I'm still busy, in the midst of my life's busyness, reading Justin Fox's The Marginal Safari, which I bought in Johannesburg last Saturday. I paged back a few chapters:
At Struisbaai, the sea was lime green and boats lay snug behind a harbour wall. Further on, the shore was fringed with serrated rocks: nowhere to land a boat, even in perfect calm, without ripping out its bottom. Fisherman in oilskins, their backs to the wind, cast from ledges into the surf. Then came the sad architecture of L'Agulhas, a dorp making a living off its 'southernmost' status. Cashing in were superettes and B&BS, German-style restaurants and the South Point Launderette. A pebble road on the far side of town led to the spot where Africa ends. I pulled off and got out of the car (pp 29-30).
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