My West Coast DIARY
It was 2003. A turquoise day on the West Coast. Windless. A whale was blowing in the bay. We were standing on a sand pile, and its board said: ERF 5757. All good signs, I rejoiced.
“On this Sunday I have bought myself a pile of sand for a few hundred thousand rand”, or so I thought afterwards in my self-castigation and reflections on this crazy impulsiveness. Or let us rather call them dunes, and on every third dune there was a board with a number on it. At that stage there were only a few houses along the lovely clean, white beach next to Club Mykonos in Langebaan.
I saw my house in my dreams. Simple. Just a concrete block that blends into the environment to become part of the dunes.
At home I had a
