Category Archives: Africa

A collection of travelogues from my trips in Africa, peppered with reviews and recommendations of accommodation, walking tours, restaurants and pubs.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue Northern Cape Part 1

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NORTHERN CAPE PART 1

31 Jul – 02 Aug 2021

After a long year of ups and lockdowns and the bitter disappointment of a cancelled skiing trip to Lesotho in July, a roadtrip getaway was exactly what the doctor ordered. And, with international borders a challenge, the Covid virus still in a brutal Third Wave and a country recently ravaged with violence, where better than the most remote part of the country, the Northern Cape.

Knowing little about the region, surface-deep research revealed that we’d uncovered a hidden gem. Having thought of the Northern Cape as desert, we were delighted to find that it is also home to the Green Kalahari, a lush fertile strip along the Orange River with all sorts of unexpected and exciting things; most notably, a wine route!

Intentions set, we plotted a fun and relaxing week-long roadtrip. And having booked our leave at short notice, were in the car a few days later, heading off on our adventure.

The first day was the longest drive with 480km to Kimberley. A relaxed departure, good roads and traditional Wimpy pitstop had us at our hotel late afternoon, to enjoy the last of the sunshine. And to revel in being in short sleeves after having struggled through weeks of gruelling Joburg winter.

We’d picked the Protea Marriott because of its location overlooking the famous Big Hole of Kimberley, fancying drinks on the terrace while taking in the biggest hand-dug pit in the world… 

But a hole is honestly not much to look at, so we went to the Big Hole Museum (literally next door) instead. The Museum is housed in an Old Town reconstruction of the early buildings that sprung up around the mine and became the first beginnings of Kimberley.

The museum (and access to the Hole viewing deck) was already closed when we got there, but we were free to wander the dusty streets with its quaint collection of examples of the shops and offices that must have serviced the miners that flocked to dig their way to fame and fortune.

The experience includes an Old Town pub and grill, called The Occidental. Decorated like an old world tavern, but with the benefits of new world technology and a very modern menu, we settled into the sepia setting to spend the evening watching the Springboks play the Lions, while munching on delicious deep fried pork belly and rump strip nachos, washed down with the local Vokof craft beer.

SUNDAY

On Sunday morning we decided to do our own jogging tour of the newer part of town to build up to breakfast, so hit the roads on a winding tour that took us past sportsgrounds, university, schools and shopping centres.

A quick Google had revealed that a lot of coffee shops and breakfast spots weren’t open on Sundays and nothing much opened before 10, so we figured we’d squeeze in a quick walking tour of the old Victorian suburb of Belgravia to give Kimberley a chance to wake up properly.

We showered, checked out, and drove (no more than a few minutes) to Lodge Road to go and see the beautifully preserved building, some 130+ years old. 

Belgravia was a stark contrast to the modest suburbs we’d run through earlier in the morning, with manicured lawns and water features bridging pretty fences and the neat and sturdy brickwork that had so well preserved this slice of history.

Using the internet as our guide, we matched house numbers with significance, which centred mostly around the Oppenheimer dynasty. 

Unfortunately the museum and gallery were not open (unclear as to whether a Sunday thing or a Covid thing), which motivated us to get to the breakfast that had morphed into a brunch.

Good thing too, because when we got to the Crazy Horse to get their famous Full English (and then some) breakfast, we were initially disappointed to be told that they were no longer serving breakfast… 
But fate was on our side because this forced us to try a Kimberley special; crumbed and deep-fried rump drowned in cheddamelt sauce. Served with the most buttery mash. What a treat! 

The kitchen was not only epic but also super quick, and we were on the road again just after midday, heading towards Groblershoop for our Sunday night stay.

Driving the Northern Cape really was ‘the open road’. With decent highway slicing through the flat dry bushveld, barely any traffic and continuing the audiobook we’d started the day before (the story of Motley Crue, as told by the band members), the two and a half hour drive was almost relaxing. 

GROBLERSHOOP

As a pitstop to break the journey, we’d chosen Groblershoop for its remoteness, and a quaint little farmstay cottage overlooking vineyards and pecan nut trees on a working farm.

We were most pleased with our choice and were soon lazing on the deck chairs on the sunny stoep – exactly as we’d imagined we would be from the moment we’d seen the ad on Airbnb – admiring the lush lemon trees in our oasis garden, with the grey wintery vineyards as backdrop.

There’s really not much to report about the rest of the day, since we barely moved more than a few metres from the deck chairs to the bench table to play backgammon for hours while the sun set and the stars appeared on the pitch black blanket of sky.

On meeting our host, we had asked about running trails in the area. He’d indicated that we were welcome to run through the vineyards, which would lead us to the Orange River. So, since we’d awoken to a perfect morning, that’s exactly what we did.

We were fortunate to be exploring this part of the world at this time of the year because any sooner and it would have been too cold and any later too hot to have both a refreshing morning trot and a leisurely start to the day. What a novelty to be able to run in these surroundings and deposit ourselves on the riverbank (which looked remarkably like a beach!).

Also in no particular hurry – with our host having invited us to take our time checking out and to just leave the keys in the door (!) – we were able to take our time exploring the farm and still fashion a relaxed brunch from the things we’d brought with us in our cooler, planning ahead for our remote location and self-catering.

KEIMOES

Having previously inquired, we were expecting no-option self-catering at our overnight on the Bezalel Wine and Brandy Estate, so we broke the 130km-odd journey up with a quick stop at Kalahari Mall (which an inadvertent slip of the tongue had us calling it Calamari Hall from the get-go) in Upington to get a few supplies. Nothing fancy, just snacks and treats to see us through, with lunch to be the main meal of the day.

It was very easy to spot our home for the night, with a very conspicuous castle-like entrance on the main N14 road we were travelling from Upington.

We knew immediately that we’d chosen the right place when we were met at the door by an enormous chocolate-coloured dog, who took to us immediately and spent the better part of the afternoon bringing us things to throw for him to retrieve.

With the afternoon’s primary entertainment being a wine and brandy tasting, we prioritised getting a good lunch on board to line the stomach. For once we, never usually liking to be the only people in a restaurant, were grateful for the freedoms it allowed, so we could take off our masks and enjoy the garden and playing fetch like good humans.

With a hearty lamb pie and delicious springbok ciabatta behind us, we started our tasting at around 15h00. 

Martiens, the owner and 4th generation farmer on the Dyasons Settlement, narrated us through a captivating couple of hours, effortlessly mixing tastes of their wine, brandy and infusion products with education on how everything is made and colourful anecdotes of his family’s heritage and experiences.

There was lots to tell, bearing in mind his great-grandfather had started Bezalel Estate, having moved to the Kalahari from Johannesburg, where his grandfather had been the Bezuidenhout who owned the farm that included the current Bez Valley!

We walked away richer for the experience and with a selection of bottles of what was available for sale.

The area and industry had really suffered from the prohibitions of the last couple of years so we were pleased to be able to support local industry with such self-satisfaction.

We returned to our cottage at around 17h00, in time to crack open a bottle of the Colombard we’d just procured and wile away the sunset overlooking the vineyards and the tranquil little pond that completed the picture.

End of Northern Cape Part 1. On to Northern Cape Part 2.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue Eastern Cape 4: Port Alfred

PORT ALFRED

02 – 04 December 2020

It was our decision to end off in Port Alfred – the closest big dot to the East London airport, from where we would need to depart for home on Friday – that our ‘few days in Kenton’ became a roadtrip of the Eastern Cape. Port Alfred was just that little bit too far as a homebase from which to satellite to the places we’d earmarked as of interest.

We’d had to make some big decisions and trade-offs to make everything fit, one of the more difficult ones being foregoing staying over in Kenton-on-Sea. We had rationalised that it was the most likely destination we’d return to for a longer stay and so comprised to a drive-through on this trip.

We left a murky Colchester behind and drove through a chilly and drizzly Alexandria to pause in Cannon Rocks to see what there was to see (not much; 2 canons and 2 anchors) and then emerge in a sunny Kenton-on-Sea. Quite a microclimate experience in only 80km!

We parked in town, did a bit of window-shopping (mostly of bakery and restaurant menus; can you ever really be too informed??) and walked down to the beach. Even though it was clear skies with the lightest breeze, the beach was empty. Maybe the inclement weather had been there earlier, maybe it was because it was a weekday and shoulder season or maybe Kenton does lunch or siesta in a big way. 

