My childhood hairdresser is long gone – replaced by a shopping mall and a shall-remain-anonymous food retailer – but the embarrassing memory of those after-school haircuts is still fresh in my mind.
You see, this was the salon where my mother had her hair done. And that, I’m sure you’ll agree, is a street-cred death knell for any self-respecting fourteen-year-old boy.
There were frilly lace curtains in the window, and a strange smell of hairspray forever wafting out the door. The floor was parquet and lace doilies topped smoky-glass tables stacked neatly with teacups and magazines; magazines about sewing and dresses and casseroles. Not a fast car or hot girl in sight.
Invariably I was the pimply thorn amongst the roses, the old ladies clucking to themselves and gossiping with each other as their perms set under the massive hair-dryers. What did they do under there, I wondered to myself, praying that none of my classmates would see me inside waiting my turn for the clippers.
And that is exactly the reason I will one day take my son to a place like Barnet Fair to have his haircut.
Housed beneath the old St. Stephen’s Church on Bree Street in the heart of the city, Barnet Fair is one of just a handful of traditional men’s barbers left in the city. A place where you can have your hair cut, your beard trimmed and your stubble shaved… a place where hair colouring and Good Housekeeping magazine are dirty words. Where there’s a pub next door and good music on the iPod.
‘Barnet Fair’ – for those who haven’t spent much time in London’s East End – is cockney rhyming slang for ‘hair’, and any self-respecting man about town would do well to look after his ‘barnet’.
“I’ve always been in love with barber shops, even though I went bald young,” says Steven Pitt, the owner of Barnet Fair. “I did a lot of travelling, and barbershops in Europe, Turkey, Africa are huge. And just I love the whole experience; the old chair, the smells. We’re offering men’s grooming in a masculine environment, so dudes don’t have to get their hair cut sitting next to some old tannie having their blue rinse!”
My barnet is looking pretty good right now though, and it’s hair of another sort that requires a little attention; a five o’clock shadow that will soon be whipped away by a hot towel shave.
“Most men see it as a bit of a chore, but we’re trying to bring some of that romance back into shaving,” says Steven. “Obviously it’s indulgent, but in many places in Europe it’s part of a guy’s daily routine; he’ll go down to the local barbershop for a shave.”
As metrosexual men become more concerned with their appearance, shaving has gone from being a three-minute chore, to a masculine experience to be savoured. And with not a doily in sight, a pukka men’s barbershop is certainly the best place to do it.
While the barber slips a disposable razor into the cut-throat and I lean back in the leather-backed chair – a vintage Takara, dating from the 1920s – it’s hard not to think of Sweeney Todd, the ‘demon barber’ of Fleet Street whose customers were turned into pies in the bakery below. Luckily, Barnet Fair is on the ground floor so there’s little chance of Mrs Lovett waiting to turn me into ‘journalist with crust’and I happily drift off as a hot towel opens the pores and softens my two-day beard.
“We use Edwin Jagger products from Sheffield, in England,” explains Steven as a rich lather is liberally brushed across my face. “It comes in three styles; Aloe Vera for sensitive skin, Sandalwood for normal skin and Sea buckthorn for dry skin. The first step is to shave with the traditional cutthroat, down with the grain of the hair, then a second hot towel and another lather. Then we use a modern razor for a second shave against the grain.
“We like to use old-school and new-school tools because you get the closest shave possible, in the most comfortable way. A cutthroat shave in both directions can be a bit abrasive. After that, a third hot towel and a slap of Edwin Jagger aftershave lotion to finish up.”
Leonard Cohen lulls me into a stupor before the hydraulic chair kicks back to the full upright position and I examine their handiwork. Smooth as a billiard table indeed, but the cutthroat razor has left my skin a little sensitive. The hot towels are luxuriant, and the products smell and feel great, but I wonder if my sun-leathered face could handle this on a regular basis?
Bob Lansdown, owner of The Old’e English Shaving Shop and Mr Cobbs The Barber in the popular V&A Waterfront, is equally passionate about bringing the romance back into shaving, but isn’t much of a fan of the straight razor.
“It rips you to f***ing shreds. It tears you to pieces,” says Bob in his inimitable East End accent, fixing me with his steely glare. “We only use a cutthroat for neatening up a goatee or a beard, but never for shaving. It’s like shaving with a f***ing sushi knife.”
Some men may be disappointed that they can’t live out their cowboy wash-house fantasies with a waist-coated barber wielding a straight-razor, but cutthroats aside Mr Cobbs offers all the old-school charm you could ask for. A wood-panelled front desk, Victorian tiles and vintage barbershop chairs set the scene for a similarly decadent hot towel treatment in a barbershop that wouldn’t look out of place in 19th century London.
Badger’s your best bet
“This style of shaving dates from the Victorian era,” explains Bob, as a customer gets lathered up. “We clean your face with camomile and coconut oils, which contain no soap, so you’re not rubbing any grease into your face. We use a modern Mach 3 blade and the first shave is with a badger-hair shaving brush and shaving soap. The second shave is done with an ointment, and this ointment actually gets shaved in with the blade, pushing it deep into your skin.”
But badger-hair, I hear you say ask? Yup, if you want the best in shaving brushes then badger’s your best bet, says Bob. With a brush-making company in Cape Town exporting to the likes of Harrods and Selfridges, it’s clear he knows a thing or two about brushes.
“We don’t use English or Irish badgers, and obviously not honey badgers here in South Africa. The sale of the fur is strictly controlled, and these are all wild badgers from China, where they’re hunted for their meat,” argues Bob. “With a proper badger brush and shaving soap, you get this wonderful rich cream to shave with. You simply cannot get the same out of that bloody horrible foam in a tin, which is mostly just water anyway.”
While the hot towel shave at Mr Cobbs (and Barnet Fair) comes in at a reasonable R150, buying your own top-notch shaving kit doesn’t come cheap. A tube of shaving soap will set you back about R200 – “It’ll last you for bloody years though,” says Bob – but it’s the brush that will put a dent in your wallet.
