If you’ve ever wondered what happens when a horse rider from Germany tries windsurfing for the first time, the answer is: magic, mild chaos, and the kind of structured enthusiasm that would make a German efficiency expert nod approvingly. And if you’ve ever wondered where one might do such a thing without being elbowed by tourists wielding selfie sticks and inflatable flamingos, the answer is: Redhouse, Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Specifically, the river directly in front of Riverfront Backpackers, where the flamingos are real, the wind is loyal, and the vibe is gloriously crowdless.
Enter Lara. German. Medical student. Horse whisperer. Never touched a surfboard, sail, or anything wetter than a saddle. She arrived at Riverfront Backpackers with the wide-eyed optimism of someone who thinks windsurfing is probably just like horse riding, but with fewer reins and more breeze.
Now, Redhouse isn’t your average village. It’s a place where time takes a nap, birds hold gossip sessions in the reeds, and the river flows like it’s got nowhere to be and all day to get there. The prevailing wind—a faithful South-Easter—blows straight down the river like it’s late for a braai. This means guests can sail at a perfect 90 degrees to the wind, which is ideal for beginners and anyone who’s ever tried to reverse a trailer with their dad shouting directions from behind a bush.
Port Elizabeth’s earned the nickname “The Windy City”—probably handed to us by Cape Town in a moment of deflection, since statistically, they’re windier and more miserable than we are. But here in Redhouse, we don’t complain about the wind. We celebrate it. If you can’t beat it, join it. Become a sailor. Learn to windsurf. Let the wind push you into something new. Around here, we joke that the wind doesn’t just blow through PE—it was born here. Some say the origin of wind itself is this river, and it’s just been trying to get back ever since.
I told Lara, “You’ll be up and riding in 45 minutes.” She looked at me like I’d just promised her a pet giraffe. But I wasn’t talking nonsense. In 2003, I became a qualified windsurfing instructor with the Royal Yachting Association in the UK. The plan was to become a beach boy on the Mediterranean—one of those bronzed, salty-haired instructors at a beachfront resort, teaching windsurfing by day and dancing under fairy lights by night. But alas, the South African passport had other ideas. No work visas, no beach boy glory. (Still, the dream lives on—just bigger now. These days, it involves Indonesia, perfect reef breaks, and a multimillion-dollar catamaran with a hammock that swings between two hulls and a fridge that never runs out of mangoes.)
Another real story: I grew up along these riverbanks. My first sail was at age five, back when it was still perfectly legal—and socially acceptable—for parents to traumatise their children by pushing them out onto boats alone with nothing but a life jacket and a vague sense of direction. I started in an Optimist dinghy at the Redhouse Yacht Club, learning the wind’s moods and the river’s secrets. From there, I graduated to windsurfing—first on the river, then out into the ocean at the Bluewater Bay rivermouth, where I spent every weekend wave sailing and launching into the air like a flock of seagulls startled by a chip packet. This river isn’t just a place to teach—it’s home turf. It’s where the wind and I first became mates.
So we rigged the sail, Lara climbed aboard, and the river gave a nod of approval. Within minutes, she was gliding across the water with the kind of joy usually reserved for people who’ve just spotted something unexpected—like that time we saw a Cape fur seal cruising upriver, looking as surprised to see us as we were to see him. There were wobbles, yes. There was one dramatic moment involving a rogue gust and a sudden sideways splash that left her laughing and soaked but still standing. But by minute 43, she was windsurfing. Properly. Upright. Laughing. Possibly reconsidering her allegiance to horses.
Back on shore, the guests at Riverfront Backpackers clapped like she’d just invented biltong. Our backpackers isn’t just a place to crash—it’s a place to wake up to flamingos doing their morning shuffle, sip coffee while the wind tickles the river, and learn things you never thought you’d try. Like windsurfing. Or just remembering how to breathe properly again.
And it’s not just windsurfing. The river is a playground for stand-up paddling, sailing, and fishing—whether you’re after serenity or a tug on the line. I’ve just bought a windsurfing rig for kids, and my son’s already eyeing it like it’s Christmas morning. Soon, we’ll have more youngsters learning to sail right here, where the wind is kind, the water is calm, and the flamingos are always judging your technique.
We’re not here for the masses. Crowdless.co.za is built for the curious, the cautious, and the comically uncoordinated. We also specialize in small-group, wildlife-friendly surf lessons and river adventures that leave you sun-kissed, wind-swept, and wondering why you ever thought city life was the only way to live.
So come to Redhouse. Stay at Riverfront Backpackers. Learn to windsurf in front of your bedroom window. Watch flamingos do their morning yoga. Cast a line, paddle out, or hoist a sail. And reconnect with nature in a place where the wind still knows your name—and the occasional seal might pop by to say howzit.
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