francis before, but this time the universe aligned to deliver perfect weather, perfect company, and perfectly embarrassing moments to laugh about for years to come.

Our first evening began with what South Africans do best – a braai on the deck overlooking the canals. As residents glided by on their boats for the traditional sundowners cruise, we sat in awe of the view, wondering how people get any work done living in such a paradise.

The sunset that evening triggered what I call “Amateur Photographer Syndrome” – a condition where perfectly normal humans suddenly believe they’re National Geographic professionals. Everyone scrambled for the perfect angle, each convinced their slightly-tilted, thumb-partially-in-frame masterpiece would be the one to break Instagram. “No, no, move left! The light is better here!” became the evening’s catchphrase as we collectively took about 387 nearly identical photos of the same sunset.

Friday: The Day I Redefined “Short Swim”

Friday morning, while sensible people were still enjoying their holiday sleep, Roger and I decided we hadn’t suffered enough and went for what we optimistically called a “quick cycle” – just enough to remind our bodies that vacation calories definitely count.

Upon returning, everyone was ready for a canal cruise. The day was sunny, the water surprisingly warm, and our spirits high as our friend intentionally beached the boat on a sandspit so we could “solve the world’s problems.” Naturally, with our particular group, world problems remained firmly unsolved as we were too busy laughing ourselves silly about absolutely nothing important.

In what will go down as one of my less brilliant moments, I decided the 2.2km back to the house looked like a “short swim.” My internal GPS clearly needs recalibration because what I thought would be a refreshing 15-minute paddle turned into an hour-long aquatic odyssey. Let’s be clear – Michael Phelps I am not. The only reason I survived was because parts of the river were shallow enough to walk, transforming my “swim” into more of a wet waddle. By some miracle, I arrived home just as the boat returned. “How was your swim?” they asked. “Lovely,” I lied through my exhausted smile, as my legs contemplated a mutiny.

The day’s excitement wasn’t over! Our two sons were offered the chance to try wakeboarding on the Krom River – a waterway so riddled with sandbanks that navigation requires the skills of an ancient Polynesian wayfinder. Our skipper performed admirably, especially considering the setting sun was apparently trying to blind him at the infamous S-bend.

Our 19-year-old went first, determined to prove that teenage confidence can overcome physics. After two false starts, he mastered the basics and enjoyed an impressive run until gravity reminded him who’s boss with a spectacular corner wipeout.

Then our “baby” (all 17 years of him) took his turn. One of our friends remarked that he “popped out of the water like a cork,” which is both accurate and the kind of comment that will definitely be repeated at his future wedding. The boy was a natural, immediately getting the hang of it. The boys each wore a smile so wide it threatened to split their face in two.

That evening, our family took cooking duty. The boys, having had their fill of “old people conversation,” escaped to a local youth hangout, presumably to tell tales of their wakeboarding prowess with only minor embellishments.

Saturday: When 30km is “Just a Nice Ride”

Saturday dawned with the promise of 29-degree perfection. Before the rest of the house stirred, Roger and I decided that vacation means punishing ourselves with a casual 30km mountain bike ride to the lighthouse. “Nice” and “2-hour ride” should never appear in the same sentence, but the well-maintained single track was genuinely heavenly – if your definition of heaven includes sweating profusely and questioning your life choices.

Returning home “hot and bothered” (understatement of the century), we plunged into the ice-cold pool, which effectively turned our gasps into dolphin squeaks. While still dripping, we spotted a canoe and thought, “We’re already wet, so why not?”

Let me pause here to say that there should be an Olympic event for “Dignified Canoe Entry and Exit.” I would not qualify. Not even close. My technique resembled something between a beached walrus and a toddler trying to climb a slippery slide backward. The witnesses to this spectacle are still recovering from their laughter-induced abdominal strain.

What was intended as “a quick paddle around the block” turned into yet another miscalculation of distance and time – a recurring theme that suggests I should perhaps invest in a basic GPS device.

The rest of this glorious day was spent on a sandy riverbank, alternating between playing in the water, pretending we weren’t getting sunburned despite the evidence, and enjoying a perfect braai. It was summer distilled into its purest form.

Sunday: All Good Things…

Sunday brought slightly cooler weather but couldn’t dampen our spirits. After another “quick” cycle (I’m sensing a pattern here), we enjoyed breakfast on the deck followed by one last cruise around the canals.

The day culminated with the best lamb curry imaginable, some freshly caught fish, and – because we hadn’t been wet enough this weekend – a late-night swim in the rain. There’s something magical about raindrops meeting the river water, though I suspect the magic was enhanced by whatever was in our glasses.

As rain pattered throughout the night, Monday dawned with the harsh reality that our special weekend had reached its conclusion. We packed up with the satisfied exhaustion that comes from a vacation well-spent – sun-kissed, well-fed, and hearts full of laughter and memories.

The best medicine, after all, isn’t found in pharmacies but in sunshine, adventure, uncontrollable laughter, and time spent with people who feel like home, even when you’re away from it.

Until next time, St. Francis Bay – my swimming skills might improve, but my distance estimation probably won’t!