I could hear the helicopters coming to rescue me, their heavy blades slicing the air heavy with perspiration and panic. Don’t show fear, I scolded myself, they can smell it. A bead of nervous sweat collected; then hovered, undecided; before plummeting down my forehead. Another rappelled down the small of my back. The whirring got louder. Salvation couldn’t be far off. Surely.
Sadly, no. There wouldn’t. They were just ceiling fans. There would be no heli-vac out of the enemy territory I found myself in. Granted, my foes were neither nimble nor threatening, but there are some situations any reasonable man should never find himself in. The antenatal class must surely be one of them.
Now don’t immediately huff and take me for some beer-guzzling, poker-playing, tom-catting oaf of a husband. I deliver tea in bed; I do laundry and I fold socks. I bake Chelsea buns on a Sunday morning, for crying out loud.
But while I’ll massage the tired feet of my pregnant missus, and suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous hormones, never – seriously, never – force me to share my feelings with a group of strangers. If I wanted to do that I’d be one of the quacks calling into 702 on the graveyard shift.
Perhaps I missed the memo, or simply wasn’t paying attention (not unlikely, I’ll admit) when my wife suggested we sign up for five weeks of antenatal classes with other similarly glowing expectants. Incredibly, I agreed and it wasn’t long before we were climbing the stairs to room 101. Why on earth they make heavily pregnant women climb a steep flight of stairs to get to antenatal classes, I never did discover. Week after week, it became a stairway to heavier.
The women were on a sliding scale of sizeable, the men looked unconscionably proud of themselves and even I thought for a fleeting second that perhaps it wouldn’t be all that bad. Already, those choppers had turned and headed off into the sunset. The bad jokes and pregnancy puns were about to begin.
There was no escaping the horrors of group therapy. Introductions were straight out of an AA textbook (‘my name’s Jane and I’ve been knocked up for 33 weeks’) and I was starting to regret considering fatherhood.
Looking around the group, it seemed as if each couple represented our shared hopes and fears made flesh. There was the terrified couple, dreading needles, doctors and hospitals; and the couple whose sex life – yes, be careful what you share in the circle of so-called trust – became a topic of regular discussion. Mainly due to the lack of it.
But bless the midwife who said there was absolutely nothing wrong with a dose of marital relations well into the third trimester. Smiles and nods all round from the men; glares of ‘just you even try, buddy’ from the women.
There were Labrador-enthusiastic couples, and hyper-affectionate loving couples; God-fearing couples and simply odd couples. Wholesome-as-apple-pie couples and couples who took every 3G-enabled moment to escape the horror – the horror! – of the birthing videos and the pelvic massage demonstrations.
As for those massages, I have it on good authority from female friends that it, A) doesn’t work a damn, and B) is just downright weird.
So from procreative pelvic thrusts to pregnant pelvic massage, all in the space of nine months… my, how things have changed. But now the five weeks are done, my time has been served, fatherly dues paid and on Monday evenings I am a free man.
Well, for the next three weeks at least. After that the real work begins.
First published in Shape magazine, May 2011
|
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my few dozen safari trips, it’s that you don’t – you simply don’t – take chances with hippos. Ever. Period.
With his harem of females and a handful of young ones to protect, the territorial male we’d been photographing gave us a warning snort and promptly disappeared the waters of kuNhlange Lake.
Now finding yourself on a boat a stone’s throw from a grumpy hippopotamus is adventurous enough, but not knowing the whereabouts of said hippo? Well that’s asking for trouble.
With discretion always the better part of valour, Blessing – our guide from Kosi Forest Lodge and boat skipper of the ‘Silver Surfer’ – gunned the engines and left the hippos to their underwater ruminations. The day was heating up, the breezes were just beginning to ripple the waters of kuNhlange, and there was a lot to see before the afternoon winds got going.
kuNhlange is the largest of the four lakes that make up the breathtaking Kosi Bay estuary. Saline at the mouth, tannin-stained fresh water at the head, this necklace of lakes drains into the Indian Ocean just a few kilometres south of the border with Mozambique.
Kosi Bay is easily the best preserved of South Africa’s Indian Ocean estuaries, and has been a national park for over 60 years. In 1991 it was designated a Ramsar site, marking it as a wetland of global importance, and in 1999 Kosi and the rest of iSimangaliso Wetland Park joined the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites; the first in South Africa.
And it’s a fitting spot for that accolade, for the Kosi lakes have a rich heritage to share with travellers.
The indigenous Tsonga people migrated to this area from Mozambique over 700 years ago. The Zulu nation had lived here before them, but their prized cattle suffered with the tsetse fly. However, the new arrivals were experts at living off what the sea – not the land – had to offer. They thrived, and today it’s the friendly, albeit shy, Tsonga locals that greet you with a wave and a smile on the sandy tracks that lead you from bush to beach and back again.
