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Europe, France, French Riviera

Travelogue French Riviera 2: Cannes

CANNES

17-19 June 2019

Setting off from our resort in Port Cogolin, we were surprised at the amount of traffic for a Monday mid-morning. While the online resources we’d read had warned of it and we’d had firsthand taste of it on our arrival on Friday afternoon, the pinch of salt we’d taken it with proved to be unfounded.

With 116km roadtripping ahead of us for the day, first on the agenda, as usual, was breakfast, which we intended to take in Saint Maxime, 9km down the coast.

The one bright side about the traffic was the opportunity to really soak in the view on the drive, which since we were fringing the coastline was nothing short of spectacular. While there isn’t as much beach as I’d expected to see, everything was really lush and green, the houses were comforting peaches and beiges (and even the hotels are only double storey) and of course the rippling, glinting azure waters and visions of the yachts and Saint Tropez in the distance tickle the soul.

The stars were aligned for our rendezvous with Saint Maxime. Although the beach was bustling, we had no trouble finding a parking. And right outside the Tourist Office too!

The tourist map guided us directly across the street to the Old Town, where we found a boulangerie on the very first corner that sold us magnificent rotisserie chicken mayo baguettes and a melt-in-the-mouth Tarte Tropezienne (a cream donut with crunchy sugar on top) for afters. Easily the best €10 we’ve spent this holiday so far – and enjoyed at leisure perched on the fountain in the middle of the old town square.

With renewed joie de vivre we tootled up and down the handful of pretty streets lined with pretty cafes and pretty shops selling pretty things until we emerged at the beach which was, well, also very pretty. With wide golden sands, magnificently blue sea and far fewer people, we noted this was actually better (for us) than Saint Tropez should we see ourselves visiting this part of the world again.

Heading inland, we stopped in Frejus, a town that had been established in BC times by Julius Caesar. We hit Frejus during siesta – very strictly 12 until 2 – so didn’t get a tourist map and couldn’t find one online, so I’m sure we missed a lot in this obviously historic village with its ancient walls still intact, in use and clearly visible in several places. But we did see the cemetery, cathedral and the town square where pretty much everyone who was awake was lunching.

Of course, in true Murphy’s Law fashion, we were ready to leave town at 13h55, just before the tourist office was due to re-open and we could have had some wisdom to our wanderings… But we hit the road and continued to what turned out to be the day’s sleeper hit, Tourrettes.

We’d only added the village to our list thinking it would be funny to go there bearing in mind the name. What we found was a charming artists’ enclave of medieval village with narrow cobbled streets adorned with framed paintings and artworks hither and thither like the streets were a collector’s hallways.

Obviously the Tourist Information office was closed (only opening Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays between 14h30 and 17h30; applying for the role immediately on return home!) so we relied on instinct to guide us through the dormant town.

We finished off the afternoon’s touring with a stop in at Grasse, world renowned for its perfume industry. We found the home of Molinard and fortuitously arrived as the English tour started!

Perfume is quite a process to produce – and Molinard doesn’t make it any easier on themselves, blending hundreds of scents where most houses work in handfuls. We listened, sniffed, snuffed, spritzed and counted ourselves lucky at the extended education.

We wafted back to the car for the final hop of our journey and were soon squeezing our car into the tiny (but free) parking bay our hotel concierge had reserved for us, right  in front of our Hotel Trianon in Juan Les Pins. No mean feat in the narrow roads so close to the beach, where even the expensive pay parking was hard to come by.

Our host was a delight and was quick to help us get settled and to recommend restaurants that she liked.

Being around about that time, her recommendations were appreciated but ultimately ignored as a quick purvey of the promenade revealed an almost endless choice of places to eat and drink – not least of which the series of swanky places opening onto their section of private beach.

We ended up at a lovely little Italian place where Christian enjoyed a spaghetti vongolé (clams) and I a creamy and crispy lasagne.

TUESDAY

We were rudely awoken to what sounded like the binmen rattling up and down the road, but that turned out to be construction. Right. Next. Door.

Nonetheless, we fought the urge to get up early and lazed about until we headed out for a jog at around 9.

Our mission was to run to the neighbouring Old Town Juan Les Pins Port, about 3km around the cove. We could see it from our base and it looked like promenade all the way so not too ambitious an outing.