It was quite nice to have the Blue Flag beach to ourselves though.
Also nice to have taken the walk rather than drive down. Gave us time for a proper gawk at the big and beautiful holiday homes, choosing which would be ours should our ship come in.

It was then just a short hop (a bit like the Garden Route) to Port Alfred, where we had no trouble finding our accommodation, one road before a massive bridge and one road on from the main road. Even the navigationally-challenged like me could not but help find the place!

Wiltshire cottage was a little granny flat in the garden of the main house, on a road dotted with Wiltshire rental properties. Owned and managed by a lovely couple, we were warmly welcomed, given a tour and some great advice on what to do and see in the neighbourhood.

Not in any rush to go dashing out again, we enjoyed the comfort of our cosy lounge with an episode of The Crown, which had us hooked after the episodes we’d watched in the downtime enjoyed at our Colchester studio.

Sunset saw us taking a wander down to the beach – an easy walk and near impossible to get lost with beaches curling our neighbourhood on two sides – and along the beachfront to seek sundowners at The Highlander pub, opposite the St Andrews Golf Course.

With Prawns as the chef’s daily special, sundowners soon turned into a seafood feast, which seemed very fitting for our seaside surrounds.

Always a treat to be able to walk home from dinner and en route we smelled the most delicious aroma wafting from a heavenly restaurant that we resolutely decided would make for the perfect farewell dinner.

THURSDAY

With precious little to do on our last day, we started the day with a slow run around the golf course and along the beach. When we got back and were cooling off on our little patio, our host’s stopped to chat and gave us both advice on what to do for the day and an invitation to join them for a social in the evening.

Following their advice, we took a little drive down the coast to see the Fishriver Lighthouse. Even though tours had been cancelled because of the pandemics, it was still possible to drive right up to the lighthouse – and get some great pics from the prime location.

Our host, Roy, had recommended a roadside diner for our lunch. On arrival we found them mid- power failure and apologetic that things were taking longer than usual. We were in absolutely no hurry, so settled in at the beer garden at the back. It was worth the wait and our surf n turf and seafood combo were both excellent (in value and in taste). 

That left time to retreat back to the couch for a few episodes of  sensational series, The Crown, before taking Roy up on his invitation to visit his bar in the early evening, while Leanne was hosting her bookclub in the main house.

Popping across the garden with the last of our beers, we were greeted by a tableful of gents, communed for their ritual bi-weekly social. 

Roy had an impressive bar, walls lined with memorabilia that it had clearly taken a lifetime to collect. Beer bottles, Steins, framed pictures of important event… His flash guided tour didn’t do justice to the treasure chest of memories!

Roy also had a private library annexed onto his bar, with an enviable collection of hardcover books that concentrated on biographies and autobiographies; right up Christian’s alley so led to an energetic back and forth about which ones were best, which stories were believable and what gaps remained to be told of protagonists who were still alive and making history.

On completing the tour, chairs were added to the table for us and, as cameo guests to this clique, we were faced with the usual set of questions (where we’re from, what we do there, what we were doing here and for how long) and then were peppered with appropriate stories in response from group, who were mostly retired to Port Alfred from Joburg, Durban and CT.

They were great company and had it not been our last night, we might have been tempted to stay longer. But alas, it was, so we made a break for it and headed down to the beach for the sunset.

Of course, I’d completely misjudged the directions and so the spot we’d earmarked for sundowners was on the wrong side completely and already well into dusk by the time we got there!

No mind, we still had the restaurant to look forward to and so we made our way over there.

What a gem of a find! Only open 2 months, KC Italia was an intimate eatery with a very focused menu of no more than 8 pasta specials. A good thing too as we still struggled to choose from those limited options! In the end, the coastal theme drew us to the prawns linguine and the salmon tofe (fancy name for shells pasta). 

Able to see into the kitchen through the wide window connected to the dining area, we could see the chef working his magic and creating his masterpieces. It was very up our alley to be able to watch him swirling delicious things in the assortment of pans and scooping our steaming food into bowls, to be picked up immediately and served to us at our table seconds later. 

We had a long and lingering dinner, enjoying every bite of our meal. It was so wonderful I would have licked the bowl if I thought I could get away with it! And I said as much to the chef when he came out to check on us and he beamed, obviously thrilled at the sincere compliment.

His partner, the hostess, spent quite a bit of time chatting to us, excited by their impetuous decision to open the restaurant – post both of them being displaced by Covid closures – and optimistic for their chances for a busy December holiday period. She said that there was fortunately still consistent appetite for restaurant-eating in Port Alfred since there is a large retired community, who have been less economically affected by the pandemic.

A portion of that community were still having a whale of a time when we got back to Wiltshire Cottage. The bookclub had become a lot more audible and we caught snatches of the conversation and intermittent roars of laughter from the gents at the pub. 

With a plane to catch the next morning, we snuck into our cottage and popped on an episode of The Crown rather than getting tangled in the raging nightlife in our back yard.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue Eastern Cape 3: Grahamstown & Colchester

GRAHAMSTOWN & COLCHESTER

30 Nov – 02 Dec 2020

Leaving Bathurst we travelled along R67 for a quick stop-in at Grahamstown en route to Colchester, where we’d be staying for the next couple of nights. It was just a short hop down the road and held the promise of lunch at the end of the journey.

Pulling into town, we paused at the 1820 Settlers Monuments, which we were expecting to be a single statue. It turned out to be a conference centre with a few statues, a small locked-up fort, a sundial and a very solid lay-of-the-land viewpoint for the town below.

Leaving the monument, we drove down and parked outside one of the many red brick buildings we assumed to be part of the Rhodes University campus, intending to explore the town on foot. It appeared that most of the campus was locked up with occasional signage stating the obvious, 2020 measures in place. 

We walked down High Street, noting the contrast of the elegant brocaded buildings with the modern street level experience, the usual collection of brands every town has (no matter the size) and how relatively easily reversible the neglect could be, to restore some of the town’s lost charm. 

When we’d asked a Grahamstown local we happened to meet in the Pig and Whistle in Bathurst the night before what he recommended for our sightseeing, he’d responded enthusiastically that his hometown highlight is the new curry den. On our loop back up New Street we spotted the very same. The Curry House. Large as life and definitely, by the smells of things, worth a try.

We ordered a pair of bunny chows with a giant samoosa to start and since Covid rules prevented the eatery from seating customers, we walked back to get the car, thinking we would drive to the Botanical Gardens and have a picnic of sorts.

Obviously, it turned out that the Botanical Gardens was right by where we’d parked the car so we drove to get our food and then back again (probably no more than a kilometre or two roundtrip). 

Botanical Garden is a bit of an oversell of a name – lest it create mental images of rolling manicured lawns or structured flowerbeds. Let’s say that ‘lunch in the park’ was a success.

We ticked off the last sight on the list, conveniently (and coincidentally) next door to where we were. The old Grahamstown Prison which now serves as a cafe and bakery. With only a handful of cells, the little prison has been delightfully converted with a themed private dining room in each of the cells, several tables in the open courtyard that served as an open exercise area for the inmates and the kitchen and (self-)service area in what was the guard house. Very quaint. And worth a visit for a meal from what we saw on display.

Having whipped around Grahamstown quicker than expected, Christian suggested that we overshoot our day’s destination to pay a visit to Port Elizabeth for a stroll along the promenade and an early sundowner.

Less than half an hour added onto our journey, it was a splendid idea and we were soon wandering along the beachfront in PE, with the bright sunshine balancing the chilly bluster for which the Windy City is famous.

Chris had spent some time in PE for work so was able to give a vague lay of the land and point out some landmarks. A lovely little big city indeed. Hard to believe we hadn’t visited before.

We rounded the tour with a quick toot at Barney’s Tavern beach bar, which was already buzzing with patrons even though it was mid-Monday afternoon.

Back in the car we retraced our footsteps to our next home, in Colchester. We’d been attracted to this sleepy little town since 2020 and its pandemic had robbed us of our plans to visit Colchester in the UK for a wedding in July.

