All hail the Durban weekend: Up at sparrowcrack, shoot off down to the beach, quick dawn dips to ease into the day. Back home, get dressed, zip into town, score a Little Gujarat breakfast: vada’s, puri patta, samoosa and bhaji for two, how much, larney? Thirty four bucks. That includes two drinks. Cheap as...bhaji. It’s all mental down Yusuf Dadoo way, cheek by jowl, barrowboys on the mission, ‘AmaSecretSocks! Ten rand, ten rand, ten rand!’
Gotta love it. Nip up back to the hill, pop into the Corner Café to say hi to Anna, tell her we’ll be coming over next weekend to her ‘I Love Durban’ party (hey, gotta spread the love in the interests of good neighbourliness, dontcha?) and for a quick constitutional cappuccino, damn fine as always, then pick up a bottle of Shongweni-brewed Pale Ale. That’s right folks, the brewvolution is creeping into your back yard, and it tastes like…dunno. It’s so pretty I just wanna look at it a while longer. It will no doubt go the way of all alcohol soon enough, though. That’s a promise you can take to the piggy bank.
Then, zoom, off to Satan’s crucible, the Pavilion. Crawling with ankle-biters, every last one of them hocked to the eyeballs on refined sugar and howling a cacophony at their harassed-looking parents. Ja. Jy wou mos. Gap it the hell outta there still relatively unscathed. That was Saturday.
Sunday…ahhhhh….early morning dawn patrol, more epic waves, then a breakfast at the secret garden joint that was so good word’s can’t . More missions, and a return to the beach to meet high tide head-on. My sweet lord, how the shorebreak kicked the shit outta me, yet I emerged with a smile on my face the size of a Honduran banana. The rest of the weekend? Spent leisurely perusing the papers, making acid comments about politicians, and generally lazing the day away….

You've gotta love Durban.