“You get three different types of badger hair from the animal. The black hair is reasonably priced, maybe R500 for a brush, and the grey brush comes off its back; a little bit softer,” explains Bob, running a brush along my jawline. “But the silvertip is the best you can get… the hair comes from under the badger’s chin and look how the soft hair fans out beautifully against your palm. That’s about R1200. It’s expensive, but you get what you pay for, y’know.”
A grand for a shave sounds a bit steep, but Bob assures me that the fine bristles are sure to last longer in a brush than they did on the badger: “A good brush will last for 35, 40 years. Most men buy a brush when they’re young. They get married and make babies. Then watch the babies walk down the aisle and get married. And they’re still using the same brush!
“Men hate shaving, but we try and teach them how to shave and get them to buy the correct product for their skin… from then on instead of men having to shave, they want to shave.”
I’m one of those men, I guess, a restless traveller and reluctant shaver. A man who’s scraped off a three-week beard with an in-flight razor, and who happily sees Sunday as the shaving Sabbath.
As a manly rite of passage a hot towel shave at a men’s barbershop is certainly high on my list, but I’m not sure I see it becoming much of a regular indulgence. But I walk away from Mr Cobbs rubbing my smooth jaw line, a scent of almond face balm gently lingering, and I can’t help but wonder… perhaps it’s time to invest in some badger?
Mr Cobbs The Barber: V&A Waterfront / 021 418 2427 / www.englishshavingshop.com
Barnet Fair:
98 Bree Street, Cape Town /
021 424 1302 / www.barnetfair.co.za
Published in Indwe magazine, November 2010 |
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Rodrigues is for the birds. And, frankly, who can blame them.
Lesser Noddy, Brown Noddy, White-tailed Tropic Birds, Fairy and Sooty Terns. They’re all around me in the casuarina trees that line the blinding white sands of Ile aux Cocos. Entirely unafraid of humans these long-haul visitors know a good thing when they find it.
But perhaps I should take a few steps back… Rodrigues, I hear you ask? Don’t be surprised if you haven’t heard of it.
Castaway some 650 kilometres east of the busy beaches of Mauritius, Rodrigues is the island escape for travellers who enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. There are no sprawling resorts here, just family-run hotels offering a handful of comfortable rooms. They’re low-key and low on frills, but brimming with Creole friendliness.
Rodrigues certainly isn’t striking in a waving-palms-picture-postcard way. Stray dogs may wander past, goats graze in the hills above and fishing boats are pulled up on the sand alongside sunbathing tourists. But it’s an island that’s comfortable in its own skin; an island where tourism is a happy side effect of a laid-back island life. Fishermen go to sea not to serve a tourism industry, but because it’s what’s been done here for generations.
Locals seem unaffected by the trickle of foreigners, and a Creole-scented “bonjour” greets you on the streets as a welcome visitor, not a potential customer. There are no tour buses and touts lying in wait at the airport … instead grab a taxi, or the local bus, to the capital city of Port Mathurin.
And by ‘city’, I mean the pleasant laid-back town where kids swim off the small harbour and the Saturday morning market brings islanders to sell their wares and catch up on island gossip. Woven hats and baskets, along with jars of the fierce local chillies, are popular buys and with a bit of gentle bargaining you’ll walk away with a smile and friendly au revoir.
Francois Leguat – the island’s first settler – was far from happy though when he arrived here in 1691. Fleeing persecution in France, he and his band of Huguenots were expecting to settle in Reunion, but the French Navy put paid to those plans and his ship dropped them off on this far-flung deserted island.
Deserted, that is, bar the island’s magnificent wildlife. The giant tortoises and flightless Solitaire – Rodrigues’ answer to the Dodo – were soon eaten into extinction, and while 300 years of human settlement have taken their toll the island is still a verdant slice of green amidst sparkling blue seas. As my flight cruises in from Mauritius the magic of Rodrigues is plain to see. Just 18-kilometres long, by six wide, it is the fringing coral reef – three times the size of the island – that takes your breath away.
But the reef will have to wait. It’s been a long morning, and my stomach is rumbling. Rodrigues is famous for offering some of the best Creole cooking in the Indian Ocean. A sultry mix of French, Asian and African flavours, the island’s food is both exotic and affordable.
“Every Rodriguan will ask for their fish at dinnertime,” laughs Marie-Louise at Villa Mon Tresor. “Maybe a little roast pork too on special occasions, but every day there must be fish on the plate!”
Like many women on the island, Marie-Louise offers home-cooked Creole meals at a table d’hote – literally, a ‘table of the house’. Although usually attached to a guesthouse, visitors are always welcome to join the family and other guests for the meal of the day, turning a simple and affordable meal into an island experience.
Creole cooking generally revolves around fragrant curries eaten with maize, red haricot beans and tangy salads of green papaya, onion, chives and tomato. Rodriguans like a bit of spice with their food, but the fiery local chillies are usually served on the side for those with delicate palates! Surrounded by ocean, it’s no surprise that local produce is king here: maize comes from local fields, fish is fresh from the lagoon that morning and salads are from the garden.
Subsistence gardens form a patchwork quilt on the steep hillsides of Rodrigues, and after lunch we take a drive to discover more of the island. The roads may be steep and winding, but the traffic is light and the locals are friendly, so it’s well worth hiring a car or motorbike to go exploring.
We stop first at the Francois Leguat Giant Tortoise and Caves Reserve in the southwest of the island to discover how indigenous trees are being replanted to create a sanctuary for the endemic Golden Fruit Bat, and giant tortoises from the Seychelles are being bred to slowly repopulate this corner of the Plaine Corail.
We pass up the chance to take a subterranean wander through the impressive caves at Caverne Patate, and stick to the road east, meandering past the popular Cotton Bay Hotel to the Baie de l’Est. From here, a fifteen-minute walk emerges from the forest at the magical Trou d’Argent.