We were wowed by our accommodation; a brand spanking new, immaculate and tastefully decorated studio that had the best of everything you’d expect – and all sorts of things you wouldn’t (like a sandwich press, a humidifier, an electric beater, Netflix etc etc). We also had a private walled garden (good for keeping the wind out) and a pretty little plunge pool.

We took a wander around our neighbourhood, knowing from the map on the booking site that we were on the Sundays River but not much more than that. Houses were built far from the riverbank with open pedestrian access so we were able to walk alongside the wide, sparkling waters that stretched and slowly ambled from the nature reserve on the right to the sea on the left. 

Being in a secured estate our explore was hampered by the electric fence perimeter, which was our cue to get the car and take a drive to view the other wildlife, at the local pub, Grunter’s. 

It was very quiet (it was a Monday evening after all) but we were pleased with our surf n turf dinner and happy to call an early night since we had an early morning ahead of us.

TUESDAY

Our early morning was to get into the Addo National Park while it was still cool enough to favour good animal sightings. With our nest literally across the road from the Southern entrance of the Park, we’d saved ourselves any additional early rising or unneeded car time. 

We were able to fashion a modest breakfast with our patchwork of supplies and the amply equipped kitchen and rolled into the park, determined that we wouldn’t leave until we saw at least an elephant.

The park issues a map with a checklist of animals each with a points allocation. Christian was thrilled when the first sighting for the day was his; a Dungbeetle scoring him 8 points. Things got tense when he then spotted zebra for an additional point. But, turning a bend that saw the brush give way to an open veld, I evened the scoreboard with not one but two elephants!

From there it was a landslide; kudo, elephants, eland, zebra, elephants, warthogs, elephants, buffalo, camels, ELEPHANTS. It’s a very rewarding game drive experience, getting saturation point of sightings within a couple of hours!

Smug from a very successful morning in the park, we retired to our studio where we enjoyed the rest of the day lounging around, able to relax because there was nothing else unseen or undone in this sleepy little enclave. What a great day.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue Eastern Cape 2: Bathurst

BATHURST

29 November 2020

We left Hogsback and dropped our friends off at East London Airport. Then we drove along the coast as far as Port Alfred, where we turned inland for the 10 minute stretch to Bathurst. We had chosen to stay at the Historic Pig & Whistle Inn because it houses the longest running pub in South Africa and puts on a legendary Sunday roast.

Cutting it very fine for the kitchen’s published 3pm close, we called ahead to secure our roast (lamb) dinners and made it in the nick of time, pulling into a parking bay in front of the hotel with mere minutes to spare. There were a few tables of diners and drinkers being entertained by a live band positioned underneath the hotel’s sign on the wide curb.

The chefs had waited to plate for us, so we were served fresh piping-hot roasted goodness smothered in a rich gravy – and for that moment all was right with the world!

With a full belly we were newly excited to explore our surrounds, so without bothering to complete check-in or unpack the car we embarked on a self-guided walking tour of town.

Established in 1820, it’s hard to believe this peaceful little village on the banks of the Kowie River had such a turbulent start.

Established on the frontier, it was an area of fierce conflict between settlers moving northwards and African pastoralists and refugees from the Mfecane moving southwards.

The settlement was named after the secretary of State for the colonies at the time, a Lord Henry Bathurst, and was intended to be the administrative capital of the Albany Settler Country, but that was moved to Grahamstown because of its superior military position.

Bathurst is now renowned for its quaint and old architecture, counting among the visible relics – all on our short self-guided walking tour of the town centre – the oldest unaltered Anglican church building in South Africa (St John’s), the oldest functioning primary school and the oldest continuously licenced pub in the country, housed in the historic Pig and Whistle Inn, which is where we chosen to stay for the night.

The inn building was originally built as the Bathurst Forge in 1821 but converted into a hotel in 1831 and has housed endless guests in its first floor 10 rooms, with countless more guests “having a swig at the pig” or enjoying the traditional Sunday roast lunch as we had.

On finally checking in – a process managed by a local patron from the bar in the tender’s absence – we were escorted to Room 8, a corner room which overlooked the town’s main crossroad, and we were delighted with the hardwood floors, the old-world 4-poster bed and in-room basin (with the rest of the facilities shared and accessible from the landing).

Opening our windows we could hear that the Bathurst Arms across the road was rather festive so, after having an obligatory Guinness in the Pig and Whistle (to log on our Guinness Index), we made our way to see what was going on.

The pub was full to bursting, with an open mic style live music show drawing and holding the patrons. Some were more conventionally talented than others, but the small crowd cheered all gamely and sang along whenever the words were known. No doubt both the brave showmanship and the good spirits were fuelled by house beers sold in quarts.

Not particularly hungry, but spurred by the numerous mentions of the town’s epic pizza place, we rounded the evening off with a pizza to share at Pickwick’s seeing as it was across the road from our hotel. We could see what the fuss was about as we enjoyed our large, topping-laden cheesy nightcap.

MONDAY

Waking the next morning we filled in the gaps left on out on the walking tour from the previous day, with a jogging tour that would see us completing the further afield sights within an hour or so, on a wider 10km route.

First target was the Old Powder Magazine, which is the oldest building in Bathurst and was erected as a military supply shelter in advance of the establishment of the town. We headed off, thinking we knew where we were going but ended up taking a few wrong turns – easy to do when your destination doesn’t have a formal address and none of the roads are marked. Nonetheless, we found it and were pleased that besides the landmark itself, the position on top of the hill offered a worthwhile panoramic view of the surrounds.

From there we ran past town and up another hill to the Toposcope. This is a stone beacon that was built for land surveying purposes and still shows the plaques indicating which settler families from where were allocated which farms and what distance from the beacon. An open air and free experience that is a wonderful slice of history.

Running down the hill and back to the main road, we ticked the last box with a visit to the giant pineapple which, despite the rich history of this living relic of a town, is most often the first thing to be mentioned.

Situated on Summerhill Farm, the Big Pineapple stands three stories high with a viewing deck on top and a pineapple museum inside. At 56 feet tall, it is officially the biggest pineapple in the world and was built by members of Bathurst’s agricultural community in the 80s to pay homage to the prickly fruit as it had provided salvation to the farmers in the 1800s who had struggled to grow anything until they planted pineapples.

Completing the last dash home along the main road, we washed, dressed and packed up, ready to head to Grahamstown for the next adventure.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue Eastern Cape 1: Hogsback

HOGSBACK

26-29 November 2020

Having last been to Hogsback for a surprise wedding – and having a truly fabulous weekend! – we jumped at the chance for a revisit with the then-bride and groom, Tim and Wendy, with whom we had shared many other travel adventures subsequent. This time to participate in The Hobbit Trail run race. It was supposed to be in April but with 2020 doing what 2020 did, Pandemic ‘n all, it had been postponed to the last weekend in November, which magically coincided with the happy couple’s 4 year wedding anniversary!

With much excitement, we headed to OR Tambo Airport and found it to be tumbleweeds compared to its usual bustle. With a life-saving Wimpy on board (it had been a mad breakfastless panic to finish off last bits of work in the morning and Covid measures meant no catering in the air) we were ready for our next adventure.

Landing in East London, Chris secured our chariot and we were soon racing off in our Toyota Corolla, blazing trails into the mountains that would be our home for the weekend.

On Tim and Wendy’s endorsement (they had stayed there before on a previous visit to Hogsback) we had booked Bredon Cottage, on the Applegarth Estate. Cosy and homely, our accommodation was equal parts immaculate and welcoming. Our lovely hosts had left a bottle of red wine for our arrival and put chocolates on the pillows. We were just short a holiday dog or two to complete the picture.

Being Tim and Wendy’s anniversary, it was a shoe-in to have dinner at The Edge, where they had been married. And their wedded bliss was perfectly paired with our dinner bliss over the oxtail-stuffed spuds and magnificent Impala shank.

With a fridge full of champers (from our ‘grocery’ shop en route) and a fireplace beckoning from our lounge, we eagerly made our way back to our cottage to enjoy our first evening in front of the fireplace, entertaining ourselves with the generous selection of retro CDs in our host’s collection.

Late November and mid-summer or not, we woke to a chilly morning, with the mist rolling lazily through the valley view from our terrace. Warm enough in the sunny spots, we basked and admired the panorama as the morning became the midday.

