I knew Mondays would be long. Really long. From the moment my alarm blared its unwelcoming tune at dawn, to the second I stepped through the doors of a freight company in Wellington, Western Cape, five hours had passed. Five. Whole. Hours. And then, as Friday afternoons rolled around, the same journey awaited me-five more hours to get back home. This was my routine for six months straight. Six months of living out of a suitcase, navigating airport terminals like a seasoned traveller, and yes, even being greeted by name by the air stewards. You know you’ve reached frequent flyer status when that happens.
I was working for a contract company, tasked with writing a logistics system for a freight company nestled in Wellington. I found myself calling a guesthouse in Paarl my temporary home. And what a home it was! Perched on the last row of houses against Pearl Mountain, it offered a panoramic view of Paarl that could take anyone’s breath away. Every morning, I woke up to a scene so picturesque it could’ve been on a postcard. But that beauty came at a price. Situated so high up on the mountain, the TV reception was practically non-existent, no thanks to the relentless wind. I became well-acquainted with Woolworths’ ready-made meals, eaten alone in my room since the guesthouse lacked cooking facilities in the rooms. With no TV to pass the time, I finished a novel a week, diving into fictional worlds to fill the evenings.
My “office” was one for the books-literally. Due to a lack of office space, my office was the company bar, and my desk was none other than the bar counter. While unconventional, it offered the best seat in the house come lunchtime. Every day, the employees gathered in that communal area, filling the room with animated chatter and laughter. There’s something genuinely charming about the dialect and accent unique to that part of the country. Listening to their stories was a daily highlight, often leaving me in stitches. Yet, as vibrant as the lunch breaks were, when the clock struck 17:00, it was like witnessing a live-action stampede. If you stood in the front doorway a minute too late, you risked being trampled in the exodus. By 17:02, the building was eerily empty, a testament to just how promptly they valued their end-of-day freedom.
It wasn’t all work and no play, though. That year, the Cricket World Cup graced South African soil, and I found myself at the Paarl Oval, watching South Africa play against the Netherlands. A colleague treated me to the game, and the atmosphere was electrifying. It was my first live cricket match, and the experience was unforgettable. The roars of the crowd, the vibrant energy, and the sense of camaraderie were palpable.
Yet, amidst the beauty and the excitement, the nomadic lifestyle had its challenges. It was lonely-achingly so at times. Eating dinner alone, night after night, in a guesthouse room can wear on you. I missed home-cooked meals, familiar faces, and conversations that weren’t confined to work meetings. It made me appreciate the fleeting moments of connection, whether it was a laugh shared with a colleague or the lively chatter during lunch breaks.
Through the sweltering heat of January and February, soaring to a staggering 42 degrees Celsius, to the rains of May and the creeping chill of June’s winter, I experienced every season the Western Cape had to offer. And despite the loneliness, the challenges, and the relentless commute, I can honestly say those six months were among the most enjoyable of my career. There was something magical about that chapter of my life-a sense of adventure, growth, and a deeper appreciation for the Western Cape’s unmatched beauty.
I’d do it all over again. In a heartbeat. Because I LOVE the Western Cape.