Who knows if the pirate tales that gave this beach the name ‘Silver Hole’ are true, but this deserted cove is a treasure regardless, and one of the most stunning beaches in the Indian Ocean.
The sun is heading westwards, but there’s just time for a last stop at Mont Limon; the highest point on the island offering 360° views of the island and its magnificent fringing reef.
Deep channels break through the reef in slashes of royal blue, while the shallows glimmer like a pond of Bombay Sapphire. Fishing pirogues ply the waters for carangue – a tasty fish not unlike Yellowtail – and local women scour the reef for octopus.
The next morning – in sturdy shoes – I join the locals out on the spiny reef. As the tide recedes into the channels, the exposed coral harbours a supermarket of seafood. Sea cucumbers and whelks are shoved into bags while octopus hide in their holes, evading the sharp spears that could consign them to the island’s drying racks. Perhaps they’re aware that pickled octopus salad is an island delicacy.
While the fishermen stick to the shallows the deep passes offer fantastic scuba diving, dropping quickly from waist-deep water to 40 metre walls. Game fish patrol the depths and pristine coral is a welcome change from the dynamite- and sun-damaged corals of other Indian Ocean islands. Parts of the reef also offer easy and safe snorkelling, although the best spots are only reachable by boat.
Say hello, then, to Christophe Meunier – local artist, boat skipper, fishing expert, snorkelling instructor and tour guide. He’s a man who wears many hats, but it’s his T-shirt that catches my eye the moment we hop on-board his open fishing boat: “No Stress” is emblazoned across his chest.
It’s seems a fitting slogan for a day on the waters off this paradise island. He smiles, and hands me a hand-line as we troll for carangue destined for the curry at this mother’s table d’hote. The wind is calm on the lagoon this morning, so he guns the engine and our boat leaps towards the Ile aux Cocos; one of 20 protected islands surrounding Rodrigues.
“The island is called ‘Cocos,’ because of the eggs,” the park guide Marie-Claude mentions over her shoulder as we wander across the island, “not because of any coconuts!” Just a few hundred metres wide, by 1500m long, a third of it is for feathered visitors only. “For the rest of the island, tourists are welcome to explore on their own.”
I don’t do too much exploring though. Ile aux Cocos offers one of the best swimming beaches on Rodrigues and with a local pandanus hat to keep the bright tropical sun out of my eyes, the calm blue waters of the lagoon seem to stretch on forever. In the distance, a handful of kite-surfers leap and dive on their way downwind.
I look up and down the beach. For a hundred metres in either direction I’m the only person on the beach. Frigate birds soar along the distant reef, and delicate Fairy Terns eye me warily from the casuarina boughs behind me. Not unlike other two-legged tourists who follow the sun in search of quiet island escapes, the flocks of migratory fowl that arrive here each year are clearly those in the know. For them, as well as us, it’s a long flight to reach Rodrigues, but this idyllic corner of the Indian Ocean is well worth the journey.
TRAVEL ADVISORY
- Air Mauritius is the best way to reach Rodrigues: the airline flies daily from Johannesburg to Mauritius, and on to the island a 90-minute flight away. For more information and to book, visit www.airmauritius.com.
- Accommodation on Rodrigues is well priced, and ranges from simple family-run guesthouses like Auberge Anse aux Anglais (http://aubergehung.free.fr) to small resorts such as Mourouk Ebony Hotel (www.mouroukebonyhotel.com). Restaurant meals are a similar price to South Africa.
- Rodrigues uses the Mauritian Rupee. 1 rupee = R0.22
- To plan your visit, go to www.tourism-rodrigues.mu or visit your travel agent. To really get a feel for the island, plan to spend four to seven days exploring.
- South African visitors do not need a visa for stays less than 60 days.
First published in Garden & Home magazine; January 2011 |
Thu 20 Jan 2011 |
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Why we don't speak French |
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A puff of smoke hovers above the waters of False Bay. Close to shore, dozens of surfers enjoy the easy breaks of Muizenberg’s Surfer’s Corner while yummy mummies and beach bums tuck into some of the best coffee and croissants in Cape Town at the Knead bakery on the beachfront.
It’s a happy-go-lucky picture of South Africa’s seaside, and the ‘smoke’ is merely a migrating Southern Right whale coming up for air on this sunny spring day.
But if you’d been gazing out over Muizenberg at around 2pm on 7 August 1795 you’d have had a front row seat to one of the shortest, but most influential battles in South Africa’s history.
“The battle here was really a turning point in the history of our country,” says Chris Taylor, enthusiastic custodian of the fynbos-clad battle site and a member of the Muizenberg Historical Conservation Society.
With their trade routes to India under threat, and revolution in the air across Europe, the British East India Company decided that they couldn’t allow the Dutch – who were rapidly falling under the influence of France – to hold the colony at the Cape.
“Without the Cape the British simply could not get to India, as there were no other safe harbours they could use to rest and restock along the way,” explains Chris. “India was the jewel in the colonial crown, so the British government decided the Cape had to be taken.”
With 13 ships and hundreds of men a British fleet sailed into False Bay in July 1795 and, using a mixture of threats and subterfuge, tried to convince the Dutch governor to hand over control the Cape.
“The Dutch were having none of it, and eventually the British ran out of patience. Lord Elfinstone, the commander of the fleet, had had enough and gave the Dutch an ultimatum: surrender, or fight,” says Chris, pointing out across False Bay. “With no surrender in sight the British sailed four of their warships from Simon’s Bay to just a few hundred metres offshore, set their anchors and began their bombardment.”
In just half-an-hour over 800 cannonballs rained down on the small fort the Dutch had hastily erected, and it wasn’t long before the demoralised soldiers beat a retreat. It was the beginning of the end for the Dutch and – when a larger British force arrived the following month – they surrendered, ushering in the British occupation that would last for over a century.