The only thing we’d scheduled to achieve on Friday, being pre-raceday, was to take a walk to find The Big Tree, a Hogsback sight-seeing staple which had eluded Tim and Wendy on their previous trips. Consulting a map, it seemed an easy ask with a trail that led from the Hogsback main road (which was the dirt road at the end of our driveway).

Wanting to preserve our legs, we drove to the start of the trail and then followed the existing signage to our destination. It was a taste of what lay ahead for us as the trail was a bit muddy from the cold and wet weather and we did a fair amount of slip-sliding along the path to get to the 800 year old, 36 metre high tree.

Feeling we’d achieved enough for one day, we returned to our cottage to relax for a while until heading out for the evening market at The Edge.

Being cool but clear, we went out early, with time to do the twists and turns of the Labyrinth and then stare out into the sunset at the edge of the edge with the breathtaking mountains and valleys.

The ‘market’, it turns out, was 4 trestle tables that sold baked goods, hot chocolate, gluhwein and such, so besides buying some fudge, we were quite commercially safe. And given the opportunity to try The Edge’s pizzas, which had been teasing us with the aroma of golden crisping cheese hanging in the air. Perfect carbo-loading for the sweaty Saturday that was to follow.

SATURDAY

Tim had signed up for the 38km trail run, which was way beyond our interest or ambition. He was due to start running at 8 so Chris drove him down while Wendy and I were only rousing, with plenty of time for our very-civilised 8am start.

Soon enough though, we were lined up at the start; a very respectably socially-distanced collection of milling athletes rather than the anxious cluster that is normally champing for the gun to go off.

There really was no point in hurrying though. With the slippery course that started winding steeply downhill along the narrow and muddy trail we had taken the day before to get to The Big Tree, along rickety bridges and tip-toeing on mossy stones in trickling streams, and up the mirror-image on the other side… It was a cautious and careful balancing act more than an attempt to set any records.

Breaking out of the canopy of trees on the other side, we were welcomed by what looked like an easy dusty downhill. It didn’t last long though and that downhill was matched by a very long and very steep uphill that had us puffing and panting and moving at hiking pace rather than a trail run race. The views were spectacular though and it was easy to see why this underrated race is so appreciated and evangelised by the runners who have completed it.

The last few kilometres were a bit more of a classic trail run experience, with a slightly quicker pace along paths with matted leaves that allowed for better grip and a collection of obstacles in the path that were more of a workout than a life threat.

Arriving at the finish line, we patted ourselves on the back for a job well done, coming in at 75th and 76th, which for us is a great achievement being first-time trail runners.

The event sponsors, Merrell trail running gear, did a great job of welcoming everyone as they came in, and giving out loads of spot prizes so almost everyone got something. As they said, with formal prize-givings being forbidden under Covid restriction they had had to be a bit more creative and had actually spread the sponsorship more evenly across all the participants. Having little to compare to, the smaller field of runners suited our novice skills better and we would have had a far more pressured experience if we’d had runners pushing to get past on the narrow paths.

Tim came in several hours later, sweaty, sunburnt and caked in mud. The longer trail had included a lot more challenging bits than ours – and Tim had stopped to enjoy a dip in a waterfall pond along the way. The runners in the longer races have to carry backpacks with thermal blankets, windbreakers, food and water and all sorts of other things in case they get injured and need to sustain themselves. I can’t imagine I’d have enjoyed having to do more than double the distance AND lugging a backpack!

We made our way home with intentions of refreshing ourselves and then heading out for dinner, but our spectacular view of Hogsback was so idyllic and the fireplace beckoning so we stayed home instead, clearing out the last of our supplies and recounting snippets of the epic day we’d had.

Africa, South Africa

Travelogue South Africa: Paternoster

CAPE TOWN & PATERNOSTER

21 – 24 March 2019

When one’s favourite band is paying one’s country a visit and their second show is not only in Cape Town, but also on a public holiday that can easily create a long weekend opportunity, one must jump at the chance! And so it was we found ourselves plotting, planning and booking a trip to the Mother City for the Rock on the Lawns 2019 festival.

With the mass emigration of Joburgers to Cape Town, we were never going to be short of playmates or offers of accommodation, but we decided it made more sense to book an Airbnb close to the venue rather than having to compete with a stadium full of people to get an Uber home. We were very pleased to find a B&B easy walking distance from the stadium and so booked 3 rooms for the Joburg contingent; for us, Mich & Ian and Anna.

Since they had arrived the day before us and had a rental car, we were very fortunate to have a welcome party to collect us on Thursday morning when we landed.

We headed straight to the B&B in the hopes we could check in and dump bags. Although it was close to midday already, we had no idea if they would allow the early arrival – or in fact were expecting us at all – as since the initial booking a couple of months earlier, the host had gone quiet and not responded to any of my messages asking for early check in, then – thinking that maybe they felt awkward declining – asking if we could just drop our bags, and finally just asking for confirmation they were expecting us. We had only paid the R749 required from Airbnb and had asked for 3 rooms, so were fully anticipating being turned away or (possibly worse) having 5 of us share a double room!

But there was no cause for concern. When we finally found the place (the original Wetton Road had been split by the construction of a fly-over and some brightspark had duplicated house numbers on either side sending us on a wild goose chase), they were expecting us (although repeatedly asked if I was sure I’m not “Melissa with the 2 room booking”) and we were issued 3 rooms.

The digs was an old Cape Town home with the original wooden floors and pressed ceilings. And unfortunately also the old original single bathroom to service the entire house, consisting of our 5 and Melissa’s 5. A lot of people for one bathroom!

Nonetheless, the rooms were big, the linen clean and the location perfect.

We did some Googling to find a close restaurant to meet the rest of the gang and decided on Fat Harry’s “Burgers, Beers and Bones”. We spread the word, dropped a pin and hit the road, eager for lunch.

It was a spirited reunion with our friends and a solid carbo-loading with hungerbuster 200g burgers and loads of fries. I was cautious about the beer bit of the bargain, needing to go the distance with a long night ahead and also concerned about ‘breaking the seal’ with portable toilets being my future reality.

Still walking distance from the stadium, we all hit the road on foot at around 5 to make our merry way to the concert. The set up was very similar to the one we’d attended a few days earlier in Joburg, so we repeated the process, established a meeting point in the Golden Circle Beer Garden and allowed our cats to wander blissfully unherded between the bars, portaloos and occasional friend or acquaintance spotted. All while live bands entertained us from the stage.

At around 20h00, we moved into the crowds to get ready for the main act. We had a decent vantage point and again there was a lump in my throat as the lights dimmed, the spotlights came up, the backing music started and Robert Smith made his way into view.

The better part of 60, he still had masterful stage presence and put on a helluva show. Almost 3 hours of vigorous guitar and album-perfect renditions of scores of their songs, both hits and a few more obscure numbers.

My experience was marred a bit by being pick-pocketed and relieved of my cell phone… But still overall wouldn’t have missed the concert for the world.

We were fortunate that in the couple of blocks between the venue and our B&B there were 2 garages and – bliss! – a McDonald’s “walk-through” (the restaurant was closed but we were able to do the drive through on foot) and a midnight feast was had by all.

We were FINISHED by the time we got home at 1-ish. But not out soundly enough to sleep through the hubbub at 04h00 when we heard our front-of-house slash security man, Chance, yelling and screaming and throwing what turned out to be a coffee cup at some local entrepreneurs who had smashed a car window to relieve the vehicle of its contents and were proceeding to attempt to break into our house! Their attempts were thwarted and they ran off into the night. And we drifted off back to sleep.

FRIDAY

On Friday morning we split into teams to get our communal admin sorted. Christian had a work telecon so he stayed at the house; Anna and I went to the bank to get me a new SIM card, restore my online banking (which has to be suspended when a phone is stolen) and to order me a new credit card (my old one had been in my phone cover) and Mich and Ian went to combine a social with a shower at her dad’s place which was just around the corner.

By 11h00 we were all done and ready to hit the road for our roadtrip to Paternoster.

Our first stop was, as planned, lunch at Darling Brew. Known for their award-winning craft beer, the innovative people at the brewery have also concocted a very refreshing range of ciders (very welcome after an onslaught of beer the previous day) as well as a menu that cleverly incorporates some of their by-products, an example of which was the beer chips used for the pulled pork nachos we ordered. As an easy hop from Cape Town, it was a recommendable excursion.