Lacing up, we headed out into the sunshine and took an easy pace. With the wide paths and few pedestrians, we were soon at our destination.

Happening upon a Tourist Office, we got a map and did a quick walking tour of the handful of sights to be seen in the old Town, mostly odes to Napoleon so presumably this was part of his stomping ground in his heyday.

We got some strange looks from the elegant customers at the sophisticated sidewalk cafes as we stomped on past, jogging our way back to Juan Les Pins, but we didn’t miss a step.

It was a joyous event to complete our morning run with a splash in the sea. The Mediterranean isn’t as warm as you’d think, but the bracing first steps in soon become welcoming waters and it’s wonderful to be engulfed in the azure.

It was also lovely to have a warm shower and get dressed and ready for our Cannes adventure.

Having been not entirely sure how we would get to Cannes, it was a relief to find that the train station was no more than a couple of hundred metres up the road from our hotel.

We got there with half an hour to spare, which is, serendipitously, exactly the right amount of time to have a massive jambon sandwich and an Orangina!

Catching the 13h57 train deposited us in Cannes just after 2pm. The town was buzzing with ad industry people, with the Cannes Lion Ads Awards opening. It was so much more cosmopolitan than we’d been used to, with barely any French among the British, American, Italian and all sorts we heard.

We veered up to the old town to see what culture we could absorb at the Notre Dames clock tower. Avoiding the museum – since it was such a blue skies sunny afternoon – we did a bit of medieval marvelling but mostly panoramic viewpointing before making our way back down the hill to town town.

Needing to do the needing-to-be-done, we walked the length of the Croisette promenade, which had been completely engulfed by the ad awards. Iconic brands gated by burly bouncers kept back anyone not bearing the embossed name badges of ad indo’s that had registered for the event.

The beach was a sea of branded umbrellas and a wave of competing music. Quite alienating to regular tourists like us.

We grabbed a shaded bench and a granita (an expensive Slush Puppy) and people-watched for a good half hour before heading back to the shore front, where we found a Happy Hour special that happiered our hour.

Positioning right on the edge of the pavement cafe’s pavement, we had perfect vantage point to see up and down the port, soaking up everything Cannes could while plotting our next steps.

It seemed an obvious to add to our Guinness Index and our Google search guided us to Morrison’s Irish Pub.

Finding their Happy Hour (Irishly from 5-8pm), on top of a warm pub, welcoming bar staff and lively playlist provided a fun time for all for the next couple of hours.

Way too soon it was time to head back. We accidentally jumped on the wrong train and ended up in Nice! Fortunately, we’d taken the second last train home, so there was the last one still lined up to take us back where we needed to be!

Europe, France, French Riviera

Travelogue French Riviera 1: Saint Tropez

SAINT TROPEZ

14-17 June 2019

It’s always lovely to attend to one’s bucketlist and this trip was (for me, at least) right at the top! I’d been wanting to visit the French Riviera for decades and our annual Winter Break seemed as good a time as any to strike it off the list.

It was only when we started researching the itinerary that we realised how close together all our must-see spots were, which sealed the deal and motivated us to rent a car for what then became our Riviera Roadtrip.

We’d again timed it perfectly, leaving for our holiday exactly as the first major cold snap set in at home – especially brutal to the unaccustomed after our long summer and only a mild flirtation with autumn.

Landing in Nice, we were greeted with a cloudy sky, a feisty breeze and a warm blanket of humidity. Sort of like arriving in Durban.

There was quite a long queue at the car rental place, but within the hour we were packed into our zippy-nippy Fiat 500, which from all appearances looked brand new and had all the creature comforts, including leather seats and a panoramic sunroof. Fortunately we’d only brought a single shared suitcase because that took up the whole boot, to the point that there wasn’t even space for our little onboard backpack!

Soon we were off, whizzing along with the highway on the road to our seaside adventure, with the longest leg of our roadtrip – a mere 104km – ahead of us.

Our pace slowed considerably as we exited the highway at Saint Maxime, our first experience of the beach towns on the coastal road. Teeming with holidaymakers, the traffic flow was inching along. Still, we had full view of the sea on our left and Saint Tropez on the opposite shore of the bay we were circling, so not so bad for us, as experienced as we are in the world of gridlock.