“If it wasn’t for the Battle of Muizenberg we’d probably all be speaking French today,” laughs Chris. “It was really a turning point in the history of our country, and opened up the Cape colony for development as part of the British Empire.”
A century later, Muizenberg would also become the final stop for one of the scions of that Empire; a man who dreamt of a railroad from the Cape to Cairo.
From the site of the battle on the hills above Muizenberg a mismatched collection of quaint cottages and grandiose mansions clings to the mountainside on the bend towards St. James and Kalk Bay. One small cottage, just metres from the sea and with a steeply pitched thatched roof, is just visible above the fynbos.
Once humble slave quarters, then a fishing shelter and holiday getaway this simple cottage was bought by Cecil John Rhodes in 1899 is now home to the Rhodes Cottage Museum.
“Rhodes lived here in his final days while he built his dream house, ‘Rust en Vrede’ next door,” I’m told by Alan Harvey, another of the volunteer curators with the Historical Conservation Society, who manage the small museum. “The house was designed by the architect Herbert Baker, but sadly Rhodes never lived to see it finished.”
In stark contrast to the grandiose Rhodes Memorial on the mountain slopes above the city, the unassuming Rhodes Cottage Museum offers a more balanced look at the man who believed unfailingly in the power of Empire, and dreamt of a railway across the continent that would “paint the map red” in the name of England.
Born the son of a clergyman in July 1853, Rhodes’ fascinating life and achievements are explored in a series of old-style clippings, notes and photographs in the cottage’s four rooms.
Aside from a dusty diorama of his burial place in Zimbabwe’s Matopos Hills don’t expect any bells and whistles, but the collection of period photographs and well-written notes accurately tells Rhodes’ story; from coming to Africa to seek his fortune at the age of 16, to finding it abundance on the diamond fields of Kimberley.
Fortunes built, political power gained and lost, scholarships bequeathed, Cape Dutch architecture revived, and railways dreamt of… you can easily spend an hour or two here learning about the good, the bad and the ugly of the continent’s most famous imperialist.
But for me the most poignant display of all is the small, simply furnished front room where Rhodes passed away one hot late-summer night in 1902.
On one wall is the last photo taken of Rhodes; pallid and frail, he appears just a shadow of the man who shaped so much of Southern Africa. Such was the public interest in his health that the Cape Times ran daily reports on his condition, and Rhodes’ final days are well recorded in the exhibit’s newspaper clippings and faded photographs.
“Mr Rhodes has had a better night”. “The heat of yesterday interfered with his rest”.
And then, “Restless night: Heart trouble remains. Mr Rhodes remains slightly weaker,” ran the report on 26 March 1902.
At 6.08pm that evening, at the age of just 48, Cecil John Rhodes passed away on a simple iron bed. His last words, it is said, were: “So little done, so much to do.”
Outside the bedroom where he died is an immaculate indigenous garden where Rhodes may well have ‘taken the air’ to clear his weak lungs. It’s a fine place to stop on a summer afternoon, but don’t forget to keep an eye out over False Bay for a puff of smoke and remember the remarkable history of this quiet corner of the Cape.
The Battle of Muizenberg site is currently open by appointment only. Contact Chris Taylor on 082 908 3456 or
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The Rhodes Cottage Museum (Main Road, Muizenberg) is open daily from 10am to 4pm, or by appointment on 082 425 3092.
Published in Indwe magazine; January 2011 |
If you don’t like elephants, perhaps you should stop reading right about now. Towering matriarchal elephants, tiny trunk-out-of-control elephants, mud-caked elephants, and just-washed elephants. More parading pachyderms than you can shake a stick at. In Botswana’s Chobe National Park, the elephants are like the proverbial elephant in the room. Unavoidable.
“We say if they can walk under their mother’s belly they’re younger than three months,” says our guide Jakes as our Land Cruiser rumbles to a halt on the flat plains that fringe the Chobe River. The Chobe flows slowly towards the Zambezi, up in the corner where Namibia, Botswana, Zambia and Zimbabwe bump into each other. Angola is just over the horizon too, but that’s a story for another day.
It’s early summer, and it’s been a long time since these elephant have heard the sound of rain falling on dry earth. Months since the sweet smell of moisture evaporating on warm soil has wafted up their trunks. Behind us the bushveld of Chobe is tinder dry; all baked sand and desiccated trees. But down near the river there’s water and grazing aplenty and herds of animals feast on their good fortune. Lion and leopard keep a low profile in the shadows, but sooner or later they’ll make their presence felt. There are no fences here, no stock control, and no wildlife management. This is pure, distilled wilderness.
They say Africa is not for sissies, and Chobe in October is not for the faint-hearted. The mercury clocks in at around 40° each day, and our small group of travellers is doing this a little less Hermes and a touch more Hemingway.
&Beyond is known throughout southern Africa for their outstanding lodges that offer luxury without the bling. There’s an authenticity, a gentle touch in style and service that seems to set them apart from most other safari companies.
But can they do camping? That’s what I was asking myself as we rolled into our tented home for the next few nights.
&Beyond’s mobile ‘Under Canvas’ camps operate in three of Botswana’s national parks, depending on the season, offering a unique experience for travellers happy to rough it just a little.
You may be sleeping under canvas, but there’s no comfort spared here and the tents are heavy on ‘Out of Africa’ safari romance. Each of the camp’s five tents is en-suite, complete with flush toilet and a warm bucket shower. The linen on the double bed is crisp, a coir rug massages my bare feet and the flicker of paraffin lamps turns the tent into a romantic haven under the stars. Pity I’m on my own this time.
Dinner is served under a central tent, Mopani wood crackling in the fire and hurricane lamps swinging gently in the breeze. The dinners run over three courses, with soup and dessert book-ending hearty mains that won’t win any Michelin stars but do well to fill the tank for another day on safari. The bread is baked fresh each day and the wine is served with chunks of ice – glorious ice – in cut glasses on hot African nights. These mobile camps migrate every few days, and for a campsite in the middle of the African bush – not a tap or power point in sight – this is about as luxurious as it gets.
