By Douglas Kruger
I’VE had a telegram from the colonies. (Okay, my dad sent me an email from Johannesburg). It got me pondering a simple way to heighten tourists’ experience of any place endowed with picturesque coastlines.
Our story begins two weeks ago…
My son and I were attempting a walk down at Havre des Pas. We started at that ramp where people like to float their cars out to sea. From there, we wanted to head east, towards the oystery bit, but the tide was all the way in. That meant we couldn’t get past the rocky outcrop where teens like to fling chips down onto your head.
To be sure, my kid would happily scramble straight up over those perilous rocks, but I choose life.
Therefore, instead, we were forced to head back up to the main road, where the pavements are so narrow that you must step out into traffic if anyone happens to be walking the other way. Survivors get Thai food.
There’s something odd about all that. The entire south-east of the Island comprises a truly gorgeous stretch of coastline, seemingly custom-made for long strolls and morning jogs. And given the rock pool, and the funfairs that occasionally spring up there, we already consider it a family entertainment location. But other than the pedestrian walkway along the A4, which is rightly populated by bikes and people carrying groceries, there isn’t a singular, clear path. Certainly, there is no dedicated beachside track, whether for running or for simply strolling along, enjoying the view.
In Jersey as a whole, it’s actually remarkably difficult to simply ‘go in a straight line’. You can do it on that giant walkway above St Ouen’s By, and again at St Aubin’s Bay, and that’s a treat. But short of driving there, running basically means playing hopscotch on and off the pavement, dodging cars and bicycles, and hoping the Grim Reaper isn’t paying attention.
Our scene is set.
Flash forward to the email.
My folks had just taken a trip to Umhlanga. The name derives from a Zulu word meaning place of reeds and it’s one of South Africa’s coastal regions near the city of Durban. The area is extremely popular for holiday makers, offering rolling green hills and sprawling sugar-cane fields, hot, muggy days, surprise afternoon thunderstorms and endless miles of golden beach. It’s heaven on earth, other than the sharks. And the road rage, but that happens further inland.
One of the highlights of their trip was a simple stroll down a newly constructed wooden boardwalk.
The local council realised that one of the most basic requirements of coastal visitors was the ability to walk, jog or cycle at the beach, not necessarily on the beach, for not everyone is a rocky type, but close enough to see the view, while treading a predictably flat surface. No one wants to head back inland. It’s the coast they’re after.
And so, the council constructed a winding wooden boardwalk that connects several beachfront coffee shops, restaurants, pools and watering holes.
At various points in its snaky twists, you can see open beach. At other points, it wends through jungle. The whole thing is a triumph. Despite my mum’s walking disability, my folks strolled along it happily several times a day. Its presence elevated the total experience of their trip.
For something so low-tech, that boardwalk is amazingly popular. Corporate types on business trips can take a quick jog on it before work, older tourists can use it as a perch from which to take photos, kids on bikes think it’s a godsend and couples in love can make an evening of a simple stroll down its scenic length.
It’s a humble way to extract the maximum usage from a beautiful place, without doing any damage, for these walkways tend to be raised on stilts. For the same reason, they also increase the total space available for physical activity, without claiming ground from any other space, using a principle of layering rather than reclamation.
What if we pulled an Umhlanga? What if we built a winding walkway at Havre des Pas?
These simple structures can look beautiful in their own right, adding extra character and visual interest to an already charming bit of coastline. Plus, they accomplish several things. A walkway provides a source of shade, right there at the beach. People already seek it out under the pier near the rockpool; a boardwalk could add miles of it.
It also allows those who struggle with mobility to more thoroughly enjoy the resource of the sea view. And they needn’t use a bus stop or dodge busy pedestrians to do it.
Boardwalks are fun. They can even become iconic. Where communities add pop-up restaurants, or even full-scale rollercoasters, these venues take on a life of their own. I think of Venice Beach in California, or Coney Island, New York. They are a photographer’s dream, an easy sell for those who must market our island, and the stuff that teens’ first dates are made of.
Finally, if The Beach Boys are to be believed, some memorable things can transpire under the boardwalk. And isn’t true love reason enough to consider it?
What if we start with a small one? Just a running path. Just as far as La Mare car park, a logical end? There to The Good Egg is 2.5km, a respectable jog.
Sure, there would be engineering issues to resolve. For instance, although much of it could be built contiguous with the coastal wall, there are some places where private property opens onto the beach.
Generally, the way engineers resolve that is to construct a slight deck at such points, with a staircase that doubles back to the beach, thus allowing joggers to pass by the front of a property, but property owners to use the staircase to access the sand.
It’s only a passing idea. But the same idea significantly raised the experience of an already excellent tourist spot in South Africa. Why not here? After all, if you build it, they will jog.
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Douglas Kruger lives in St Helier, and writes books to keep himself out of mischief. When the seagulls aren’t shrieking, he records his works too. They’re all available from Audible.