The most alluring reminder of the area’s ancient history is the famous fish traps that have formed a filigree necklace across the waters of maKhawulani and kuMpungwini, the first and second lakes in the Kosi system, since the Tsonga first settled here.
“These fish traps are very clever,” explains Blessing, as our boat idles up alongside the wood and raffia-rope traps. “They are designed to only catch the fish that have already bred in the lakes upstream, and the gaps between the poles allow the smaller fish to escape to return another day.”
It’s an ingenious, but labour-intensive design, for the traps need constant maintenance and frequent rebuilding. But are the lakes being overfished, I ask Blessing?
“The ownership of the fish traps passes from father to son,” he says. “And the number of traps in the lakes is controlled by the wildlife authorities to ensure that they don’t catch too many of the White-spotted Grunter, Kingfish, Mullet and Natal Stumpnose that breed here.”
Given that these traps have flung out their wooden arms for centuries, it seems a perfect example of nature nurturing without being overexploited.
The continued abundance of fish is certainly why the birding in and around the lakes is nothing short of superb. Kosi is perhaps most famous for frequent sightings of the endangered Palm-nut Vulture, but fortunate twitchers will also find Pel’s Fishing Owl, Narina Trogon and African Broadbill here.
Those star birds are scarce today, but there’s a lot to distract us. Our boat startles a flock of pink flamingos into an inelegant ascent, fishing terns do their trademark kamikaze dive into a shoal below, a white-breasted cormorant seems unperturbed while drying its wings on the exposed struts of a fish-trap, and a Goliath Heron flaps away lazily when we come too close for his liking. Pied Kingfishers hunt from the branches of the mangrove forests; six species of these remarkable trees are found in the lakes, forming some of South Africa’s most southerly mangrove forests.
To the north the water flowing beneath us joins the Indian Ocean at Kosi Mouth, where you’ll find snorkelling, fishing, and deserted beaches; a popular day-out for holidaymakers. But the wind is starting to pick up, and Blessing sets a course for home.
"...The lodge has a lived-in, low-key feel..."
The area has long been popular with overlanders and hardy camping-types, but the past few years has seen a surge in the accommodation options available to travellers looking to enjoy the rustic beauty of this corner of the iSimangaliso Wetland Park.
One of the best options in the area is Kosi Forest Lodge, situated right on the border of the Park. The lodge has a lived-in, low-key feel. It’s not the sort of place you’d have to dress for dinner. Likewise, the eight tented suites offer all the comfort you could ask for, but without too many frills.
Paraffin lamps are lit each evening, when lanterns light the sandy pathways that lead through tunnels in the coastal forest. Creaky wooden floors and chunky four-poster beds add a dose of rustic romance, while mosquito nets keep the bugs out and wrap-around fly screens do a passable job of ‘air conditioning’ your tent. The outdoor bathroom is the real highlight, with a shower and bath (gas-heated, of course) under the boughs of the forest.
It’s not for everyone, but if you don’t mind a little back-to-basics roughing it you’ll be quite happy here. If your first question is where to plug in your hairdryer, you might find it all a bit challenging.
I, on the other hand, was as happy as could be ensconced in the Adirondack chair on my private deck. The horizon ends a few metres away in the impenetrable wall of forest, which makes each tent wonderfully private with just the chatter of birdsong for company. Flappet Larks and Turacos replace cellphones and hooters. A Wild Jasmine unfurls its carpet of shade across my deck and – after the morning’s early start – I have to drag myself from an afternoon snooze. We have a date with some crocodiles.
In the end, the crocs stood us up, but they are certainly to be found in the inky tannin-stained waters of the fourth lake: named Amanzimnyama or, literally, “black water”.
Canoe trips on the lake are a highlight of a stay at Kosi Forest Lodge, just one of the activities included in the nightly rate. You can either paddle yourself or let one of the local guides do the work, so we choose to sit back and enjoy the silence while our guide Jerome keeps us on the straight and narrow.
In the forest alongside, a flash of red betrays the passing of a Purple-crested Turaco through the branches of a massive Swamp Fig, its fingers trailing in the waters that feed the estuary. Next to it, the flowers of the Waterberry tree are puffed up like white cheerleaders’ pom-poms.
Towering above both are the forests of Raffia Palm that the area is famous for. In its 30-year lifespan it’ll flower only once, producing up to 10 000 seeds on a single enormous flower stalk. Importantly, it’s these massive palms – whose leaves are the largest in the plant kingdom – that provide a home for the rare Palm-nut Vultures.