It was a very pretty drive along the coast up to Paternoster; no more than a couple of hours in total and through the grasslands famous for the Namaqualand Daisies (which weren’t in season, but one could imagine the awe of the expanse when they would be). 

We bypassed the few stops we’d toyed with making (Saldanha, Langebaan etc), keen to get to our destination. We did stop in Vredenburg for supplies though, forewarned that this was the last mall on our route.

Arriving in Paternoster, it was even sweeter than we’d imagined. A smattering of little white houses hugging a curved cove with perfect ocean lapping on perfect beach. Making our way in as it approached sunset, we were greeted with a glowing horizon and a golden sea.

Our host was waiting at the Airbnb we’d rented, which turned out to be a luxury 4 bedroom house, quite in contrast to our humble digs from the previous night! In the bulb of a cul de sac, we were in prime location across the road from the beachfront with a perfect view from our front patio.

The host showed us around and prepared us for our stay, which was mostly how to turn on and off the beams, alarms and other security measures. Sad but true, Paternoster too has become a haven for crime; although mostly opportunistic theft of valuables left in plain sight by carefree tourists leisuring on open patios, appreciating the view of the beach and forgetting that they in turn are providing a spectacle for petty thieves.

We each chose our rooms, made ourselves at home and settled on the front stoep to watch the day go by. 

Not one for sitting still for very long, Christian suggested a quick trot to get a lay of the land so the two of us and Anna hit the beach, turned left, walked to the very end, cut into the main road and returned home through town. Very easy to get one’s bearings when the two main concourses are parallel and sand and tar respectively!

With 2 restaurants on the beach and several in town, we surmised we were going to have a fun Saturday exploring. Friday’s plan was a braai at home though so we happily returned to our stoep and the slowly setting sun.

The sun takes ages to set and throws off all sense of time so we ended up having a late dinner of braaied steaks, salad and our favourite side, mac ‘n cheese.

SATURDAY

Saturday morning began with a flex of good behaviour; we woke up to load-shedding so Christian and I took a morning run. Wanting to get our 30 minutes exercise to satisfy our Vitality requirement, we struggled to get the requisite 5km out of the little town. We ran to the far edge and then darted down every cul de sac on the way back to make up time – and still had to overshoot the house to meet the goal!

Fortunately the load-shedding in the Cape is a fraction of the length of Joburg’s so we were soon able to make a massive fry-up with the supplies we’d bought on our way in, to fuel our day of sightseeing.

This began with a drive to the lighthouse, which is in the nature reserve in Tietiesbaai (named after some chap, Jacob Titus, who drowned there) and was disappointingly closed. We got a few snaps from the outside though and went to a rustic beachfront pub called Seekombuis, known for its novel tables in empty rowboats, since proverbial planes had by now flown overhead.

Returning to Paternoster town, we did some shopping in the handful of gift shops on the main drag, walking away with t-shirts, scarves and olives.

Back to our lovely house for a couple of hours of relaxing and watching the ocean – which is all you want to do really since it’s too bloody cold to swim in – before our evening pub crawl  party in Paternoster.

Another hour of load-shedding ensured we really relaxed, by now well accustomed to whiling time on our front stoep, and we were soon off to the first stop on our evening adventure: Voorstrandt restaurant; a big red building a few doors down on the beachfront.

Ambitious to just rock up without a booking, we were lucky that the gracious host allowed us a quick half hour sundowner at a table that they were holding for a reservation. We managed to squeeze a bottle of wine (spritzered) and a plate of delicious snoek samoosas in and were soon back on the beach and on our merry way to the next stop.

The Paternoster Lodge claimed to have the best view in town so was a natural next setting for our Sundowners Part II. The view was good… But could hardly compete with Voorstrandt, on the beach. 

One more drink – at Benguela Blue, a couple of doors up from Paternoster Lodge – and we were ready to hit Blikkie Pizzeria for dinner and then last stop at the pub in the Paternoster Hotel (known as the Panty Bar for the rows and rows of panties hanging from the ceiling) before making our way back to our house. All in all we can’t have done more than a kilometre or a kilometre and a half, tops.

We retired to our back stoep, determined to enjoy every inch of our amazing rental home, and happily discussed our successful weekend.

SUNDAY

Sunday morning saw us up for another quick run around Paternoster, this time peppered with our reviews of our experiences as we passed the places we’d visited the night before. Having to check out at 10h00, it left little more time than to have a quick shower, snack on our leftovers in the fridge, pack the car and make our way out of town.

With our homebound flight only at 19h00, we’d planned a slow meander down the coast through the afternoon and then to meet some of Anna’s friends in Cape Town later in the afternoon.

We had scratched Saldanha off the list based on feedback from a restauranteur the previous afternoon, so first stop was brunch at Langebaan. We committed to the coastal experience and ordered an array of seafood from a busy pub and restaurant called Driftwoods, right on the Main Beach. We ate way too much and felt quite dozy getting back in the car for the second leg of the trip.

Arriving in Cape Town, we stopped for a leg-stretch and photo opps in Blouberg, happily snapping pics of the famous mountain from across the bay. It was a wonderfully sunny afternoon, with a bit of a chill in the breeze but otherwise a quick tonic for the time spent cooped up in the car.

Last stop was Forester’s Arms, a legendary pub in Newlands established in 1852 and still going strong. They serve a magnificent carvery on a Sunday and we were all very sorry that there was no space for another feast so soon after lunch. 

Still, it was a festive venue to pass a couple of hours to close our fabulous long weekend of party and Paternoster. Too soon we were off to the airport to catch our respective planes home and get back to the grind that makes these holiday hiatuses as valuable as they are to us.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 5: Le Volcano & Sainte Rose

LE VOLCAN & SAINTE ROSE

04-05 January 2019

We’d left our last full day to Réunion’s biggest tourist attraction – Piton de la Fournaise (“Peak of the Furnace”) or Le Volcan as the local volcano is known.

In the bottom half of the island, the volcano dominates the better part of the South East quadrant with the craters and caldera inland and the lava flow aftermath that flows all the way down and into the sea, as we had seen on the Routes des Laves the day before.

We left Saint Pierre early (well, holiday-early anyway, at about 08h30) based on all the online advice to get ahead of the people and the clouds. Had we been planning on hiking the volcano – no less than a 5 hour round trip – we’d have had to leave hours earlier. But that idea was pure madness when you can just as easily sleep in and drive.

We jumped on the trusty N3 that cut across the island’s belly, and that ebbed and troughed seamlessly from efficient double lane highway to dawdling single lane country road through the little towns.

The Google Maps lady was quiet a lot of the way. This sort of adventure was not a big job for her, based on the single road, short distances and the requirement for her to say “keep going straight” intermittently. What she couldn’t see along the winding Route du Volcan was the spectacular views and panoramas around each bend as we climbed up toward the Piton de la Fournaise.

The first viewpoint stops were at Riviere Des Remparts, a massive canyon 1000m deep, and Commerson Crater (200m wide by 235m deep), both of which allowed for amazing views and photographs that will never do it justice.

The drive thus far had been dominated by vistas of lush greenery in great magnitude but then, all of a sudden, we rounded another of the many bends and there it was…

… Mars.

This was the Plaine de Sables, a volcanic plateau that’s covered with ash and rocks from eruptions of the nearby Piton de la Fournaise. Gone were the trees and colourful shrubs. On the Plaine des Sables, there was nothing but reddish-brown dirt and rocks. As barren as the grainy pics you see of far-off planets.

The road snaked down into the desert and we were able to walk around on the plains. Nothing but sand and volcanic gravel. Very sterile. And eerily quiet.

Back in the car, we pressed on the Pas de Bellecombe, which is the viewpoint for the volcano itself, across the 8km wide caldera that had formed from massive collapses 4700 years before.

We got more than we bargained for when we realised we were able to do a short hike from the viewpoint into the caldera to the Formica Leo, a circular mound that looked like an oversized anthill. 20 minutes or so had us into the crater and able to walk around this magnificent feat of nature. The volcano is still very active – one of the most active in the world – so often emits plumes of smoke and vapour. But we got it on a quiet day so were able to move around quite freely.