We had booked to stay in Cogolin, the adjacent town to Saint Tropez, based on the massive difference in price and the close proximity and ease of commute between them. While the town itself was a bit inland, the Port was (obviously) on the coast with enough accommodation options available on online bookings engines to hint that we were not the only ones to make this call.

There was a big shopping centre servicing the area, so we stopped and for a bite (it felt like a LONG time since the lunch on the aeroplane!) and a local SIM card en route to our digs.

We arrived at the Marina Hotel Club, which had sounded a bit like an Avontura Resort on the website, but proved to be so much better with little blocks of rooms strategically laid out for privacy. We were on the end row, so our double (dare I call them) French doors opened onto our veranda, the gravel path, the tennis courts and beyond that (oui oui) the actual-factual marina with all its fancy-pantsy yachts!

Keen to get out after the (semi-) frustrating traffic had delayed our arrival, we dumped bags, donned flip-flops, flip-flopped out of the resort and took a left to the marina, as our concierge had directed.

No more than a couple of hundred metres down, we were walking alongside jetties housing who-knows-how-many millions of Euros in yachts and boats of all shapes and sizes.

We stuck with what we knew and pulled up a dockside table at Le Wine to have sundowners, which the Cote d’Azur had been kind enough to hang onto for us even though it was easily after 7pm already. A couple of hours merriment was a worthy welcome party after our long journey!

SATURDAY

It was bliss having had a full night’s horizontal rest and no responsibilities to attend to so we made no effort to get up early on Saturday morning.

And as it turned out, there was no need to anyway.

We breakfasted on filled baguettes at the local boulangerie (2 minutes down the road) and then headed off in the other direction to the first stop on our day’s sightseeing plan.

Eight minutes later we were at that stop, Ramatuelle, a medieval village in typical Provencal style perched atop a hill with spectacular views of the vineyards below and beautiful sea beyond.

The town is tiny so it was fortunate we found the tourist office and got a walking tour map otherwise it would have been a quick 2000-step lap of the concentric buildings and we’d have been back on the road before you can say voila!

However, the map had snippets of information on over 20 points of interest in the concentrated area, which guided our attentions and provided a good hour’s entertainment taking us back in time to where crests adorned doorways and portcullises kept the baddies out.

Soberingly, our tour concluded with the World War II memorial commemorating the lost lives of the brave secret service members who served in the Resistance to bring the country to liberation, but saw their end being shot, beheaded or tortured in concentration camps. It’s an unsettlingly long list for such a small town.

Our route was to take us up the coast, away from St Tropez, which was the plan of action for Sunday.

We stopped in at La Croix Valmer, another pretty little town but by now, being Saturday afternoon, all the shops were shut so there wasn’t much to see and do so we did a whirl around the centre ville and then jumped back in the car.

Our last hop took us to our farthest destination, Cavalaire Sur Mer, the epitome of a seaside holiday town with a long promenade lined with shops and restaurants.

We walked along the shoreline – surprised at how the Med wasn’t as warm as we thought it would be – until we got to the (inevitable) marina with more yachts and flashy boats, where there was a spirited afternoon petanque tournament in session on the permanent gravel pit on the promenade. We sat and watched for a while, enjoying the Frenchness of it all.

On our return walk to the car, the afternoon’s revelry had begun on a section of the promenade hosting a rodeo! There was also a line-dancing demonstration in motion on a raised stage and stalls selling a generous selection of Americana. So odd to see all these ‘cowboys’ parlez-vousing the old Francais in their cowboy hats and pointy-toed embroidered boots.

We routed our drive home through Saint Tropez to get an idea of what the next day was to hold. It’s warned to be a busy town and the online references referred to crazy traffic and limited parking so a reccie would give insight on whether we’d be best driving, walking, bussing or boating ourselves around the next day.

While not terribly enlightening, the taste did serve to add excitement to the following day’s visit. How awesome to be flitting around in the playground of the rich and famous!

Arriving home, we showered and prepared for our evening activity – a walk to the adjacent town’s marina for dinner.