Our tented haven is just a means to an end though. We’re here to discover what Chobe has to offer, and in just a few game drives we’ve ticked off a remarkable number of sightings. A young male leopard feasting on his impala kill in a Mahogany tree, a 1000-strong herd of buffalo chewing the cud on the riverbanks, a lioness makes short work of a roan antelope, hippo graze during the day, Nile crocodiles cruise stealthily through the shallows and herd after herd of elephant wander ponderously across the plains.
It’s extraordinary, unexpected and we take care to warn our token American traveller that safaris aren’t always like this. You can go years without seeing a leopard, then see two in one drive in Chobe. Boat safaris on the Chobe River are a popular way to explore the park, and make a pleasant escape from the dusty heat of the park’s sandy roads. Crocodile and hippo break the surface in the wake of our boat, and we chug to within metres of elephant cooling off in the river and enjoying the lush grasses on the bank.
We see it all from above the next morning as our Cessna 206 flies us low over the Chobe River on our way to Moremi Game Reserve. The herds and grassland fan out below us until the pilot climbs into the thermals and sets course to the west.
I’m only too happy to feel the skid of wheels on the bumpy runway at Moremi an hour or so later. Small planes, bumpy hot air and I are not friends.
It’s worth every stomach-rolling lurch though. Moremi Game Reserve encapsulates the final tendrils of the Okavango Delta as it slowly loses itself in the deserts to the south. The channels aren’t deep – or permanent – enough here to allow speedboat safaris or mokoro trips, but twice-daily game drives take you right to the water’s edge to offer a real feel for the Delta. Forests of Mopani trees dominate here, hiding shy leopard and imperious owls. But the channels are where the real action is.
Hippo grumble away to themselves in the deeper pools, while the semi-aquatic Red Lechwe – specially adapted for life in the Delta with their splayed hooves – and Sitatunga graze warily in the shallows. The birding is breathtaking too, with everything from steely-eyed Bateleurs to ‘Alice in Wonderland’ Saddle-Billed Storks on parade.
There’s cheetah here too, and more than a few African Wild Dog, and lion, and elephant, giraffe and buffalo. Again, we remind our American friend that safaris aren’t meant to be like this. They’re meant to be hard work, long hours with only a handful of sightings to offer jolts of excitement in an afternoon blur of passing landscape. But not in Botswana.
The end of our trip reduces us to ticking off clichés. The red orb of sunset as distant smoke sets the horizon on fire. The Fish Eagle’s call sounding both too predictable and indescribably perfect. We’re chasing antelope off the runway, and downing G&Ts at sunset.
That night – our last night under canvas – we tick off another. A male lion roars somewhere nearby; a low, keening cough as he calls his females. He could be kilometres away, but he sounds too close for comfort. We’re in no danger, but your mind does strange things at night in the African bush, especially when there’s little more than a zipper and canvas between you and toothy cats.
And perhaps that’s the real joy of a safari under canvas. Sure, there are a few home comforts and friendly &Beyond staff on hand to make it more holiday and less work, but more than anything this is a way to get back to the basics of being in the bush; to feel the hot sand sink beneath your feet, and be woken by birdsong and bright sunlight. To crack an eyelid in the night and smile at the fire protectively burning away; or to rise in the morning and discover that it’s failed, and hyena have walked right past your tent in the night.
These are thrills you rarely feel in the safe confines of a safari lodge, but under canvas, with the wilds of Botswana pressing in on all sides of your canvas abode and the rumble of a lion not far off you think… yes, they were right. Perhaps Africa isn’t for sissies.
www.andbeyond.com
+27 11 809 4300
Published in Indwe magazine; January 2011 |
It’s hard to ignore the Table Mountain National Park. It towers above the Mother City; a maternal presence offering a weather forecast for yachties and guiding light to lost motorists. But pretty as it may be from afar, the only way to really get a feel for this corner of the Cape Floristic Region World Heritage Site is to strap on your walking shoes. And it’s easier than you think with these four simple, but scenic wanders…
If you’re short on time, but want to stretch your legs, the Pipe Track (3hrs/9kms) is the perfect walk. It’s not too strenuous, just a few minutes from the City Bowl and offers stunning views of both mountain and sea. This is one of Cape Town’s iconic walks, and a gentle stroll along a track laid in 1887 for the pipes that carried water from the mountaintop reservoirs.
Leave your car in the parking area at Kloof Nek, where you wander up the steps that lead away from the City Bowl. At the top the Pipe Track proper begins its southerly ramble along the famous row of buttresses known as the Twelve Apostles. Occasional benches make a perfect spot to gaze down over the millionaire mansions of Camps Bay and Clifton... perhaps a spot for a post-walk swim?
Although you’ll work up a little sweat climbing out of Diep Sloot, the path is almost entirely level as it wanders past Porcupine Ravine, Kasteelspoort and Woody Ravine. However, don’t be tempted to explore the paths up these valleys unless you have a map, or one of your party knows the route – some of these paths turn into precarious scrambles that could leave you hanging!
Paths warning of a “Dangerous Ascent” – this time up Slangolie Ravine – mark the point to turn-around and head back too. Although, of course, as this is a there-and-back walk you could turn around at any point… the trick with the Pipe Track is to simply take it slowly and enjoy the view.
Another wonderfully flat walk is, perhaps unsurprisingly, on the very top of Table Mountain and there are two easy ways to reach the highest point on Hoerikwaggo; the ‘mountain in the sea’ as the San people called Table Mountain.
If you’re feeling energetic the steep path from Tafelberg Road up Platteklip Gorge will get your blood pumping, but it’s hardly the most scenic route in the National Park. With a name translated literally as ‘flat stone gorge’ it’s a tedious, occasionally strenuous, slog up a gash in the massif above the city.
