Sylt: Proof that God takes Psychadelics

As a South African, here are some things to expect if you’re travelling to Sylt, Germany.

Almost every German will tell you that Sylt has the best beach. It does not.

Is it large? Yes. Is it white? Yes. (On the North Sea side.) Is it the best beach you’ll ever see? No.

I call Sylt the Hamptons of Germany, but in the spirit of keeping the references relevant, you can think of it as something like what Plett, Hermanus or maybe St Francis Bay is to Cape Town — minus the Prada & Miu Miu.

So, what to expect:

1. Wind. Expect a lot of wind.

I have only been to Sylt in summer because, as much as I romanticise being on the island in winter, every single person who has lived through a winter there strongly encourages me not to do that. Mostly because of... the wind.

During summer, expect at least two seasons in one day, potentially in one hour.

It rains, it shines, it blows — all in one day. So if you like your weather constant, Sylt is a place to avoid.

2. Sheep.

You wouldn’t be blamed for not immediately associating a beach holiday with grazing sheep along the coastline. But by the end of your stay, you will have seen so many sheep, you’ll have forgotten there was ever a beach without one.

The sheep are friendly (indifferent) and simply blend into the long, grassy, silvery landscape. I considered, on more than one occasion, taking a few home with me.

3. Tour de Midlife Crisis.

Everyone has or rents a bike on Sylt. And damned be the poor sod who didn’t rent an electric one.

The island is long and skinny and, come hell or salt water, you are expected to bike — unless, of course, you own a Jeep, Land Rover or Porsche. Then I guess you could also get around. Any other kind of car seems not to be sold or shipped to Sylt.

There are bike paths that run the entire length of the island through the dunes, which turn into a mauve-covered carpet of heather, adding to that otherworldly vibe that I’ve come to associate with the island.

The paths also run along the coastline and, on one particularly interesting stretch, along the skinny strip of land at the very south of the island, where you experience the sea on either side of you, the wind quite possibly coming at you sideways, along with the beach sheep, as you tightrope-bike your way along this strip of land.

That’s a trip!

4. FK What?

Expect naked people to come running out of the sea.

You won’t be surprised unless you missed the sign that says “Textil und FKK”, which means you may wear either your bathing suit or your birthday one. Textil meaning, I guess, any form of cloth, and FKK — Freikörperkultur, or “free body culture” in direct translation.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. When these Germans get free, they make sure they do it properly.

5. My beloved grumpy Germans.

The Germans do not get less grumpy the farther north you go. The Northerners tend to have a different flavour of grumpy, but sufficiently so that you wouldn’t mistake them for any other nationality. I did, however, detect a hint of more friendliness, although it’s hard to say if that’s an island thing or a Northern thing.

But just in case I thought it was only the Bavarians tainted by ‘the grump’, I got the obligatory head wag when I accidentally stepped a bit too far into the bike path, causing the 54-year-old future athlete to turn his steering slightly to the left. But who knows? The athlete could’ve also been from Munich, given how many people from there travel north to escape the ‘southern’ summer heat.

6. The Shire.

If you make it to Kampen — which is unavoidable, since it sits in the middle of the island — you’ll find an area where you’d be hard-pressed to find a house that costs under €8 million to buy, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d entered The Shire, but with Dior across the way.

The gardens are immaculately kept, with their round, trimmed bushes and almost artificially coloured hydrangeas. It’s really something to see, and I immediately imagined a life for myself in one of those hobbit-style thatched houses, with such a garden, three dogs and a Jeep, taking long walks on the beach and having my daily coffee at Kupferkanne (apparently Sylt’s most loved coffee shop).

Then I remembered... the wind.

And the missing €8 million.

7. The light.

There is something very special about the light.

For starters, the sky — when there are no clouds, or only a few — is so blue! A blue I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. Apparently, any pollution that makes its way over from Hamburg or Denmark or wherever has no time to hang around because, you guessed it... wind.

But it’s not only the colour of the sky. It’s the way it stays light until well past 10 p.m., and how a special kind of sunlight catches the grassy landscape, turning everything silvery gold. Against the sea, whether it’s more grey or blue, it stirs something up inside me.

It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful, and stunningly ethereal.

8. Even the beaches have standards.

The thing I dislike most about some beaches in South Africa is that people are allowed to pitch tents — large ones —like they’re moving in for a week.

On Sylt, they’ve designed and built the Strandkorb — literally a “beach basket” — which is essentially a wooden, upholstered box that two people can comfortably fit into and which very successfully protects its inhabitants from the wind.

And because it’s German, it’s engineered rather well, with the ability to swivel around so that you can always lie facing the sun and out of the wind. There is even a little flip table to place a drink on... and it doesn’t ruin the look of the beach.

Very chic!

9. People will say good morning to you, no matter what time of day it is.

“Moin” is how people greet each other here.

It sounds like the German Morgen and the English morning, but linguists argue that it has to do with neither. In fact, they say its meaning is closer to the Dutch mooi, meaning “beautiful” or “good”. So it’s more of a general pleasantry, but to my half-English, half-German ears, it sounds like they’re saying “morning” to me at 8 p.m., which is weird and a bit funny.

I’m into it, but resisted buying the pale blue Heydorn cashmere sweater I saw with “MOIN” woven into the front.

10. Wattenmeer is Meh.

So, on one side of the island, there is the great North Sea, which people describe as rough and wild and expansive.

It is not.

When you come from South Africa and have lived in Cape Town, the North Sea is, well, a bit like the Atlantic, but not nearly as dramatic, deep or wild.

Then, on the other side — the east side of the island — is what is called the Wadden Sea (Wattenmeer). This body of water, for it does not feel right to call it a sea, is an enormous area of very shallow water running along the coast of northern Germany and Denmark. The water averages only a few metres deep and, at low tide, people love to wade through the mud in search of... well, nothing.

Apparently, that’s a joy in and of itself.

A joy I have not been tempted, even vaguely, to try.

I am far too concerned about my toes meeting some crabs and, well, let’s just say I prefer my sea to be deep enough to swim or dive in.

In any event, the Wattenmeer is the seaside most of the houses face, since it is not allowed to build on the dunes of the North Sea — thank goodness. So if you want to see the real sea, you’ll have to park your Defender and walk on over to the beach.

All in all, this island has made its weird way into my heart, and I leave today feeling

windswept, sun-kissed, fresh, and with the distinct feeling that God exists and takes a lot of psychedelics on any given day, because that is what Sylt feels like to me: a charming and bizarre mix of the magical and the mundane.