Picnic at the beach: Bokramstrand

There is a narrow, sullen trickle through the dry fynbos of the southern peninsula, which empties into the Atlantic in the middle of a white beach licked by cold water bluer than any other that surrounds this beautiful Cape. The trickle is called the Bokram River, after which the beach is named, but no bokkies (buck) or rams (...ah, rams) have ever been sighted.

On days following a storm piles of kelp may be washed up on shore and the little kelp flies and decaying seaweed smell keep one away. But after the kelp has dried or washed back out to sea the striped shades of turquoise and azure, caused by various shallows and deeps close to shore, are unsurpassed by any other, I think, around this lovely coast. A 25 minute or so drive from home, it is not the closest beach, but one of the emptiest, and a frequent picnic site.

Nothing to beat a cold G&T on a hot day. Below, chicken liver pate with clarified butter.

A hopeful Ben eyeing the oxtail terrine, melting fast, with confit of garlic, and sliced biltong next door.

Dog paradise.

Wish you were here...