The sun is dipping behind the palms now though, so we stash the canoes above the high water mark and wander back through the forests. A short drive delivers us to the lodge and the promise of sundowners.
After a shower (outdoors, and by lamplight, of course), a trail of flickering lanterns lights the way to dinner in a forest clearing. A bonfire casts shadows into the corners and rustles the boughs above. Our three-course dinner is superb, again, and I’m wondering whether I should have taken the opportunity burn off some energy by paddling.
Too late, I think, but there’s always tomorrow. Or is there? Is this our first night at Kosi Forest Lodge, or our third, I wonder? In the flicker of the campfire it’s hard to tell one day from the next. They simply blend into a merry-go-round of lakes and beaches, forests and birding and salt-prickled skin warmed by the sunshine.
Out there in the darkness the waters of Kosi inevitably rush through the channels and the Tsonga fish traps, but in this under-explored corner of South Africa, there’s a very real sense of time simply standing still.
Kosi Forest Lodge
www.isibindiafrica.co.za/kfl
035 474 1473
This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
First published in Indwe magazine; February 2011. |
For a minute, I thought the cheetah had lost. Outpaced by a lion, and soon to be on the receiving end of a few millennia of evolutionary envy.
We’d been watching three lions – two sturdy females and a majestic male, whose role seemed to consist primarily of sleeping – hunt a herd of Red Hartebeest. Or perhaps they were after the lone zebra hidden among them; his dazzling stripes no help among the dusty copper coats of the ‘harties’.
It was a blustery, overcast day, but the herd seemed relaxed on the grassy plains between the thickets. On the opposite hillside we noticed a small yellow splodge. Binoculars went up and the radio crackled to life: “Young male cheetah on northern ridge. He’s spotted the lion.”
Cheetah and lion are sworn enemies, although the malevolence is firmly on the side of panthera leo. Even a fully-grown cheetah stands no chance against the stronger and heavier lion. Speed is its only option.
Creeping closer for a better look, the cheetah – wisely – chose discretion over valour and padded away. We all went back to watching the Hartebeest. All, that is, except the lions.
Seeing their ancient enemy alone and exposed, the lionesses decided rivalry trumped rump and trotted off in pursuit. A trot turned into a jog, a jog dialled up to a sprint and in the game vehicle our minds quietly raced: “Why the hell is that cheetah not running?”
Padding away at a leisurely pace, it wasn’t until the lions were thirty metres off –their long, bounding leaps threatening to close the distance in seconds – that the cheetah turned. An explosion of speed sent it off between the euphorbias, a dust cloud billowing as it bobbed and weaved away through the thickets.
Our game vehicle raced down the gravel road in pursuit, catching up with the thwarted lions as they searched for the cheetah’s scent. Foiled, this time. My heart returned from my throat to its rightful place.
But this incredible safari scene wasn’t played out on the grassy billiard table of the Masai Mara, the steamy bushveld of Botswana or the sandy tracks in Kruger. This ancient drama was performed on the scrubby hillsides of Kwandwe Private Game Reserve, in the heart of the Eastern Cape.
Billed as ‘Frontier Country’ for the Anglo-Xhosa wars that racked these hills in the mid-1800s, the stretch of countryside between Port Elizabeth and East London has fast become South Africa’s new frontier for Big Five safaris; malaria-free, mild and the perfect bookend to the popular Garden Route.
There are close on a dozen, mostly private, reserves offering wildlife experiences in the area, but you’d do well to remember that not all safaris are created equal. When it comes to Eastern Cape reserves, size certainly does matter and on the smaller reserves there’s a fair chance your game viewing will have a backdrop of traffic and tar. Not quite ‘Out of Africa’.
But not so on Kwandwe, where you’ll mostly enjoy a 360° view of untouched wilderness. Like many of the private reserves in the area, Kwandwe’s 22 000 hectares were once marginal farmland, but the power lines, houses and fences that scarred the horizon have long since been bundled away, and the land rejuvenated.
Named for the Blue Crane – known as kwa-indwe in the local isiXhosa – the endangered national bird of South Africa is just one of dozens of species that now call this restored landscape home. Elephant enjoy the lush riverine grasses, black rhino stick to the thickets and the Great Fish River flows languidly through the property, harbouring hippo in the deep pools and drawing a menagerie of wildlife in the hot summer months.
The sub-tropical thicket that coats much of Kwandwe’s hills may not support the vast herds of game to be seen further north, but in my handful of game drives we were privileged to enjoy an array of breathtakingly unique sightings: lions ferrying a warthog kill to their cubs, the shy nocturnal aardwolf hunting in broad daylight and, of course, a close call for a lucky cheetah.
