There's Always Hopefield

A storied past, a hopeful future and people who will make you feel like you’ve always been here. Sitting on the shoulder of the R45, Hopefield is worth slowing down for.

- Kieran Legg

I’ve overshot the town. Zipping along the R45 with wheat fields going past my windows in a golden frenzy, I barely notice Hopefield hunkered in its shallow basin. Before I know it, I’ve missed the next turn-off, too. In the space of less than a minute, my short glimpse of the town (a blur of low-roofed houses) is replaced by more open fields, scrubby bush and white-barked eucalyptus trees. Thanks Hopefield, nice knowing you. Residents will confirm that it’s easy to miss. (“The R45 doesn’t run through like main roads through other towns. It’s an issue, but it’s not – it’s why we like the town so much,” says John Smuts.) But the town’s invisible existence isn’t only a consequence of geography. The journey from Cape Town to the West Coast had put me in a meditative state. Once you’ve made it through the snarl of roadworks in Malmesbury – the unofficial capital of the Swartland, which seems permanently under construction – and traded the busy N7 for the more scenic R45, your mind tends to drift. From the rustling wheat fields to the looming wind turbines that spin at a hypnotic pace, to the sweet harvest air coming through the car windows, it was as if the world slowed down around me.