From Kalk Bay to Fish Hoek.

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There’s something about this stretch of ocean that refuses to be background. The water isn’t still, nor is it violent — it’s restless, alive, breathing in long turquoise sighs under that vast, unapologetic sky. Out there, where the horizon blurs into possibility and the mountains fade into blue memory, perspective quietly resets itself. The sea doesn’t care about deadlines, opinions, or the small clutter of daily life. It simply moves — rhythmic, eternal, indifferent and yet strangely comforting. Standing before it, you don’t feel small in a diminishing way. You feel small in the way that frees you.

 

 

 

During a recent week-long sojourn in Glencairn Heights, trains played a large part in mode of transport plans.

The Southern Line has been upgraded, and although certain aspects do need to be rectified, the fact that they arrive and depart with almost the precision of a Swiss watch. Even though there was one day when there was an issue with power to their system, which meant that the trains were delayed for several hours. But, that being said, they were fixed on the same day.

Given that my wife and I currently live in a city where the water reticulation system is under extreme pressure due to a lack of maintenance, it was enjoyable to be somewhere where most things seem to work.

 

 

 

 

This is not the platform (pun intended) for a political debate on the various issues surrounding the reason why one City is seen to be working, while another is sliding into a void with seemingly no one taking a blind bit of notice.

Although the trains themselves are immaculate, the station platform could do with a clean-up and possibly a splash of fresh paint.

 

 

 

 

The outside of the station building in Kalk Bay was, for me, an example of what can be achieved when local artists are let loose to make certain that the facades inspire pride in the community that uses this mode of transport.

 

 

 

There is a group of men just a short distance from the train station whose entire stock seems to be made of various types of hemp products.

Most of them sport dreadlocks and are clothed in what looks like discarded hemp bags.

They seem to have been accepted by the locals, and during my time in Kalk Bay, I was not harassed by them.

Come to think of it, there seemed to be fewer people with their hands out there than I experience daily in the suburb where we currently live.

 

 

 

Kalk Bay is a rabbit warren of side streets that are home to a plethora of stores selling a variety of objects that vary from bespoke clothing to artwork and even artisan bakeries that produce a delicious aroma that will almost attract people in from the main street.

 

 

 

 

This is the building in which the iconic Olympia Cafe and Deli is situated.

If you had to bottle the essence of Kalk Bay — salty air, chipped paint, fishing boats, artists, early-morning philosophers and late-afternoon romantics — you’d probably pour it into Olympia.

It isn’t iconic because it tries to be. It’s iconic because it never did.

Olympia has the rare quality of being unchanged in spirit. Wooden tables worn smooth by elbows and espresso cups. Chalkboard menus. No glossy pretension. It feels lived in, slightly chaotic, deeply human. The kind of place where fishermen, writers, tourists, and locals all sit shoulder to shoulder.

Their sourdough is the quiet star of the show. Proper crust. Proper chew. The kind of bread that justifies ordering something simple so you can taste it properly. The bakery side of the operation built a loyal following long before “artisanal” became fashionable.

Mornings at Olympia are a production. Steam rising from coffee machines. Staff weaving through tight spaces with plates held aloft. Conversations overlapping in three accents. It’s not peaceful — it’s alive. If you arrive after 9 am on a weekend, you’re queuing. And you’ll wait. Because it’s worth it.

A short stroll away is Kalk Bay harbour — seals barking, boats unloading, gulls negotiating their next theft. Olympia doesn’t exist in isolation; it’s part of a living fishing village ecosystem. That proximity to the sea gives everything context.

In a city where many coastal spots have leaned into sleek minimalism, Olympia remains gloriously textured. It hasn’t sanded down its edges. The charm is in the imperfection.

For many Capetonians, Olympia is not just a café — it’s a tradition. Post-ocean swim coffee. Sunday breakfast. Meeting point before heading to the mountain. It marks moments. And places that mark moments become woven into people’s lives

Olympia is iconic because it reflects Kalk Bay itself — slightly weathered, fiercely independent, creative, and comfortable in its own skin.

It doesn’t chase trends. It doesn’t need to.

It simply opens its doors, bakes its bread, pours strong coffee, and lets the sea air do the marketing.

For both Cape Town locals and travellers from further afield, this is a must-stop destination

 

 

 

 

 

This view from the walkway along the main road is certainly one of the most recognised vistas in the stretch of coastal frontage.

 

 

 

Snoek, drying the early morning breeze.

As Kalk Bay is a working harbour, you can buy a variety of fish species, depending on the season and also how early you get to the harbour.

The fish is so fresh that the local restuarants etc are usually first on the scene to snap up the best of the catch.

 

 

 

Watching waves crashing on the rocks is like watching the planet breathe.

Water is sucked back on an inhale…

 

 

 

And thrust onto the rocks on an exhale.

As a result, I feel that the pull is almost hypnotic, and I can spend the longest time being calmed by what nature provides as a cabaret.

 

 

 

Although the sea might be roiling and crashing outside the breakwater wall, on the inside, there is a calmness that is in direct contradiction to the storms that are raging.

This small harbour could be seen as an analogy for life. We all need a safe space where we can feel protected.

Somewhere safe from the madding crowd and the mayhem that is being enacted all over our planet.

 

Busy, busy, busy… C’est la vie Bakery in Fish Hoek.

 

 

A couple enjoy a coffee and baked goods on the pavement outside an iconic bakery in Fish Hoek.

 

 

 

 

 

This eclectic space is home to a coffee shop as well as a space where collectables can be bought, and designer clothing can be ordered.

Situated at the top of Main Street in Fish Hoek, just before the traffic circle, it became my ‘local’ while I was in the area.

 

 

 

This post is bookended by trains…

I was to discover that the trains on the Southern line run from town to Fish Hoek and then, if you want to travel further, you have to change trains there.

Did you know?

This line ends in Simon’s Town and consists of 28 stations starting at the City Bowl. It takes approximately 70 minutes to complete the journey.

Although historically the service terminates in Simon’s Town, operational issues might restrict it to shorter distances, like Fish Hoek

 

 

 

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