IT was a cool Thursday morning and my friends and I had our things packed and ready to go “glamping”. I, the fussiest person I know, was going to be sleeping outside, in a tent, when fancy hotels were screaming for my attention. This of course was all in my head, they didn’t actually scream my name. I was just being materialistic - life was not a Beyoncé music video after all. We packed our supposed-to-be-minimum luggage and were on our way along the Hibiscus coastline to the South Coast. We jammed to some Regina Spector, Jack Johnson and Matthew Mole, sunglasses on and wind running through our hair.