Save yourself the sweat and savour the views by whisking your way to the top on the famous Table Mountain Aerial Cableway (R160/adult return). Once you’ve taken your photos of the City Bowl below, follow the signs to the south indicating the path to Maclear’s Beacon (2hrs/5kms).
Happily, within a few minutes the crowds of summit-trippers thin out and you start to feel the beauty of the ‘Back Table’ as the fairly flat path meanders eastwards towards the highest point on the Mountain.
At 1086 metres above sea level, the large stone beacon that marks the highest point was built in 1844 by Astronomer Thomas Maclear and is a fitting crown to the Mother City’s famous icon.
It’s hard to get lost on the path to Maclear’s, but do keep on eye on the yellow footprints painted on the rock to mark your way. Remember too that the weather up top can change in minutes, so always wear good walking shoes, pack a weatherproof jacket and carry sufficient water. See our safety tips side-box for more good advice.
While tourists make the most of the dramatic city views from the cableway, if Capetonians want to enjoy the best of the Back Table chances are you’ll find them making their way up the steep steps of Skeleton Gorge (4hrs/6kms).
Park your car at the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens (good for a well-earned tea on your way down!) and pay your entry fee for the shortcut up to the contour path. The route to Skeleton Gorge is well sign-posted, and once you hit the contour path it’s hard to miss the Gorge rising up above you.
A deep slash rises through indigenous forest of Yellowwoods, Milkwoods and Wild Peach, with mossy boulders lining your route higher up. Thick vine creepers loop through the boughs, and on hot summer days the deep shade here is welcome… a far cry from the sun-baked Platteklip Gorge!
The path is steep and steady, but anyone who’s reasonably fit should have no trouble. However, a few wooden ladders cover steeper sections towards the top of the gorge, so take it slowly if you’re unsteady on your feet. From the top of the ladders there’s a short scramble up the riverbed to a stone gabion, where the path contours off to the right through a delightful glade of ferns. Keep an eye out on the moss-covered rock face; the eagle-eyed might be lucky to spot the Red Disa in flower during January and February.
At the summit, the path meanders to the left of a large rock. This is your path across to Nursery Ravine, but you could happily wander a little further onto the Back Table for a look at the surprising sight of two large reservoirs, which once supplied the city of Cape Town.
Retrace your steps to the large rock and follow the path to the left and down Nursery Ravine. It’s a steep knee-jarring walk, but you’ll be rewarded with wonderful stands of Protea and lovely mountain views. At the contour path, hang a left and you’ll soon find yourself at the Kirstenbosch tearoom for a well-deserved lunch!
While the main bulk of Table Mountain certainly gets plenty of attention, the National Park actually runs all the way to Cape Point and hides some delightful walks along its spine.
One you certainly shouldn’t miss is the gentle climb to Noordhoek Peak (3hrs/6.5kms), with its picture-postcard views over Hout Bay and the southern peninsula. From Ou Kaapse Weg, turn into the northern (Cape Town side) entrance, pay your nominal entry fee, and follow the road to the parking area near the dam. Here you’ll also find a wheelchair friendly boardwalk skirting the inky waters of the reservoir… but don’t worry; the water’s not polluted, just stained by the fynbos tannins.
From the dam wall a gravel road leads off to the left and climbs steadily towards the old fire lookout. Take a break here for fabulous views over Kommetjie and False Bay, before continuing to climb. Once you reach the highest point of the road, a stone cairn and clear sandy path leads off to the left. A few minutes’ wandering through the fynbos brings you to the beacon at Noordhoek Peak and one of the best views in town. Spot whales in the bay below, Black Eagles soaring on the cliffs and fishing boats returning to harbour.
With your legs rested, return to the gravel road and turn left for the gentle circular meander back to the dam and your car. There are wonderful picnic and braai sites alongside the dam, so pack a lunch and make a day of it!
Travel tips
- Find out more on the Table Mountain National Park at www.sanparks.org.
- For a longer walk in the Park, why not consider the five-day Hoerikwaggo Trail. Visit www.hoerikwaggotrail.org.
- For more trails and detailed route descriptions, pick up a copy of Mike Lundy’s excellent walking guide ‘Best Walks in the Cape Peninsula’ from any good bookstore.
- If you’d prefer to walk on the mountain with a guide, consider joining one of the walks offered by professional mountain guides such as Margaret Curran (www.tablemountainwalks.co.za) or Binny Ridgway (www.ridgwayramblers.co.za)
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As vineyards give way to orchards, and fruit is laid out to dry on the flanks of Route 62, perhaps the last thing you expect to encounter along the world’s longest wine route is a wildlife sanctuary boasting elephant, lion and leopard.
But then Sanbona Wildlife Reserve – in so many ways – catches most visitors by surprise.
It’s been close on 10 years since Adrian Gardiner – the businessman who made Eastern Cape Big Five safaris famous at Shamwari – bought up over a dozen failing fruit and sheep farms in the hills between Route 62 and the Anysberg.
Fences were pulled down and the land was given time and space to recover until antelope were slowly returned to the Klein Karoo. Then, in 2003, lion and cheetah hunted on the plains here for the first time in over three centuries.
It was a remarkable transformation for a unique landscape that was on the verge of collapse, and a safari at Sanbona is unlike any other game experience South Africa has to offer.
The low scrub of the Klein Karoo is a far cry from the lush bushveld, but with plenty of space and careful land management the 54 000 hectares of Sanbona supports a surprising array of wildlife.
Thickets of thorny acacia are nibbled by giraffe; klipspringer keep out of harm’s way in the sandstone cliffs; the lush grasses along the river lines attract the snuffling white rhino; while springbok, duiker and other antelope thrive on the wide open plains, providing prey for the cheetah and lion that prowl here.
The powerful tawny lions are always a marvel to see in the wild, but Sanbona has something unique up its sleeve. The reserve has long been home to a breeding project for the famous white lions of the Timbavati – their lightness caused by a recessive gene, not albinism – and two snow-white females now wander freely.
