South Africa in time for the World Cup.
Read on.
Within minutes of pulling out of Johannesburg airport on to the motorway heading north, I am hit by a sense of freedom as powerful as the warm air flooding through the window. The wide open plains of the Highveld stretch to the horizon, with the occasional tree among the tall, blanched grass. Paul Simon's
Graceland is playing on the stereo, clichéd I admit, but every road trip needs a soundtrack, and nothing could fit the mood better.
For the next fortnight my wife, Jules, and I are travelling across South Africa, taking in some of the country's most stunning scenery and conducting a gastronomic tour of its finest restaurants. Our first stop is Cybele Forest Lodge and Health Spa, a retreat tucked away on 300 acres of dense forest. It is only a three-hour drive from Johannesburg but the scenery is dramatically different, with deep green woodland and rivers and lakes replacing the arid grasslands.
We pull into the drive and park under a large turpentine tree that reaches across the courtyard. Its leaves touch the top of the wide veranda, from where it is claimed George VI used to sit and shoot passing game. Inside, the lodge walls are painted in regal red, antiques scattered around the rooms and heavy rugs on the old farmhouse's stone floor. A woman fluffing up the cushions in an elegantly furnished reading room introduces herself as Promise. She then introduces us to Celebration, who takes our bags to our spacious, yet cosy and comfortable, cottage.
In the morning, we wake up late and have a lazy breakfast in the shade of the bright purple jacaranda tree as butterflies dance around us. One of the most noticeable things about the lodge is the silence, deep and unbroken. That is until the arrival of the owner, Barbara, or Babs as she encourages us to call her, after the fourth vodka and tonic. A loud, vivacious Barbara Streisand lookalike who calls for more drinks with an almighty whoop, she and her husband, Rupert Jeffries, have created the perfect hideaway with a spa and heated swimming pool, which is so warm it feels more like a giant bath.
After two nights we reluctantly leave this blissful retreat to head for
Kruger National Park, little more than an hour away. Covering an area the size of Wales, it has the advantage of being home to the Big Five – lion, elephant, leopard, buffalo and rhino – which not all parks offer and certainly not in such numbers. I'm particularly keen to see leopards and have chosen to stay at Tinga Lodge, which is in an area with the highest recorded density of the predator in Africa. Set on the banks of the Sabie River, the lodge is made up of a dozen thatched cottages on stilts between the trees, and interconnected by a long wooden walkway.
Getting out of the huge, elephant-sized bed for the early morning game drive is not easy, but drinking rooibos tea on the main deck we watch the sun start to creep above the horizon. Frankie, our guide, seems to have overdosed on the tea. He claps his hands together like a football coach, encouraging us with the news that he has a good feeling about this morning. He's not wrong. We see plodding elephants, giraffes nibbling on trees, a lioness with her cubs tumbling around in the long grass and even wild dogs, which are rarely seen.
But Frankie saves the best for last, spotting a leopard up a tree. It takes me a few moments to place it but when I do I find its face, and its eyes, yellow-green and piercing, looking right back at me. After some time, sitting nonchalantly looking back at us, it rises elegantly, pauses, then bounds effortlessly down the trunk before disappearing into the bush.
It's a surprise to wake up to the sound of rain on our deck, but it clears by the time we set off on our long journey to Cleopatra Mountain Farmhouse in the Drakensberg mountains. For large stretches of the journey there is very little traffic on the road, which takes us from the north to the heart of South Africa, across countryside that seems to change constantly. It reminds us of the flat landscape of Holland one minute and the rolling hills of Tuscany the next.
A purple glow has begun to spread across the horizon. We are still about 200 miles away from the farmhouse, we are in the middle of nowhere and, we soon come to realise, totally lost. After pushing on for another hour in the vain hope that we're heading in the right direction, we decide to stop at a garage to ask for directions.
We get a bad feeling as soon as we pull in, and make a sharp exit having been pointed in the general direction. Shortly after getting back on the deserted road, I notice a pair of headlights behind us. Immediately, I'm nervous. I speed up but it makes no difference, the car is still on our tail. Unease has turned to sheer terror. I am now driving at 120mph, arms taut on the wheel, looking in my rear-view mirror to see the headlights disappear and then reappear as we go up and down the hills.
Finally, we catch up with some lorries, which I overtake on blind corners in an act of total desperation. Lights from a motorway rise like a halo above a distant hill, offering the prospect of safety. In the fast lane a few minutes later, relieved to have traffic around us, we are finally able to relax.