On these private reserves you’re just about guaranteed four of the Big Five (darn those shy leopard), but in this corner of the country it seems less is definitely more.
While Kwandwe keeps a low profile, Shamwari is the big, brash reserve that has been beating the drum of Eastern Cape Big Five safaris for over a decade. One of the first to reintroduce big game to its 25 000 hectares, Shamwari is also host to a dubious honour: in 1856 the last free-roaming lion in the Eastern Cape was shot here.
The notion of restoring the indigenous wildlife to its rightful place is precisely what inspired local businessmen Adrian Gardiner to create Shamwari over 20 years ago, buying up parcels of abused farmland that were crying out for restoration. That renewal is still very much a work in progress though, with wide-open plains of grass separating the hilltops of indigenous thicket.
It’s a slight distraction from the Big Five on offer, but it’s not the end of the world. Days at Shamwari follow a similar pattern to most private lodges, with morning and evening game drives crisscrossing the reserve. While the grassy plains of Shamwari support fairly large herds of antelope, again it’s the smaller sightings that you’ll remember: the shy Black Rhino, cheetahs sheltering from a blustery spring wind and the rumble of a lion’s contact call echoing across your hilltop sundowners.
While Shamwari has something for everyone, Gorah Elephant Camp is unashamedly, gloriously, romantic. Set on a private concession within the Addo Elephant National Park, the tented suites of Gorah fan out away from the historic homestead.
In the late-1800s Gorah was once one of the wealthiest farms in the district thanks to the boom in ostrich feathers, and the manor house today reflects the comfortable opulence of the time. Deep leather armchairs, high ceilings and thick walls, magnificent iron fireplaces and a deep stoep overlooking a waterhole make for a loveably old world safari escape.
As with Shamwari, the scars of farming are all too obvious in the flat fields of grass stretching away from Gorah, but it does have the significant benefit of panoramic views across the plains and up into the shrub-covered hills. Addo Elephant National Park has been a haven for elephants since it was proclaimed in 1931, and you’re almost guaranteed some wonderful elephant sightings during your time at Gorah.
Game drives here can traverse the park’s 24 000 hectare main section, but it’s the quiet tracks and off-road routes on the private concession that are the highlight here. Unlike Addo’s self-drive visitors, the beauty of a private safari escape is the sheer gluttony of having a small stretch of African bush all to yourself.
It’s a pleasure that visitors to the Kruger bushveld have long enjoyed, and now the Eastern Cape is slowly muscling in on the act. Bush aficionados will tell you there is nothing like a Lowveld safari, and they’re right.
But when it comes to exquisite lodges and unique sightings these smaller, leaner Eastern Cape reserves are showing they may just be one step ahead of their big brawny bushveld cousins. A little like the cheetah that got away.
Stay here:
Kwandwe Private Game Reserve offers two lodges and two family-friendly exclusive-use villas, but our firm favourite is the sleek modern Ecca Lodge. Just six oh-so-secluded suites stretch out along the hillside, with svelte sliding doors opening onto private decks and panoramic views. This is Norwegian cool meets funky African farmhouse. Low-slung beds and glassed-in rain-showers, rough gabion walls and settler-chic tin roofs. Private plunge pools and outside showers make short work of hot summer days. Room #1 is tucked away and private.
Visit www.andbeyond.com or call 011 809 4300
Bayethe Tented Camp is one of seven lodges on Shamwari, and escapes the grassland views by being hidden away in a bird-filled valley. The riverside tents are spacious and tick all the five-star boxes, but could do with a little TLC. This sleek safari lady is showing her age and needs a nip/tuck and a few new frocks. However, the feel is more casual than at other lodges so there’s no need to dress for dinner, as meals are a casual fireside affair.
Visit www.shamwari.com or call 041 407 1000
Gorah Tented Camp is pure Out of Africa romance. Formal dinners – Gorah is a member of the gourmet Chaîne des Rôtisseurs – in the historic homestead are all crystal and candlelight, but the suites are the real highlight. White canvas tents belie the homely luxury within, where four-poster beds and cosy armchairs cry out for afternoon naps and quality time with a good book. And the best bit? It’s canvas, so the rustle of furry critters outside the tent adds a shiver of excitement in the dead of night. Ask for tent #10 to ensure uninterrupted views of the plains.
Visit www.hunterhotels.com or call 044 401 1111
|
For a minute, I thought the cheetah had lost. Outpaced by a lion, and soon to beon the receiving end of a few millennia of evolutionary envy.
We’d been watching three lions – two sturdy females and a majestic male, whose role seemed to consist primarily of sleeping – hunt a herd of Red Hartebeest. Or perhaps they were after the lone zebra hidden among them; his dazzling stripes no help among the dusty copper coats of the ‘harties’.
