Traditional “hard” ice cream has been around since the 1600’s. Soft serve was only invented as recently as 1938, by a chap with a good Scottish name: McCullough & Son. A few interesting trivia about soft serve is that 70% of people prefer it to hard ice cream. It takes around 50 licks to eat a serving, and with only 3-6% fat content and a lot of air incorporated into the mix, it basically means that eaten on a Sunday, soft serve is surely not fattening. Oh, and very importantly: Chocolate soft serve was invented before Vanilla.

Go big or go home, according to Auntie Google means to have an exhortation to go all out to put all one’s effort into an enterprise to experience something to the fullest. Our youngest son was down for a few days. The main purpose was a business trip, but he was able to delay his return flight to spend a day with his family. Taking him to the airport, we left slightly earlier and detoured to Strand. From one of my previous writings, you will know that my son has a larger-than-life appetite to live life abundantly. The same goes for eating soft serve. And so, in Strand, we found what must be the biggest serving of soft serve you could possibly imagine. And yes. He did eat it all.

Strand is one of those patches of coast that reminds me very much of the Durban Beach Front. It has a holiday vibe about it. We first travelled through the area in December last year. It was old year’s day, and every bit of land was occupied. Bodies on beaches, pedestrians strolling along pavements and even the odd family picnic on the roadside islands. The mood was festive, the crowds were happy, the outfits interesting and it all was catchy. Even later, not during holiday season, the town still has that we-are-going-on-a-summer-holiday feel about it. It can lay claim to 5km of white sandy beaches and beautiful views of the Cape peninsula.

Strand was established as a holiday and fishing resort as far back as 1714. Back then, it was called Mostert’s Bay. A very long time ago, it was a favourite area for Cape Malay slaves to live in, after their liberation in the Cape. Incidentally, the town also became a town of choice for veterans of the Boer War to retire to. Some of the Mosques, built by the liberated slaves still stand today. And lastly: it is home to a large dynamite factory. Which I suppose just proves: Dynamite comes in small packages. And that is it. There is nothing remarkable about the town. Nothing else to attract you to it. But once you have driven through it (on your way to False Bay or Gordon’s Bay) and you have experienced the “vibe”, you will be back. Even if it is just for the larger-than-life soft serve. What a pity that this patch of town does not have more reputation to offer. It surely deserves it.

This past weekend, we were faced with “go small, or stay home”. We decided to visit Greyton. Greyton has a far better pedigree than Strand. As far back as the 1600’s, this area where the town now sits, was prime barter territory. The tribes here grew so rich out of selling cattle to the fledgling colony, that the inhabitants were able to build themselves brick houses when “the Jones’” still slept under starry skies. Later, two very wealthy brothers bred with horses in the area. Modern Greyton claims to have Cape Vernacular architecture (that is a fancy term for “use what you can lay your hands on locally”) and it is an extremely popular weekend get-away spot for Capetonians. Greyton is to Cape Town, what Dullstroom is to Jo’burg. It also won the “dorpie of the year” title recently. It is like the Miss Universe competition, but for towns. Botrivier did not enter. One can only wonder why. Anyway, back to Greyton. To get to Greyton, we had to drive past Genadendal, and this is where things got complicated. Because you see, this is where Colin and I got stuck.

Genadendal is a town built on the site of the oldest mission station in the country. It was founded by George Schmidt, a German missionary of the Moravian Church. Moravia has its feet in the Czech Republic. And that is the charm of the town. Walking through the “Church Square” which today is a heritage site, one can almost believe that you are strolling through a Russian village. We have strolled Russian villages, so it is a comparison I can make. The buildings, some a few hundred years old, are beautifully maintained. The manicured thatch is perfectly retained, the buildings are graciously preserved. The walkways are lined with trees older than the mountains. The old church is still in use (even if it is sadly leaning over to the side). We were just arriving as the church goers were leaving, and it was a sight to behold. There they were, dressed in their Sunday best. Ties and jackets, hats, and stockings: The way it used to be. Not only did the Moravians spread the gospel, but also invested in training and educating the community, in trades such as paper making, printing, weaving, spinning and black smithery.  It was also home to the very first teacher’s training college in the country. I could go on telling you about this lovely town for a very long time, but I run the risk of this turning into a history lecture. All I can say in conclusion is this: Genadendal did not have to enter a Town Beauty Competition to prove that it has beauty. Some do not need vindication; they know that their beauty is lasting. We stayed in Genadendal so long, that in the end, there was not much time for Greyton. We had been told previously about the Belgian Chocolatier in Greyton, so we did visit the shop, and came home with some of the most delicious chocolate. It is taking a lot of restraint from Colin and me to savour the chocolate, and make it last, even if it has Colin leaning dangerously to the left (in the general vicinity of the chocolate box), like the Genadendal church tower.

We are planning a return trip to Greyton. On the way, we will pass Genadendal, and yes, we will stop, again. Being there on a Sunday, not all the buildings were open to visitors. For that we will have to go back on a weekday. We will look at some more of the town. Apparently, there are a number of antiquated organs (as in the musical instrument) to see. Maybe we can chat to some locals about life in a museum town. And maybe we will leave, allowing just enough time to get to the chocolate shop in Greyton to stock up on some winter essentials.

With hindsight it can be said: George Schmidt did go big, before he went home. He left us with Genadendal.

Youngest son also went big before going home. He left us with indigestion from eating too much soft serve.