At last, after 10 hours of driving, we reach the farmhouse. The air is crisp and chilly, but our cottage is toasty and there is a bottle of sherry waiting for us. In the morning, I open our door and am hit by the magnificence of the Drakensberg mountains. Named "mountains of the dragon" by the original settlers, they smoke with clouds that swirl above them.
The lodge's veranda sits over a trout-filled dam, turned olive green by the reflection of the trees. In the dining room, food awards fill the walls. There is even a handwritten note from Thabo Mbeki, the former South African president, thanking Richard and Mouse Poynton, the owners, for their hospitality.
With a six-course dinner to come, Jules suggests some exercise would not be a bad idea so we decide to climb the mountain. The only problem, which hits me halfway up as I get stuck in the boggy bank of a stream, is that my deck shoes are made for boats rather than mountains. But eventually we reach the base of the summit from where we can see across to other ranges, mighty and awe-inspiring.
Exhausted, scratched and bloodied, we are relieved to get back to the lodge, where Richard is preparing dinner. We drink champagne in the lounge where a fire crackles as he runs us through each course. If I was hungry by the time he starts talking, I'm ravenous by the time I sit down to dinner – the best dinner I have ever had and well worth the drive.
Leaving the lodge is a wrench, but after the mountains and tranquillity of the Drakensberg we head for the sea and excitement of
Cape Town. We are staying just outside Hout Bay, a fishing village that hums to the noise of idle chatter in the cafés and boats rattling in the harbour. A few streets back from the powdery white beach, the road curves around up to Chapman's Peak, which offers stunning views across the bay towards the Sentinel, a rock that juts out like the horn of a rhinoceros.
Nowhere can be better for watching the sun set on this scene than the Tintswalo Atlantic. Our biggest dilemma is whether to drink vodka tonics under the milkwood trees on the main deck, or take them back to the balcony in our room a few feet above glistening stones on the water's edge. At night, we can hear the ocean lapping against the shoreline. It is about 30 minutes from the hotel to Cape Town's waterfront development, either along the coast past
Camps Bay or around the hills of Table Mountain. At the foot of the mountain, facing the ocean, is the luxurious Twelve Apostles hotel, which takes its name from the range that forms a spectacular backdrop. While the city is spoilt for trendy watering holes, it's hard to beat the hotel's Leopard Lounge bar for style and sophistication.
Easy though it is to lose track of time here, we retire at a decent hour as I have planned a small tour of the winelands and don't fancy doing this with a hangover. Starting out along the leafy avenues in Constantia, we drive first to the large, traditional farms, such as Rustenburg in Stellenbosch, with their Cape Dutch architecture. Then on to Tokara, a more modern winery that overlooks a vista of breathtaking beauty – perfectly lined rows of vines cover the slopes of purple-tinged mountains that tower over the countryside. They loom majestically in the background as we finish at Haut Espoir, a family-run winery just outside the town of Franschhoek.
By the time my lips have turned mulberry red, Jules suggests it's time to get some food. Fortunately, we are booked in to
The Tasting Room at Le Quartier Français. From the painstakingly prepared dishes to the pristine white façade of the elegant French-style suites that border the courtyard, everything here is perfect.
Back in the car, we begin our long journey into the
Cederburg mountains. Craggy and sharp, they cut across the arid landscape like broken teeth, as we pass giant rust-coloured boulders balanced precariously on flat rocks. Dust swirls around us as we negotiate the pot-holes on the deserted road towards Bushman's Kloof – a hotel made up of a series of Cape Dutch cottages in the middle of 18,000 acres of wilderness. By day, the landscape glows red with an ancient, almost mystic quality, and by night it is covered with the brightest stars I've ever seen, shimmering with a dazzling intensity.
Although the food and the accommodation are excellent, it is the unspoilt, primeval environment that makes Bushman's Kloof such a unique experience. I can't help feeling reconnected with nature, if only for a couple of days until we're back in the car once more.
After two weeks on the road, and more than 2,000 miles, we head for the airport. The car, once white, is now light brown, and is missing a hubcap, while I've gained a few pounds, a taste for South African wine and a love of this beautifully diverse country.
South Africa basics
Getting there
Virgin Atlantic (0844 209 7777;
www.virgin-atlantic.com) flies from Heathrow to Johannesburg from £549 return.
Staying there
Cedarberg Mountains
The Kruger National Park
Le Quartier Francais
Cape Town
(Source Johnathan Wynne-Jones, Daily Telegraph)
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