It was a blustery, overcast day, but the herd seemed relaxed on the grassy plains between the thickets. On the opposite hillside we noticed a small yellow splodge. Binoculars went up and the radio crackled to life: “Young male cheetah on northern ridge. He’s spotted the lion.”
Cheetah and lion are sworn enemies, although the malevolence is firmly on the side of panthera leo. Even a fully-grown cheetah stands no chance against the stronger and heavier lion. Speed is its only option.
Creeping closer for a better look, the cheetah – wisely – chose discretion over valour and padded away. We all went back to watching the Hartebeest. All, that is, except the lions.
Seeing their ancient enemy alone and exposed, the lionesses decided rivalry trumped rump and trotted off in pursuit. A trot turned into a jog, a jog dialled up to a sprint and in the game vehicle our minds quietly raced: “Why the hell is that cheetah not running?”
Padding away at a leisurely pace, it wasn’t until the lions were thirty metres off –their long, bounding leaps threatening to close the distance in seconds – that the cheetah turned. An explosion of speed sent it off between the euphorbias, a dust cloud billowing as it bobbed and weaved away through the thickets.
Our game vehicle raced down the gravel road in pursuit, catching up with the thwarted lions as they searched for the cheetah’s scent. Foiled, this time. My heart returned from my throat to its rightful place.
But this incredible safari scene wasn’t played out on the grassy billiard table of the Masai Mara, the steamy bushveld of Botswana or the sandy tracks in Kruger. This ancient drama was performed on the scrubby hillsides of Kwandwe Private Game Reserve, in the heart of the Eastern Cape.
Billed as ‘Frontier Country’ for the Anglo-Xhosa wars that racked these hills in the mid-1800s, the stretch of countryside between Port Elizabeth and East London has fast become South Africa’s new frontier for Big Five safaris; malaria-free, mild and the perfect bookend to the popular Garden Route.
There are close on a dozen, mostly private, reserves offering wildlife experiences in the area, but you’d do well to remember that not all safaris are created equal. When it comes to Eastern Cape reserves, size certainly does matter and on the smaller reserves there’s a fair chance your game viewing will have a backdrop of traffic and tar. Not quite ‘Out of Africa’.
But not so on Kwandwe, where you’ll mostly enjoy a 360° view of untouched wilderness. Like many of the private reserves in the area, Kwandwe’s 22 000 hectares were once marginal farmland, but the power lines, houses and fences that scarred the horizon have long since been bundled away, and the land rejuvenated.
Named for the Blue Crane – known as kwa-indwe in the local isiXhosa – the endangered national bird of South Africa is just one of dozens of species that now call this restored landscape home. Elephant enjoy the lush riverine grasses, black rhino stick to the thickets and the Great Fish River flows languidly through the property, harbouring hippo in the deep pools and drawing a menagerie of wildlife in the hot summer months.
The sub-tropical thicket that coats much of Kwandwe’s hills may not support the vast herds of game to be seen further north, but in my handful of game drives we were privileged to enjoy an array of breathtakingly unique sightings: lions ferrying a warthog kill to their cubs, the shy nocturnal aardwolf hunting in broad daylight and, of course, a close call for a lucky cheetah.
On these private reserves you’re just about guaranteed four of the Big Five (darn those shy leopard), but in this corner of the country it seems less is definitely more.
While Kwandwe keeps a low profile, Shamwari is the big, brash reserve that has been beating the drum of Eastern Cape Big Five safaris for over a decade. One of the first to reintroduce big game to its 25 000 hectares, Shamwari is also host to a dubious honour: in 1856 the last free-roaming lion in the Eastern Cape was shot here.
The notion of restoring the indigenous wildlife to its rightful place is precisely what inspired local businessmen Adrian Gardiner to create Shamwari over 20 years ago, buying up parcels of abused farmland that were crying out for restoration. That renewal is still very much a work in progress though, with wide-open plains of grass separating the hilltops of indigenous thicket.
It’s a slight distraction from the Big Five on offer, but it’s not the end of the world. Days at Shamwari follow a similar pattern to most private lodges, with morning and evening game drives crisscrossing the reserve. While the grassy plains of Shamwari support fairly large herds of antelope, again it’s the smaller sightings that you’ll remember: the shy Black Rhino, cheetahs sheltering from a blustery spring wind and the rumble of a lion’s contact call echoing across your hilltop sundowners.
While Shamwari has something for everyone, Gorah Elephant Camp is unashamedly, gloriously, romantic. Set on a private concession within the Addo Elephant National Park, the tented suites of Gorah fan out away from the historic homestead.
