THE SWEETNESS AND THE STING
Durban’s beaches draw all sorts of travellers — and unite them with a common foe. By Shanthini Naidoo
EVERYONE is afraid of the bluebottles. This is what I learnt about Kwa Zulu-Natal and the nature of those who visit the biscuit-brown sand and warm-water beaches.
When those deceptively pretty, shiny, blue bubble-blobs with long, stinging tails are spotted, everyone on the beach will alert you. Stay far away from the jellyfish. “Pee on it,” if it does get you, is the sage advice.
Ironic, that the tiny thing with a nasty sting would be a unifying factor here. We ignored the politics of beaches … haven’t they stayed wet and sandy whether they were being stormed, bloodied or flagged off for exclusion since the birth of time?
The sprinkling of visitors to Umhlanga’s main beach gathered when a young boy ran screaming from the waves, his forearm lashed by a whipping tail. Why wasn’t anyone weeing on his arm?
They all commiserated, including the Indian family with many mischievous young boys who, every five minutes, troubled their mother for sandwiches, KFC, then Ultramel custard, which they sweetly shared with the seller of stylish beach hats (a steal at R100 or so). The elderly fisherman with rubber socks, balanced precariously on the rocks, was concerned about the sting. As were the arguing couple whose fight took on a dramatic air, with her wind-blown hair and forlorn stare.
We all sat together under the pier, in a strip of shade away from the sun, which at 10am scorches the sand so hot it tries to gild your toes through your slops as you walk.
The beach was exquisite under the red-and-white Umhlanga lighthouse, protruding from its rocky post on the main beach. The best spot for kids is in the rock pools below.
You will meet guests of the city’s fanciest beach hotels, and local allsorts wanting to take a dip. And everyone laps it up, even those wary of the stings.