It was a sweaty business, up and down the crater and in the unprotected sun while in the caldera. Cannot imagine what a schlep the full scale hike must be!

We had booked our last night on the Eastern side of the island to complete the (sort of, piecemeal) circumnavigation, so instead of retracing our footsteps we got to see the other half of the N3, all the way to Sainte Rose (there seemed to be a lot more female Saints on the Eastern side of the island).

Initially intending to go straight to our hotel to check in, again we were caught by surprise by the short distances between places of interest so decided to drive straight past and complete our sight seeing for the day while we were out.

It was pretty easy going with the farthest point, Anse Falls, only 9km away.

Set in a wonderfully wild forest, the Cascades down a length of rock cliff-face such you can stand under the falls and swim in the pools and river at the bottom. Very peaceful and refreshing in the unrelenting heat. Hardly surprisingly a favourite with the locals, who seem to love a good picnic – and had populated rest stops in the most arbitrary places along our travels.

On our way back to the hotel we stopped at the famous Catholic Church in Sainte Rose that had been miraculously spared from the 1977 eruption, where lava had flooded down the hillside toward it but then split past it on either side leaving the church unharmed in the middle.

All these memorable moments gave us lots to talk about when we got to our hotel and partook in the primary reason we’d chosen this property – the massive pool overlooking the ocean. It was sad that our holiday was coming to a close, but great to have nothing on the itinerary left to do!!

We chose dinner by proximity, which was a pizza place down the hill at the marina. We ordered 2 pizzas – by now the list of toppings were equal parts familiar and guesswork – and were shocked when we received two MASSIVE pizzas. Easily 40cm each. They were very thin crust and light so we managed to make a good dent (and took the leftovers home for breakfast).

Our last morning was a suitably leisurely one since even though we had a quarter of an island to drive to the airport, it was an hour or so on the highway.

We googled to make sure we hadn’t missed anything out in our planning and, since we had the time anyway, drove through all the Saints (Benoit, Andre, Suzanne, Marie and Clotilde) on our way back to the airport for good measure, so we really could say we’d seen ALL of Reunion.

Returning with some time in hand, we ended the journey as it had begun, with lunch at Le P’tit Gillot – the same restaurant right next to the airport that we’d visited when we waited for our rental car on the first day – and feasted on all new delights.

Recommendations for your trip to Reunion:

  • If your hair has any independent tendencies, bring a leave-in conditioner or gel
  • Bring a beach towel; they’re not provided anywhere
  • Get a rental car – a little hatchback automatic is optimal
  • There are few national roads and lots of free WiFi so you can get by without a local SIM card if you download Google Maps for offline use
  • Be adventurous with food orders. Even if you’re not quite sure what it is, everything is fantastic!
  • Try all the local beers; avoid the local wine
  • Be prepared to spend a small fortune on water. Buy water whenever you can at Price Leader stores because it’s less than half the price of anywhere else
  • Bring good sunscreen and aftersun. The sun is unrelenting but surprisingly forgiving so you’re bound to get a golden tan, no matter what you do
  • Reunion is wonderfully French so do a French course before your trip. Even a short, free online one will help bridge the language gap.
Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 4: Saint Pierre

SAINT PIERRE

02 – 03 January 2019

Following the windy-windy route from Cilaos back to the coast, you’d never guess it was only 45 km; it was a good hour and a half’s drive. You can only imagine how remote the Cirque must have been before that route was formalised – in 1927 if my French correctly translated the info at Roche Marveilleuse – and tarred!

Saint Pierre was quite the opposite. A vibey beachtown with actual congestion along the beachfront, as everyone inched along eagle-eyeing for a parking space. With the row of shops, snackbars, restaurants and holiday flats and everyone in swimwear, it was reminiscent of the Durban of yesteryear, before it got all the fancy promenades.

Our hotel was right on the beach. Like, *right* on the beach, to the point that our ground level suite’s round windows were like portholes. Our neighbour was the hotel’s snack bar, whose equivalent portholes were serving hatches to their customers on the beach side.

We were hot from the drive so wasted no time putting on our swimmers and sampling the view. The hotel provided beach chairs and umbrellas and we were soon set up on the other side of our bedroom window.

The sea in Saint Pierre wasn’t as blue nor the water as warm as what we’d experienced this far, but it was popular. Safety was a big issue in the sea on Réunion beaches with both strong currents and sharks a real concern. The water in the ocean lagoon was about thigh-high for a couple of hundred metres before shallowing further on a reef bank, so relatively immune to both hazards.

We left a full beach behind when we decided on a change of scenery for sundowners and took a long walk down past the marina to the fishermen’s village.

Not much was open – either too early for the dinner setting or closed for the holidays – but there is always somewhere to get a cold Dodo and the little slice of golden sand at La Petite Plage was as good a place as any to watch the sun melt into the sea.

I’d been quite disappointed at the poor show in the fishing village, hoping for a nice fish ‘n chips. It was not to be. What we did find though, was a buffet-style dinner that had all sorts of seafood and Creole dishes so we loaded up on salmon, magret (duck; both hot and cold), jambon, mussels… And… And… And… A veritable feast!

THURSDAY

In advance of our trip up the volcano the next day, Thursday’s mission was to see the effects of the volcano from the beach road. We would be roadtripping around the Southern bit of the island (also, interestingly, the southernmost tip of the EU).

We had planned to brunch on our first stop, Saint Joseph, which was a bit of a disappointment as a rather functional and light industrial little town with a disproportionate representation of mechanics shops, tyre dealerships and, oddly, banks.

That didn’t stop us grabbing a quick burger though, drawn in by an “extra extra bacon” sign and free WiFi. Not pretty in the conventional sense, but attractive enough!

We made up for our utilitarian meal experience with our first real taste of sightseeing, at Cap Mechant.

As a young volcano that regularly erupts (more than 200 times in the last 350 years), Réunion is literally still growing and the Route des Laves – the road that runs across where the lava flows from the volcano to the sea – bears testament to the awesome power of nature when it has an agenda.

Cap Mechant, at the start of the Route des Laves, is a cove where waves crash against storeys-high black lava cliffs formed by the lava castings over several eruptions. The resultant seaview effect, along with signage warning of sharks and sure-death currents is quite dramatic – in stark contrast to the clifftop where we were walking, where, presumably from the minerals from the lava, the grass was bright green and as flat and fine as a golf green!

Back on the road, our next 2 stops were intended to be Saint Philippe, a speck of a town, and then blink-and-miss-it Le Tremblet. Neither worth stopping at, we soldiered through to the last stop, Coulee de Lave 2007, which required veering around a traffic circle of sorts formed around a tree in the middle of this national road (vindicating our assessment of the previous two towns being easily missable).

The Coulee on the other hand was not a landmark easily missed, with the hardened lava cutting a long grey strip from as high as you could see (the customary afternoon clouds had rolled in, obscuring wherever the top was) right down into the ocean. The rich, thick forests on either side created stark contrast, as did the bright green saplings that had finally pushed their way through. Like at Cap Mechant, the new greenery seemed brighter than the rest, either fed by the lava’s nutrients or just an optical illusion against the dull terrain.

The end of the road for the day’s adventure, turning around and getting back to Saint Pierre was a much quicker affair since we’d only covered 46km in total, which was less than an hour on the national (tree-free) road.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 3: Cilaos

CILAOS

01-02 January 2019

Our host in Saint Gilles had mercifully already offered unprompted for us to check out as late as we’d like on 1 Jan. Maybe considerate of us wanting a later start on New Year’s Day and very possibly because of the roaring soiree he knew he was throwing in the driveway of our hotel on New Year’s Eve.

Either way, it was great to see in 2019 in a relaxed fashion and it was with sadness we said goodbye to the bungalow that had been a good home to us for the preceding 4 nights.

Having slept through breakfast time, our plan had adjusted to heading straight for lunch at L’Etang Sale des Bains, a black sand beach 30km down the coast.

Another odd set-up, the beach was a narrow crescent of black sand that framed the harbour. There was no waterfront to speak of, with houses up to the shore. But the local folks seemed to be enjoying the cool waters on the baking hot day and there were more than a few heads bobbing in the shallow crystal-clear waters.

