Weekend Escape: Paternoster perfect

Biénne Huisman gets a taste of salty, crunchy West Coast life - and is hooked

It is said that Paternoster was named after Portuguese sailors who prayed out loud when their ship The Lisboa ran aground there in October 1910. Patre Nostre means "Our Father" in Latin.

The shipwrecked sailors have moved on, but Mediterranean appeal remains by the bucket. These days the village with its whitewashed homes, painted wooden doors and window shutters resembles a Greek island settlement. Bougainvillea flowers and fishing boats in primary hues lend colour to strings of pale homes and the wide beach, flanked by icy waves.

Narrow roads crawl past shops bearing names like "Jem en Pantoffels", which sells confectionary and cakes displayed on crocheted tea cosies, and "Die Winkel - Oep ve Koep", with shelves brimful of bokkoms (a dried, salted local fish), freshly baked breads, olives, boiled sweets, farm butter, and even a few pairs of veldskoens from Wupperthal. An adjoining bistro serves light meals on cheerful tablecloths under trees in a garden where herbs sprout from decaying wooden dinghies.

Die Winkel's chef, Kobus van der Merwe, is a breath of fresh air in the village's foodie fraternity and is known to forage around the dunes and rock pools for ingredients to add to his blackboard menu.

We kicked off our meal with bread slathered in butter and preserves, followed by the "Mosselbank at low tide salad" (R55) with marinated bokkoms, deliciously crispy soutslaai, harvested on the plains around the village, wild parsley, seaweed, almonds, ginger and slivers of pear. A combination of flavours and textures best described as crisp bites of salty, crunchy West Coast.

Mains were pink lamb (R105) and angelfish (R85) with beans and mange tout, washed down with coriander-laced Darling Bone Crusher beer (R38) from the artisan Darling Brewery 90km inland. Desert was rooibos tea ice cream with nectarine, meringue and droplets of moskonfyt.

"I love the combination of rooibos tea and fresh nectarines. I find it very characteristic of a South African summer," said Kobus, leaning out of the doorway of his kitchen for a chat.

The quality of culinary offerings in Paternoster changes like the tide. Popular restaurants on the beach serve a variety of seafood dishes but have elicited mixed reviews. Do make sure that the fish is fresh (fresh fish is usually imported from Saldanha, a harbour town to the south) and beware of defrosted fare.

The beach-facing Paternoster Hotel is a favourite fixture in the town, perhaps most famous for its infamous Panty Bar.

The bar, as its name implies, houses a flutter of female garments dangling from the ceiling in various degrees of fading abandon. The assortment of underwear is astonishing. There are knickers embellished with polka dots and lace, some bear messages to the Springboks, others to the Stormers or the Bulls. Pin-up girls, plastic flowers and prints of Steve Hofmeyr adorn the walls. The room is draped in enough synthetic fabric and rubbish to ignite a small war, so be careful where you point that lighter.

We soon fell into conversation with three locals who were leaning heavily on the wooden bar top, lamenting women and life between sips of brandy and coke.

"A while ago there was nothing here, nothing but crayfish and quiet. Now we can't even afford property here in Paternoster," said a local named Pieter.

The Panty Bar is the kind of place where hope springs eternal from polished taps and dreams are measured in pints. Speaking to the locals, the flip-side of the town's hospitality pomp sinks in. This is hard country, with poverty on the up as big corporations continue to take over fishing rights along the West Coast.

Outside in the village's main street men in tattered clothing pander crayfish for less than R50 a piece and barefoot children sell hearts shaped from sea shells and wire.

Those inclined to self-cater should note that grocery shopping is not one of Paternoster's strong points. (Which some will consider a strong point in itself, of course). On entering the dorp, the Paternoster Express sits on your left, and has limited meat supplies - we found some stringy rumps - a few vegetables, an ATM, and a cashier with fingernails lacquered metallic green.

Our accommodation, the magical yet modest The Beach Camp, situated in the Cape Columbine Nature Reserve just outside Paternoster, offered wood for sale and a fireplace spitting distance from birds bobbing on waves. The kitchen is basic but well stocked; the leisure area rustic with a beach bar, strings of shells, board games and fellow travellers with tall tales and short, stiff whiskies.

The Beach Camp is off the grid so do take a torch. Light is best shed when making your way around at night, especially during dashes to the toilets, which are of the compost variety.

That evening, lying in my A-frame wood- and-canvas hut, it sounded like the sea was close enough to lick my toes. The quiet was laced with rustles of wind, lapping water and, who knows, perhaps even the petrified screams of long-gone Portuguese sailors.

If you go ...

Getting there: Take the R27 from Cape Town, left up the R45 to Vredenburg, drive through the town, continue about 15km towards the sea. It is approximately a 90-minute drive.

Accommodation: The Beach Camp is rustic and modest, not everyone's cup of tea. For more information, go to www.beachcamp.co.za, call 0829262267, or e-mail info@ratrace.co.za. Rates from February to April are R652 per night for an A-frame hut sleeping two.

Why go there: Escape society, the internet and deadlines at The Beach Camp. Relax, go kayaking or stroll around the reserve to the lighthouse and Tietiesbaai. Paternoster, with its lovely beach and eateries, is only 2km away.

The food: Breakfast or a light lunch at Die Winkel is a Paternoster highlight. Ask to speak to chef Kobus for daily recommendations. It is best to book on 0227522105.