In the late-1800s Gorah was once one of the wealthiest farms in the district thanks to the boom in ostrich feathers, and the manor house today reflects the comfortable opulence of the time. Deep leather armchairs, high ceilings and thick walls, magnificent iron fireplaces and a deep stoep overlooking a waterhole make for a loveably old world safari escape.
As with Shamwari, the scars of farming are all too obvious in the flat fields of grass stretching away from Gorah, but it does have the significant benefit of panoramic views across the plains and up into the shrub-covered hills. Addo Elephant National Park has been a haven for elephants since it was proclaimed in 1931, and you’re almost guaranteed some wonderful elephant sightings during your time at Gorah.
Game drives here can traverse the park’s 24 000 hectare main section, but it’s the quiet tracks and off-road routes on the private concession that are the highlight here. Unlike Addo’s self-drive visitors, the beauty of a private safari escape is the sheer gluttony of having a small stretch of African bush all to yourself.
It’s a pleasure that visitors to the Kruger bushveld have long enjoyed, and now the Eastern Cape is slowly muscling in on the act. Bush aficionados will tell you there is nothing like a Lowveld safari, and they’re right.
But when it comes to exquisite lodges and unique sightings these smaller, leaner Eastern Cape reserves are showing they may just be one step ahead of their big brawny bushveld cousins. A little like the cheetah that got away.
Stay here:
Kwandwe Private Game Reserve offers two lodges and two family-friendly exclusive-use villas, but our firm favourite is the sleek modern Ecca Lodge. Just six oh-so-secluded suites stretch out along the hillside, with svelte sliding doors opening onto private decks and panoramic views. This is Norwegian cool meets funky African farmhouse. Low-slung beds and glassed-in rain-showers, rough gabion walls and settler-chic tin roofs. Private plunge pools and outside showers make short work of hot summer days. Room #1 is tucked away and private. Visit www.andbeyond.com or call 011 809 4300
Bayethe Tented Camp is one of seven lodges on Shamwari, and escapes the grassland views by being hidden away in a bird-filled valley. The riverside tents are spacious and tick all the five-star boxes, but could do with a little TLC. This sleek safari lady is showing her age and needs a nip/tuck and a few new frocks. However, the feel is more casual than at other lodges so there’s no need to dress for dinner, as meals are a casual fireside affair.
Visit www.shamwari.com or call 041 407 1000
Gorah Tented Camp is pure Out of Africa romance. Formal dinners – Gorah is a member of the gourmet Chaîne des Rôtisseurs – in the historic homestead are all crystal and candlelight, but the suites are the real highlight. White canvas tents belie the homely luxury within, where four-poster beds and cosy armchairs cry out for afternoon naps and quality time with a good book. And the best bit? It’s canvas, so the rustle of furry critters outside the tent adds a shiver of excitement in the dead of night. Ask for tent #10 to ensure uninterrupted views of the plains.
Visit www.hunterhotels.com or call 044 401 1111
First published in Indwe magazine, February 2011
|
Freedom. It’s something we all seek, but only rarely find.
Jonathan Franzen wrote it, Nelson Mandela was granted it, and I think I’ve found it. Or, rather, him; he’s serving beers behind the bar at what is certainly one of my favourite low-key getaways in South Africa.
With A-framed wood and canvas tents within spitting distance of the Atlantic, the Robinson Crusoe-style Beach Camp in the Cape Columbine Nature Reserve is about as seafront as they come.
It has a laid-back backpacker feel, but with the privacy of double rooms under cosy canvas. A warm welcome, but then no obsequious questioning the moment you leave your tent: just a nod and an offer of a drink. It’s a hidden secret, without the Condé Nast award on the wall.
Some travellers would pay thousands for a location like this, but then here you do have to put up with a little rusticity. Flanked by the sea on one side and coastal fynbos on the other there isn’t even a grid to be off, so don’t expect electricity. Or flush toilets for that matter… it’s composting, follow-the-instructions-or-else commodes for those midnight dashes. And no, en-suite is not an option. But if that’s a problem, this laid-back plek is probably not your cup of OBs anyway.
There’s a charming slap-dash style in the Beach Bar, with its deckchairs hammered together from wood and shade cloth. Assorted flotsam (or is it jetsam?) adorns the walls, and a beaten guitar lies in the corner begging for a mildly tipsy traveller to pluck up “Stairway to Heaven”. Fishing buoys float on the ceiling and shell ‘chandeliers’ tinkle in the breezes. Almost everything is built of heavy wood… perhaps so it won’t blow away.
This is the West Coast after all, so when I say breezes I mean that the summer southeaster can wind up to a full-on tantrum. There’s no point cursing it though, and behind the shade cloth and fishing nets it’s perfectly sheltered. In the crystal-clear night sky, Orion keeps me company as the moonlight ripples towards shore. Every 15 seconds the beam of Cape Columbine lighthouse waves a greeting to ships arriving from the north.