Town consisted of a strip of road parallel to the beach; we drove to the end and then made our way back on foot perusing menus of the few places that were open until we found one we liked and went in.

We’d chosen a traditional Creole restaurant to suit the auspicious occasion of first meal of the year, with a chicken curry to represent standard practice and a Galette (savoury pancake with creamy chicken and mushroom) for something new and exotic.

From L’Etang we had to follow the coast down to Saint Louis and then head inland and up into the mountain to get to our night in the forest at Cirque De Cilaos. This drive was only about 32km, but took about an hour and a half because of the narrow and winding roads.

Our destination was very pretty. A bit grey and much cooler, the quaint little town of Cilaos is nestled in the dormant crater of a volcano from yesteryear so has beautiful mountains cupping the town on all sides with a fluffy cloud lid closing it off from the rest of the world.

We found our accommodation with relative ease (read: we circled the block a few times but it was impossible to get lost in such a small town) and were shown to our suite, which was in the middle of the ground floor of a double-storey chalet block.

With our neighbour on the left hand side singing loudly along to his favourite French radio hits and the neighbours on the right hand side animatedly discussing in German what they were planning to make for dinner (spaghetti bolognaise was winning), it was an easy call to hit the streets to see what their was to see.

Our landlady had shown us a laminated map on our desk so it was simple to find the main road in town. And with almost everything closed (being New Year’s Day) it was very easy to navigate and move around without other traffic to contend with. We completed our loop with a To Do list of return-to destinations for the next day.

Our landlady had also made a reservation for us for dinner at the only restaurant in town that was open and serving, which made that decision that much easier too. Sticking to the path of least resistance, we followed the menu’s Speciality section’s advice and had a goat masala and a lamb Creole dish, washed down with ice-cold Dodo beers. Yum!

WEDNESDAY

The quest for this little break-away was to experience the forest and mountain on the ground in the form of a hike.

Being the destination’s premium tourist offering, there was even hiking trail information in our room and we had earmarked the “short” 2 hour route from Cilaos to Roche Marveilleuse as the one for us because yes, it was the shortest, but it also seemed to offer the best return in the form of a spectacular viewing deck with panoramic views of the setting with Cilaos in the valley below.

However, unable to find the start of the trail, we unintentionally ended up driving to the Roche! Being early (it was probably not even 09h30 by this point), the sky was still clear and blue and the views were brilliant.

Not wanting to forego the hiking experience completely, we did one of the smaller trails around the Roche. Called ‘Les Botanique’, it was largely wasted on us as we didn’t stop to read any of the (French only) detailed signs that explained the floral wonder of our surrounds. We also finished in half the recommended time – about 20 minutes – so thought we’d try out another.

Of course on the second one we got lost and ended up circling back on ourselves a bit… But the result was 1h10 of hiking in total, which seemed like a valiant effort.

The clouds had already rolled in by the time we got back to Roche Marveilleuse and we thanked our lucky stars that we’d started early enough to see the magnificent view. We were also seemingly the only people going back into town, while hikers streamed onto the trails. We were grateful to have had the route to ourselves – and sorry for these adventurers who would miss what we’d seen now that the daily clouds had rolled in.

Starving from our walk, we stopped at a Boulangerie to get some take away nibbly bits, and feasted on quiche and cheese puffs and pain au chocolat while we packed up our things.

With everything in the car, we headed out on foot again to tick off the last activity; a visit to the local winery, Chai de Cilaos, which was no more than a couple of hundred metres away. But it was closed so we made do with rounding the block to the Marche Couvert (market) and bought a bottle of the local red there instead.

Bidding our landlady farewell, we drove out of town to the Cascades. While also a hiking trail, we’d had quite enough walking for the day and so took to the narrow and winding roads to get a look at the waterfalls and stop at a few of the roadside viewpoints.

The landscape is at such scale with its features so exaggerated that it doesn’t do justice to describe it in words.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 2: Saint-Gilles

SAINT-GILLES

28 Dec 2018 – 01 Jan 2019

As far as roadtripping goes, we’d thought Ireland took the cake for Country With Most Manageable Drive Time Between Cool Things. Reunion was going to give that a run for its money when Day 1 was the transfer from the capital, St Denis, to beach town, Saint-Gilles, totalling 43km… Including passing through 3 little towns en route!

That said, it can still be a white-knuckle experience thanks to the left-hand drive car, driving on the wrong side of the road and quite narrow roads at that. Even the main N1 and N2 are narrower than we’re used to. But it seems like a solution is in sight based on the mammoth bridge / fly-over that’s in the making in the ocean close the shore running more or less from St Denis to La Possession.

We were delighted at our first sightings of the next few days’ home as we rounded a bend and there it was! The sunny seaside town of Saint-Gilles. Picture-perfect and every cliche in place as we took in the main road with its restaurants, shops, patisseries and boulangeries. Like a little French Margate.

Our digs were even more of a delight when we discovered that we’d been assigned a little standalone bungalow, complete with our own stoep, a dressing room (they called it a second bedroom) and, best of all, aircon.

Our host, Jacques, welcomed us in his very best English, which was a translator app that he spoke into in French, then pushed a button and it returned the translated equivalent in a posh English accent. Well, in Polynesian the first time, but that was easily remedied with a setting adjustment and a giggle.

Jacques (and his English Lady) told us where to find the best local amenities – everything was close by – and recommended a few must-do places. He also advised, by way of itinerary-planning that we have a local beach, a beach 1km down the coast, a beach 1km up the coast and another beach 6km up the coast.

As soon as he was gone, we put on our swimmers and headed for the beach down the coast, L’Ermitage.

We didn’t economise on the walk to the beach, checking a few of the recommended locations en route, taking a wander past the harbour so we could see where our Plongee (dive) shop was and generally enjoying the no-need-to-hurry-anywhereness of it all.

The beach itself was a bit disappointing. Quite gravelly sand and with a coral reef starting virtually from the shore, lots of rocks and stony bits to contend with on your way into the water. The water itself though was Azure blue, crystal-clear and bath-warm, so once we were in we were quite happy to bob around and, obviously, being South Africans, watch our bag on the shore.

We also people-watched and based on the lack of shore front accommodation (holiday or otherwise), the smattering of tents and the generous allocation of picnic tables under the trees just off the beachsand as well as the general demographic, we reasoned that this must be a locals’ beach. We hadn’t gone far enough along it to get to Saint-Gilles’ only 5* resort and we’re curious to see what that was like. Another day.

For now it was time to get home for a sundowner, which was a couple of Phoenix beers we acquired from the hole-in-the-wall bottle store at the end of our road, creatively named Night Shop since it was only open (all) nights.

We pored over the tourist maps and books that Jacques had left for us and plotted our next few days. We also debated dinner since we weren’t wildly hungry, but had to eat.

We headed into town with no particular intention and wandered past a double-storey cafe that caught our eye so we stopped and had a fantastic seafood wrap and chips, sitting on the top storey to admire the view of Roches Noires, the local beach Jacques had described as up the coast.

SATURDAY

Allocated as our day of exploring by car, Saturday started with a visit to the famous beachfront market in neighbouring Saint Paul. Mostly fresh produce and souvenirs, the market makes for an excellent breakfast-on-the-go, snacking as stalls catch your interest.

We were barely into the market before we had a bag of assorted samoosas to work through – pizza, smoked cheese and curried fish fillings among our favourites. We sampled the fresh strawberries and nibbled on some sweet pork strips as we marvelled at the unfamiliar tropical fruits and how different ordinary veg like onions and bananas looked.

Without any specific shopping to do (and we had no intention of cooking on this holiday, despite our bungalow being fully equipped), the market is a quick excursion, so we rounded off the outing with a quick whip around St Paul’s centre; a neat grid of a couple of narrow roads in either direction.

Hot and sweaty and ironically motivated to get back into the car (for the aircon), we began our drive up to Maido, the highest point on the island.

Only 29km away, but an hour’s drive because of the narrow and winding roads to get there, we could not have picked a worse time to do the excursion. Having read of its sometimes freakish microclimate, we didn’t believe it until it happened to us. Having left blue skies and 30+ degrees behind us, we had pouring rain halfway up the mountain and finally arrived at the top as the last of the cloudcover swallowed what we’d read to be the spectacular view! The mist was unbelievable, billowing like it was being generated by a smoke machine. And, insult to injury, it was 17 degrees, according to the car’s thermometer.

