“People don’t change Hopefield; Hopefield changes people,” a young farmer said at a market there, responding to a question about whether there had been a recent inflow of people seeking a simple life in this little town.
I had an inkling of what he meant after an earlier visit, when it began to exercise a gravitational pull, exerted partly but not entirely by the erratic and exuberant sound of church bells late at night. Now I was back to explore this intriguing town inland of Langebaan on the west coast.
The most emphatic example of change in slow motion is the burnt-out carapace of a Victorian house, right in the heart of the town. The walls are still standing — a once-upon-a-time pale amber now streaked with earth and rust — as is the stoep with its broekie lace. There is nothing left of the roof — just the crenellated walls open to the sky — but the interior is spookily intact; the bricks maintain the shapes of arches and rooms but have the colour of dark, rich mud. Roses were blooming in the garden, in front of a sign offering a R50,000 reward for information that leads to the prosecution of the arsonists.
The house dates back to 1890, after the start of the town, which took form in the early 1850s when its role as the gateway to Saldanha and Langebaan from the interior made it a key transport route. Roads eventually bypassed Hopefield and the R27 linked Cape Town to all the coastal towns. To my mind the best way to approach is along the R45 from Malmesbury, allowing the mind and body to adjust to a slower, more agricultural mode.
In winter and spring this flat panel of land between the sea and the first fold of mountains to the east would be vibrant with canola, and in high summer it would be hot and severe, but in the autumn it is gently green. Drive past the old cement reservoirs on the left — one brightly painted with daisy colours advertising the renowned fynbos show at the end of August and another with a more simple message: “Bly kalm jy is in Afrika.”
My visit starts at the hotel, which is about 100 years old and has beguiling 1970s’ vibes amid a refreshing splash of palm trees outside and an oasis of tropical plants in the inside courtyard. The owner, Jacques van der Westhuizen, says he and his mum inherited a complete mess in 2011, with the accommodation wing falling apart.
“I had no money and no choice, and selling wasn’t viable,” he says, so he rebuilt slowly with the original furniture and fittings. The result is spotless and comfy and unpretentious. Reflecting on how Hopefield has evolved from a stagnating dorp about 14 years ago, and especially since the Covid era, he says there was no one big idea or single driving personality — just a number of people who had dreams and allowed change to happen. It “has a way of humbling people; you are broken into Hopefield, and then you start changing Hopefield”.
Gabrielle Andrew is one of the people who put Hopefield on the map — literally, not necessarily in the colloquial sense. The town, her home base, is on the Cape Camino route, a 700km pilgrimage network, most of it offroad, stretching from Cape Point to Elands Bay and Paternoster to Tulbagh.
Andrew was inspired while walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain to set up a network of small, family-run establishments to host and chaperone walkers who want a life-changing journey. She writes on the website that the Camino is a way for visitors to travel freely and safely on foot in nature. “The broader community … support and care for our visiting pilgrims.” In return the bulk of the money raised goes back to the hosts and their communities.
There is no need for strenuous walking in a town of 6,500 people with no traffic lights. The hotel bar at happy hour is convivial and locals can give you tips on the best fishing spots on the Berg River. Birdwatching in nearby Velddrift is excellent.
A couple of doors down from the hotel is Hopefield Co-op (subtitled Fields of Hope), where visitors can happily cross paths with the everyday life of the town The main store offers basic, hearty fare (coffee R30 a cup, Ricoffy R20), and my companion and I ate vetkoek and fish and chips on the benches outside before snacking on freshly made pancakes from the pancake lady. We were too full to enjoy the lovely Bonita’s rotis in the tiny co-op shop, where locals sell their wares: fresh vegetables, honey, biltong, catnip, sunflower seeds.
For a different food experience, the Foodie Hub is open Tuesdays to Fridays as a coffee shop and deli. On Saturdays it becomes the Hopefield Market — a chance to talk to cheese master David Malan, whose creamery uses milk exclusively from a herd of Golden Guernsey dairy cows. He has samples of his Kokerboom Kaas at the ready and explains his instant cheesecake recipe: a biscuit or cracker, a slice of his Gannet blue cheese and an artfully splayed segment of naartjie. It is delicious — and experimentation shows it works just as well with other fruits or even a dash of cherry jam — but I suspect he uses this particular fruit as an opportunity for a joke: what was the original cheese? Naartjies.
Hopefield has a lot of churches but none is more noticeable than the 1879 NG Kerk. I am here to find the answer to a mystery. Last year, the church bell rang enthusiastically and erratically.
It was appropriate because the Springboks were playing in the Rugby Championship that night, but the explanation I heard on the grapevine was that the climb up to fix the mechanism was rigorous and not for the fainthearted, so the bells had gone rogue.
I can say now I entirely misunderstood the explanation. The bell is difficult to access but the co-ordinating mechanism, which was imported from the Netherlands in 1911, is not. Deon Cross, the koster, invited me up to view the sturdy wooden frame containing gears, ropes, teeth and blades, a pendulum and weights and counterweights (at this point I was just guessing).
It looked daunting and — dare I say it — devilishly finicky. This is not a smart bell with a touch screen in the sacristy and there are no experts available in SA to service or fix the mechanism, so the koster has become the expert. He says the mechanism needs careful adjusting and monitoring; it loses time in winter and can seize up entirely if not oiled properly. He sets the hour by counting gear teeth and checking the clock outside through the window if necessary.
His dedication to maintaining this delicately balanced mechanism — and the entire church with its magnificent organ — is quite beautiful. Sadly, the bells were not announcing their jubilation this time, even though the Sharks won a penalty shootout.
For art that is easier to maintain and does not need careful oiling, the Brickwall Gallery is well worth a visit. Owners Botha Louw and his wife, Cherylin, are accomplished artists and have a remarkable ability to get the best from their students, who range in age from eight to 80. If you aren’t in the market for a painting, you can commission a piece or browse the functional art, including handmade coasters, placemats and cards.
Travel notes:
Getting there: R45 via N7 to Malmesbury or R27 up the coast from Cape Town.
Where to stay: Commercial Hotel for an exceptionally reasonable price. Jacques (072-703-3156) Blacksmiths Cottage. Carla (072-512-9511)
Places to visit:
GTi Car Wash (061-176-2306), behind the co-op, where the irrepressible Loyalty Olifant will not only wash your vehicle or your dog but will happily explain his work growing vegetables and keeping teens on track if they have quit school or are in danger of dropping out.
Simply Bee on Church Street for excellent cosmetics and honey, and a chat about bees with Yolanda.
Plaasmol Padstal, a family-friendly place to eat and unwind with excellent beer from the St Helena Brewing Co, nurseries and a petting zoo.
Brickwall Gallery (082-871-4515).
Where to eat: Hubre’s on 084-374-5726. The hotel has a small bistro. Foodie Hub in River Street.
Best time to visit: From autumn to spring. Consider your tolerance for heat in summer because the town’s location in a hollow means really high temperatures in December, January and February.
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