This is the first lighthouse they’ll have sighted since Europe and will no doubt be glad to avoid being cast ashore on the jagged points of Castle Rock. Myself, if I were ever looking for a spot to be marooned where the Twitterati can’t find me… this would probably be it.
IF YOU GO…
Where it is: The Beach Camp is in the Cape Columbine Nature Reserve, about two kilometres outside Paternoster on the West Coast.
Why go there: Live out your castaway fantasies in a driftwood hide-away where 3G and deadlines cannot reach. Spend lazy days staring out at the sparkling (but freezing) Atlantic, reading that long-awaited book, writing that long-awaited book or trying your hand at the addictive over-sized catapult. More adventurous types can opt for sea kayaking and fishing off the kelp beds, or walking in the reserve. The spring flowers are stunning and you can organise a tour of the lighthouse for next-to-nothing.
What it offers: The four cosy A-frame wooden huts offer the best views, but if you’re on a tight budget there are also six comfortable dome tents to be had. Both tents and A-frames have two single beds apiece. Sheets and pillowcases are provided, but either bring your own duvet or hire bedding for a few extra Rands.
What it's like: Rustic, and loveably so. If your first instinct is to unpack your hairdryer you’d probably do better at a B&B in Paternoster. There’s no electricity at The Beach Camp, so it’s paraffin lamps at night and gas geysers for your morning shower. Here’s your chance to do without all the frills of modern life and go back to basics for the weekend: just you, a canvas bedroom and those sea views.
And the food: Mostly self-catering. There’s a fully equipped kitchen tent and a sociable braai area with an armoury of grids and tools, or the laid-back staff can prepare simple dinners if you order in advance. However, Paternoster’s great restaurants are a short drive away, so use the opportunity to sample the West Coast fare of Kobus van der Merwe’s Oep ve Koep or Suzi Holtzhausen’s new beachfront eatery Gaaitjie.
Rates: Two sleeper A-Frames and dome tents cost R560 and R448 per night respectively. You can also hire out the whole camp (up to 23 people) for R6160 per night. Prices valid until May 2011.
Getting there: From Cape Town, follow the R27 north along the West Coast. Take the Vredenburg turn-off and continue straight through town to Paternoster. At the four-way stop, turn left at The Beach Camp sign. Pass the hotel and follow the winding road through town. At the next stop street turn right and follow the road (which becomes good gravel) to the Cape Columbine Nature Reserve gate and another 1km on to The Beach Camp.
Contact: Visit www.beachcamp.co.za, call 082 926 2267 or email
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. For more on the village, visit www.paternoster.info or call (022) 752 2323.
First published in the Sunday Times Travel&Food, 31 January 2011 |
Cape Town-based travel writer Richard Holmes fancies himself as a bit of a hedonist; rarely one to opt for the low-road when the air-con 4x4 will do just as nicely, thank you very much.
So when it came to seeking out some of the planet’s best luxury hideaways for this issue he handpicked his favourite four from his little black book of ‘to-die-for’ escapes…
Xaranna Tented Camp; Botswana
The Okavango Delta may have been formed by a river that’s lost its way, but once I (well, my porter actually) put down my bag at Xaranna I know I’d ended up at exactly the right place.
As wilderness experiences go, the Okavango Delta is the proverbial ‘once in a lifetime’ destination. And at Xaranna Tented Camp you feel the Delta at every turn. The channels gurgle away just metres from the lodge, and on the twice-daily game excursions – via speed boat or poled gently along in a dug-out mokoro – Red Lechwe splash away through the reeds that hide iridescent frogs. Fish Eagles stand sentry on barren tree-tops, elephants rumble past your door at night, squacco herons splash about in the shallows, and cheerful hippos ho-ho-ho to themselves at sunset.
‘But a Tented Camp?’ I hear you ask?
Now before you start worrying about guylines and wooden pegs, an &Beyond tent is the canvas dream to end any camping nightmares, with beds as wide and white as the Kgalagadi to look forward to. With a secluded sala and private pool at each so-called tent, along with delightfully quirky décor at the main lodge, this is certainly a camp for the style-conscious traveller.
It’s not cheap, but then special places never are. And with just a handful of other guests to share your 25 000ha of wilderness, it’s worth every cent.
Tell me more: Visit www.andbeyond.com or call +27 11 809 4300. The Okavango Delta is a malaria-area; so consult your doctor three weeks before departure for appropriate prophylactics. South African passport-holders do not require a visa to visit Botswana on holiday.
Medjumbe Private Island, Mozambique
Now tell me honestly… are there two better words to be neighbours than “private” and “island”?