Determined not to waste the drive up, we wandered around the “view” points, in our shorts and flipflops, in contrast to our counterparts passing through the spot from the many hiking trails in the area, all appropriately attired with hiking boots, anoraks and most with those multi-functional wrap things that can be headbands or scarfs depending how you wrap them.

True as Bob, on the way down we passed through the same belting rain and we’re greeted with the same blue skies sunny day at the bottom again. Odd.

Fortunately, even a failed excursion isn’t enough to dampen spirits and the West Coast of Reunion is much like our beloved Eastern Cape coast in that there’s always something else worth doing. So we set the car toward Boucan Canot (the “6km up the coast” beach that Jacques had told us about) to see what we could see.

And what we saw was a holiday-makers paradise. Waterfront of restaurants and cafés, facing golden sands and warm waters.

The red flag was up, restricting swimming to the area of ocean cordoned off with orange buoys. Being such a proverbial drop in the ocean on the busy beach, it made for quite a concentration of bobbing heads. But the vibe was good and it was a great cool-off for a couple of hours after a day’s sightseeing.

Back in our own neck of the woods, we dropped off our car and walked down to Roches Noires for sundowners and to test it as a possible location for our New Years Eve festivities. We were nice and early so got a primely located table right at the water’s edge.

Sipping on ice cold local Fisher beers, we watched as the sun went from being low in the blue sky to turning the horizon orange before slipping away completely. A very nice way indeed to spend a(nother) couple of hours doing nothing!

With evening upon us, we headed back up to the main drag and tried a few spots closer to home. We managed to tick off another destination on our Guinness Index, at Chez Nous where they serve 33cl bottles for a hefty €6. Not for sissies either; it is brewed under licence in Mauritius and is weighty 7.5% alcohol!

SUNDAY

With our dive booked for 1pm that afternoon, we wanted a light and easy morning so took a drive 16km down the coast to St Leu to get a spot of breakfast.

We were getting accustomed to the roads and subjected to the slightest of traffic since we were based at the far end of Saint-Gilles, closest to the direction we were headed for the day.

Arriving in St Leu we drove down the high street to get a lay of the land and then circled back to the start of the town to repeat the exercise on foot, walking along the beach and back through the town.

There were cafes dotted along the beachfront and we stopped at one of the huts, Les Filaos, to get some breakfast.

Breakfast had had us very confused. There seemed to be no “eggs and bacon” style plated options; rather, breakfast was a visit to the Boulangerie for some fresh crusty bread or a pastry or two. We had even tried to order a sandwich to fit in with the crusty bread theme and were told it was too early.

Fortunately, Les Filaos seemed a bit more relaxed and gave us a sandwich (a massive baguette slathered with creamy butter and layered with lovely ham) – hardly surprising since they were serving other patrons beers and Chardonnays and it was barely 10am.

Wonderful setting for a breakfast and we engulfed the view as much as our crusty brunch.

To balance our rebellion with local custom, we visited a Boulangerie in town and got a pain au Chocolat to nibble on as we walked through the little town and back to the car.

With everything so close together, our urban time management kept getting us ahead of schedule and the time we’d budgeted to drive home, drop off the car and walk to the Marina was way more than we needed an ended up at the dive shop almost an hour early. We were offered coffees while we waited (in that heat!) but opted to take a wander around the quay to the beach and back instead.

Back at the shop we had a heart-stopping moment when the dive shop couldn’t find my PADI accreditation on line… Which would have meant I would not have been able to dive! But they found me on the website and it turned out to be a Case of The Missing Initial and all that had started questionably was well.

We were required to set up our own gear so it was fortunate that Christian had so recently completed his dive course and was still fresh on the “what goes where”. The dive master checked out gear, assigned us as buddies and paired us with Jerome and Anais as his group. He also briefed us that we would be doing the Canyon route up and down the natural dales in the coral.

The boat travelled no more than a couple of hundred metres out and we plunged into the blue blue sea. We were to be exploring the far side of the coral reef just off the shore where we’d been complaining about the coral underfoot on the L’Hermitage beach on our first day’s exploring.

The water was crystal clear and like a bath so an absolute pleasure to dive in. We could see everything – lots of coral, bright fish, octopus and 3 sting rays! – and were light on oxygen, not needing as much to keep warm. We did 48 minutes at around 18-20 metres under water.

By the time we were back on pier, we were starving so it was a quick wash of the gear (no helpers to do that for you here!) and we were off like a shot to the Sandwicherie on the corner of our road.

La Salsa Du Pain had been sending wafts of freshly baked bread up to us since we’d arrived and was always busy, so was a Must Do on our itinerary. This was the perfect opportunity.

We walked the short way around – amazing how much smaller this town was, now that we had a proper lay of the land! – and ordered a tuna sandwich because, well, it was the only thing we recognised from what was left in the display.

As dumb luck would have it, it was delicious. As all sandwiches we’d experienced, it was a massive baguette loaded with creamy filling and crunchy garnish. Oh, and the reason it was so busy wasn’t actually the life-changing baked goods, it was the betting window it shared a space with. As we were trying to find a peaceful spot to engulf our breaded bliss, there were locals peering round us trying to grab snatches of the Trots on the screen behind us!

Not really the dulcet sundowner experience we had in mind as the setting to our reverie of the day’s memorable events. So we trotted ourselves up our driveway and enjoyed home-sweet-home on our cosy little deck.

Heading our for dinner we tried the main square. With a row of restaurants that had been quite shut in the off-hours we’d passed them, our curiosity was piqued. Hardly surprisingly, we were drawn to the pizza/pasta restaurant and it felt double serendipitous that we were offered a table in the busy restaurant while we reviewed the menu at the door with Google Translate.

We had a fabulous breakfast pizza (yay for something being bacon and eggs, even if it was dinnertime) and a salmon lemony with homemade tagliatelle. Yum!

MONDAY

As our last full day in Saint-Gilles, we had a lot of experience and research behind our plan for the day. And it was perfect. Another blue-skies-sunny-day (which is all this island paradise seems to have, unless you’re trekking up to Maido) and snorkelling at La Salle Les Bains.

Rated to be the best snorkelling on the island, all you had to do was put on mask and snorkel and fall into the sea because the coral started about a metre in and the water was, obviously, crystal clear.

Jacques had given us snorkelling and beach gear, so we drove the 13km down the coast to La Salle Les Baines plage, followed Google Maps to a Sandwicherie, ordered a Poulet baguette and Hot Dog Gratiné like pro’s, stuck our brollie in the sand and flopped in the water with our snorkels like we owned the place.

It was everything the reviews described. What makes an average swimming experience is quite something else when it comes to snorkelling. The rocky bed becomes the view, the shallow waters become the vantage point and the stillness becomes the playground for the wildlife. We saw loads of fish and I really wish I knew more about our underwater friends to make this account more interesting; needless to say, there were big ones and small ones, stripy ones and spotty ones, and a small shoal of big silvery white fish with whom I attempted to school, but they weren’t having any of it.

It was a baking hot day (same as every day) so we were grateful to have our borrowed brollie to huddle under so we could prolong the doing-nothingness on the golden sands without being chased away by the sun.

Aware that it was New Year’s Eve and we hadn’t booked anywhere (everywhere was fancy multi-core set menus that cost a mint) we headed home to get showered and changed to opportunistically grab a sundowner somewhere and see where the night would take us.

We started at trusty Roche Noire and finally succumbed to the rooftop bar, La Nouvelle Vague, overlooking it all, which Christian had resisted thus far based on its direct exposure to the setting sun, which clearly was as a direct result of it being the best vantage point by far to see that very setting sun. We played musical chairs so much trying to trade off the sun and the sunset that even the barman teased us about getting our value for money!

Oddly, at 6 on the dot he booted everyone out and closed up shop. Lots of places were already closed, which struck us as very strange for a New Year’s Eve in a beach holiday town. Still spoilt for choice, we made a night of it with a circuit of the town, stopping in whenever took our fancy and had the most unexpectedly magnificent dinner to round off 2018; a proper steaky mouthful of a cheese ‘n bacon burger at a biker-themed bar called Burger 66.