Up in the valleys the elusive Cape Mountain Leopard keeps largely to itself, but a conservation project run in conjunction with the Cape Leopard Trust has had great success with camera traps, recording the movement of these exceptional cats in the distant hills. Sightings are rare, but it’s enough of a thrill to gaze up into the kloofs and imagine they are up there looking back down at you.
It’s a fascinating ark of animals that call Sanbona home, but with vast amounts of space and a sparse landscape the sightings are spread far and wide. Although home to the sought-after ‘Big Five’, a game-drive at Sanbona isn't the 'identity parade' of the northern reserves where racing vehicles compete to tick off the usual culprits before heading back to the boma.
At Sanbona, the wildlife is only half the attraction and your eyes will often be drawn away from the animals to admire the magnificent stage they have been given to perform on.
The reserve is home to over 600 species of plants across a number of floral kingdoms and you’ll quickly discover the medicinal properties of fynbos, how Poverty Bush foretold a farmer’s woes and the soapy feel of the lye-bush.
If that all sounds a little underwhelming to regular bushveld visitors, remember that half the joy in a safari comes down to the quality of the guiding. Here the highly trained rangers do a great job of bringing the Karoo to life, shining a light on the intricate ecosystems that hold this fragile landscape together.
From the lumbering elephant to the humble leopard tortoise, every species has its niche here; like so many animal acrobats engaged in the delicate balancing act that makes Sanbona quite unique. Unlike many other so-called ‘Big Five’ reserves in the Western Cape this is a self-sustaining, fully functioning ecosystem where the animals are free to roam… and eat each other.
Fire and ice forged this landscape
Luckily there are no impala on the reserve to make me feel guilty at the braai that evening, as I tuck into a piece of perfectly grilled Impala fillet.
While the plains of Sanbona may be wild, Sanbona’s three lodges offer oh-so-warm hospitality. The entire reserve was given a makeover in 2009, with two new lodges and a new look for the grand old dame – Tilney Manor – where we find ourselves one bright spring weekend.
There’s a distinctly English feel to this old farmhouse, and with the Tilney family tree on the wall stretching back to Medieval England I guess that’s no surprise. The Georgian architecture is strikingly formal in the craggy Karoo landscape, but the welcome is nothing but relaxed.
Lavender sprigs abound in our spacious suite – Tilney has just six, making it the most intimate of the three lodges – while the English country garden outside the window gets an African touch with Karoo-friendly wild dagga and quiver trees. Outside showers have views to the pink skies in the west, while the deep freestanding tub in the open-plan bathroom beckons after a chilly evening game drive.
Dinners are served in the formal dining room on the manor’s enclosed terrace, or out on the patio with its garden views and night-sky vistas.
Those same night skies form a canopy over the magnificent Dwyka Tented Lodge.
Set in an amphitheatre in the north of the reserve, these stone and canvas creations are the most stylish accommodation option on Sanbona. Nine tents, carefully positioned to ensure the utmost privacy, echo the empty skies and craggy cliff face above the dry riverbed. Stone walls frame the king-size beds while lofty canvas roofs offer a sense of air and space. The riverbed may be dry, but the private plunge pool on the outside deck is always sparkling.
It’s a similar scene at the main lodge, where sleek sofas and muted colour palettes make for a stylish dining and lounge area that’s all wooden beams and raw stone. Outside, a sheltered boma area comes alive at night to the flicker of flame.
It was fire and ice that forged this hard landscape eons ago; a process that is duly honoured at the other new addition to Sanbona: Gondwana Lodge.
And at Gondwana the focus is firmly on being family-friendly. The 12 rooms – some of which are inter-leading – and restaurant area share a similarly stylish feel to Dwyka, but kids are made to feel at home too. While parents relax in the Retreat spa, there’s a separate kids’ club – piled high with educational books and games – to keep younger ones entertained.
Safari activities are also geared towards younger travellers, with a safe interpretive trail nearby for them to learn about the fauna and flora found on the reserve. On the twice-daily drives, rangers interpret the unique San rock art for a younger audience, while the Sanbona Activity Book keeps kids involved in the unfolding game drive.
Back at the lodge, the falling sun sets the waters of the Bellair Dam aflame, and casts a cerise glow over the distant Anysberg Mountains. Above, the wide Karoo skies turn into star-spangled ceilings as Gondwana’s resident Spotted Eagle Owl hoots in greeting and flies off into the gloaming. There may not be vast herds of buffalo on these plains, or a leopard up every tree, but at Sanbona it’s the little things that will enchant.
Sanbona is part of the acclaimed Mantis Collection.
Visit www.sanbona.com or call +27 (0) 41 407 1000 |
As arrivals terminals go, Ibo Island’s is… well… let’s call it humble.
The windows, if they were ever there, are long gone. The white paint has been battered by decades of tropical heat, and goats wander nonchalantly across the runway. Emblazoned in jaunty ‘70s-style lettering across the doorway ‘IBO’ looks like it’s expecting a 737 of holidaymakers to jet in at any moment.
Happily, it’s just our little Cessna Caravan that drops down low over the mangrove forests and bumps onto the grassy runway. Ibo Island is a little off the beaten track, and that’s just the way tourists in the know like it.
Harris Mupedzi, the head guide from Ibo Island Lodge, greets us on the runway. It’s been three years since I was last here, but he greets me with a warm smile and friendly handshake: “Welcome back to Ibo!”
A short flight from Pemba, in northern Mozambique, Ibo Island is rapidly making a name for itself as a tropical getaway for those after a little more than pearly white beaches and impossibly blue water. The village on Ibo is home to centuries of dramatic history, and the lodge is a low-key hide-away that makes the most of the island’s gentle atmosphere. Silversmiths handcraft filigree jewellery in the 16th century Fort of São João Batista, seafood feasts are served on the rooftop terrace and coral reefs beg to be explored.