Deserted beaches, the whisper of sea on sand to lull you to sleep, and a dinner table groaning with fresh seafood where you can wiggle your toes into the beach… who wouldn’t choose a private island as their ultimate escape? But if – like me – your bank balance doesn’t quite stretch to owning your own, happily there are still places like Medjumbe.
The Quirimbas are my favourite corner of Mozambique; an archipelago of paradise islands all waving palms and blinding white sands. Turquoise seas and coral reefs mark out the patchwork of islands as my light aircraft bumps down to land on Medjumbe’s impossibly short runway. Nobody said getting to paradise was easy, now did they?
A slender sand-spit lying like a giant comma in Mozambique’s clear-blue waters, just 13 rooms dot the northern edge of Medjumbe, gazing towards Tanzania a few hundred kilometres away. Palm-thatched cabins and private plunge pools make for an idyllic retreat at the end of a day of diving, snorkelling and general sun worshipping. Ideally with a good book to hand.
And that’s pretty much what a Quirimbas time-out is all about – a slice of ‘me-time’ in paradise. Whether you’re blowing bubbles underwater or enjoying a glass of bubbly surrounded by it, a visit to the Quirimbas is my ultimate island escape.
Tell me more: Visit www.raniresorts.com or call +27 11 463 6313.
Bateleur Camp, Kenya
If it’s good enough for Karen Blixen it’s good enough for me. Well, it was Meryl Streep more than Blixen herself, but either way Kenya’s Oloololo escarpment is a rather fabulous spot to indulge your Out of Africa fantasies. Here, where the final scenes of the iconic film were shot, is where I enjoy sundowners on my first night in the Masai Mara.
Below me lies over a thousand square kilometres of wilderness; a billiard table of emerald green with smudges of black at suitably irregular intervals. Those smudges are, of course, some of the hundreds of thousands of animals that call the Mara home, and make it one of the world’s most famous safari destinations.
And in the forest at our feet hides Bateleur Camp, the welcome echo of an old-school safari. Situated on a private concession bordering the national reserve, it’s a prime example of the way tourism can work hand-in-hand with the local community.
The eighteen luxury safari tents are spread across two camps, connected by wooden walkways wandering through the indigenous forest. Each private safari tent is a masterpiece of canvas luxury, with a four-poster bed and suitably decadent bathroom.
A bell jar of sweets and bedtime stories with the nightly hot-water bottle add that magical personal touch. Twice-daily game drives explore the legendary Masai Mara National Reserve, but I could just as easily sink into the leather armchairs on my private deck and soak up the panoramic Mara views. It’s Hemingway without the guns and ‘Out of Africa’ without the angst. I think Karen would be rather proud.
Tell me more: Visit www.andbeyond.com or call +27 11 809 4300. The Masai Mara is a low-risk malaria-area; but consult your travel doctor before departure.
Taj Lake Palace; India
Rose petals. They had me at the rose petals. Cascading from above as the handsome Rajasthani doorman wafted us into the Taj Lake Palace, the smile on my wife’s face was worth every airline meal on the long flight to Udaipur.
The city of Udai. Jewel of Rajasthan. Venice of the East. Whatever you choose to call it, Udaipur is pretty impressive. Life revolves around Lake Pichola, from the City Palace to the women in colourful saris washing at the stone ghats. We can see it all from the rooftop restaurant of what is perhaps the world’s most romantic hotel.
Built in 1746 by Maharana Jagat Singh II, the 62nd successor to the royal dynasty of Mewar would use the manicured courtyards and rooftop terraces for summer shindigs for his royal court. An island palace proved to be the ideal hideaway and even today the hotel can only reached by boat, making our escape to luxury a physical break from the reality of India.
Through the cascade of petals, and marble corridors lead us to our opulent Palace Suite, where lake views flowed in from every direction. Plush velvet and crisp linen abound… evidently the maharajahs never went for the “less is more” look. But like a new maharajah I’m hungry to soak up the pleasures of my palace. Well, mine for a night or two, at least.
The hotel’s renowned Jiva spa rings up to ask if I’ll be having my massage on land or water… the dedicated ‘spa boat’ sets sail on the lake to offer couples a little alone time. Life revolves around the Lake, so water it is.
And so too for dinner: a private pontoon, moored in the lake and aglow with lanterns, is our table for the night. Fireworks explode above the City Palace, and Lake Pichola shines happily in the sparkle. Behind us the Lake Palace shimmers in the moonlight, a white marble jewel giving the Taj Mahal a run for its money in the romance stakes.
Tell me more: Visit www.tajhotels.com or call 00 800 4 588 1 825 (toll-free).
Published in Longevity magazine; December 2010 |
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