I’ve already fallen in love with Ibo’s languid ways, but this time I’m here to work a little harder. There’ll be no airy rooms and four-poster beds. No swimming pool, or ball-and-claw baths. Our small group of travellers are here to get up close and personal with the islands of the Quirimbas Archipelago; paddling our way on sea-kayaks across kilometres of Indian Ocean, camping on deserted islands, snorkelling empty reefs and exploring far-flung villages.
Well, that’s what we’ve been told at least, and as we gather on the roof terrace of Ibo Island Lodge that night I’m eager to hear what’s in store. Platters of seafood make it tempting to simply settle in at the Lodge for the week, but the watery road ahead sounds exciting.
Two to a kayak we’ll paddle from camp to camp, with a tender boat shadowing us at all times for safety. What if we get tired? No problem, either take a break and float with the current, or hop in the boat… there’s no rush. Don’t feel like paddling the long stretches? The dhow carrying the tents, food and crew has a rooftop deck, so just climb aboard and we’ll sail to the next island camp.
Food? Don’t worry, smiles Harris, the crew will take care of everything. Ablutions? A discreet long-drop is on hand, and a hot bucket-shower is ours for the asking. Dome tents pitch themselves each evening, complete with stretchers, mattresses and pillows. Sundowners? Taken care of; just help yourself from the well-stocked cooler-box.
Any trepidation evaporates and we turn in for an early night… we’ll be up at sunrise to catch the tide.
The next morning dawns mild and clear; gentle southerly trade winds looking favourable for our first day of paddling. Our first stop is one of Ibo’s secrets; a mid-channel sandbank that only shows its face at low tide. After breakfast and a swim we ready our shoulders for one of the longer paddles of the trip; four hours across to the village of Ulumbwa.
Within a few strokes the water turns from crystal blue to deep navy, dropping away to thirty, forty then sixty metres as rays of sun tumble into the depths.
One of the joys of open-water crossings is that the paddling becomes a meditation. Your arms fall into a rhythm and the only sound is the suck of the paddle and gentle gurgle of following seas. We see distant splashes of fish on the hunt, but there’s no sign of the dolphins and humpback whales often found in these channels.
Conversation ebbs and flows, offering plenty of time adrift in our own thoughts. The prick of salt and sun on my winter-whitened forearms feels like a resurrection. Exercised, warm and salty from the sea… this is how arms are meant to feel!
My butt, on the other hand, is only too happy to hear the scrape of the kayak on the sands of Ulumbwa. After three hours on fibreglass it’s eager to explore the village while the dhow crew set up camp. We pull the kayaks away from the tide’s sneaky fingers and take a stroll.
In this remote corner of Mozambique the locals are a delight, and tourists a novelty. Fishermen proudly show off their catch, women offer a shy “bom dia” and a gaggle of village kids follow us everywhere.
“Mzungu! Mzungu!” they taunt happily, only to scatter in squeals and smiles when we turn around and surprise them. They come running back to have their picture taken, shrieking with delight when we show them the photos.
The rest of the afternoon is spent lazing around camp; reading, taking photographs and keeping a beady eye on the birds coming in to roost on the nearby sand spit. Crab Plovers, Dimorphic Herons, Mangrove Kingfishers… Harris is a keen birder and quick to point them out.
We’re up before the wind the wind the next morning, and paddle off into the mangroves while the crew strike camp. It’s low tide, and easy to get stuck on the muddy banks, but we meander slowly deep into the forests. Harris points out the myriad crabs, birds and plants that create the delicate mangrove ecosystem.
“When the seed pod falls off the tree it must sprout roots within two hours,” he explains, “Otherwise the tide will simply wash it away.”
We let ourselves be washed downstream too. Another long paddle is ahead of us; across to Rolas Island and on to tonight’s desert island escape.
We’re here to relax though, not win any medals, so while half the group start paddling the rest clamber on board the dhow as it chugs gently out to sea. The gentle rise and fall of the keel lulls us to sleep under the tropical sun. Sun lotion is slapped on and hats pulled low. The kayakers tire and join us on deck… tempting as it is to be paddling, the rising wind makes sailing a better option.
The engine cuts and the dhow’s lateen sail flaps into life, shaking itself off like a husky reporting for duty. It catches the southerly trade winds and we’re off, sailing north as dhows have done here for centuries.
There’s a line and lure out the back, but the fish aren’t biting. We stop for a mid-ocean swim and it’s mid-afternoon before the sands of Mogundula Island hove into view. This deserted island used to be a penal colony for the ill, but today it’s our place to play Robinson Crusoe. With a few home comforts in camp, of course.
Mongundula is our island playground for the next two days, and we spend them wandering the paths, swimming off the sand spit, exploring tidal rock pools and kayaking our way around the island. Coral bommies in the deeper water offer some wonderful snorkelling.
A chattering of local kimwani pricks up our ears one morning; women from the mainland have sailed over to hunt in the rock pools; a seaside supermarket whose shelves are stocked with octopus, sea cucumbers and cowries. These crazy camping mzungus are as entertaining to them as they’re exotic to us.
The fisherwomen might not understand why we choose to sleep in tents on a deserted island, but just one sunset under the boughs of the Common Star Chestnut trees that line the shore is reason enough for me.
The islands of the Quirimbas stretch to the south and north, the shoreline is dark to the west and only the rolling Indian Ocean lies behind us. Tomorrow is another day of paddling, but this time it’s over to the mainland for our ride home. A three-hour drive to Pemba returns us to airports, traffic, deadlines and inboxes. Despite my tired shoulders and sunburnt arms, I think I’d rather keep running away to sea.
Need to know
- For more information on Ibo Island Lodge and the kayak adventures, visit www.kayakquirimbas.com or call 021 702 0285.
- Airlink flies twice per week from Johannesburg to Pemba. For reservations visit www.flyairlink.co.za.
- South African passport-holders do not require a visa for Mozambique.
First published in Shape magazine, December 2010 |
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Or just a sign of commercialism heading south? Refuse to shop at Melissa's nowadays: overpriced and average