No more than 2km down the road, Port Grimaud is quite different to our Port Cogolin. Much fancier and bigger, Port Grimaud is big gated community that looks like a slice of Venice with Tuscan architecture and quaint townhouses built on a grid of canals, with residents mooring at their doorsteps and boating around the ‘burbs.

Bordered with wide roads lined with palm trees and based on the calibre of cars we saw (including a Rolls, generous selection of German luxury cars and more than a handful of Italian sportscars), this was definitely the more affluent area.

We took the bridge (named the Rialto, no less) into one section of the marina where there was a town square surrounded by restaurants, and where we enjoyed pizza and pasta while watching locals chuck boules on the gravel on the square.

Done with dinner and the sun still in the sky, we walked down to the beach and were lucky to get a waterside table at the big pub on the beachfront to spend a couple of hours watching the sun go down and plotting our plans for the next day.

SUNDAY

After all consideration of the many options for transport for our Sunday trail, we settled on taking our Noddy car. This would give us more freedom to add to our agenda if new ideas occurred and while the parking fees in St Tropez were going to be extortionate, it was all part and parcel, and using our own transport would save us time, which is the one thing money can’t buy.

But first, breakfast needed to be attended to so we took a drive to the town of Cogolin, sure that there would be a boulangerie with our name on it.

We were wrong.

While (another) pretty little town, we were disappointed to find a selection of bakeries selling bread and butcheries selling deli items but not a one having put the lot together to sell a packaged sandwich. And while you might immediately think that it would just be a case of procuring each at the specialist store and combining, it’s not that simple without any cutlery. The baguettes are crispy, crunchy and very long so would be a very messy to split; and a thick layer of butter is an essential part of the formula.

We masked our disappointment admirably with an obligatory whip around the centre ville to say we’d seen what there was to see, and were soon back on the road to St Tropez to seek fame, fortune and a feeding.

We parked the car and had barely emerged from the underground parking when we spotted a cluster of sandwich stalls in a small market. One was a kebab stall, which sealed the deal and we were soon munching happily on a bench, shaded by the tall trees in the Place de Lice, watching the locals battle the boules, obviously.

Taking a walk through the town, Saint Tropez has more character than I expected; the full complement of designer stores and glitzy lables, but in a charming setting of cobbled streets, terracotta roof tiles and painted window shutters instead of the usual chrome and glass city storefronts. An obscene amount of premium motor cars and an ostentation of yachts, but still somehow warm and charming.

We climbed the hill to the citadel and maritime museum which gave context to the town’s rich history and a wonderful panoramic view across the town, the crammed marina and across the bay to the places we’d passed through on our way in.

Returning down the hill, we wound through La Ponche (the old fishing village) and were deposited on the marina where we spied an Irish pub called Kelly’s La Grotto that was perfectly timed to earn itself the #6 spot on our Guinness Index!

And, coincidentally, while we were there our friend Kelleigh called us to say she’d be in Cannes for the week so hopefully we could meet up! We made arrangements for Tuesday; a very exciting prospect!

Very pleased with our new plan, we were newly motivated to follow through with the last phase of our current plan – to drive to Bonne Terasse beach to walk a trail around Cap Camarat to see the lighthouse. 2.5km each way would keep us out of trouble for a couple of hours.

Late afternoon was the perfect time to do it and thankfully the trek around the cape allowed for interspersing the sticky, sweaty hiking with dips in the ocean – which was, as per the name, deeply and brightly azure, and was so clear in places that we could see the pebble beds and seaweed on the ocean floor even from up on the cliffs where we were climbing.

We ended off the adventure with a good soak in the water before getting back into Noddy and heading home to shower in anticipation of the dinner we’d earned through all the activity.

We opted to return to Port Cogolin for our last supper and were spoilt with a 3 course menu special at Le Gallon, lured in by the host at the door. We feasted on salmon terrine, tempura prawns, mussel pot, tuna steak and – the coup de gras – lemon meringue, for only a couple of Euro more than the dinner the night before. We had ordered a bottle of white wine and a bottle of sparkling water, thinking it pennywise to spritzer, but the restaurant foxed us with a) the smallest glasses in the world, b) serving us rosé (which looking around, everyone had, so maybe that’s what you got no matter what you ordered) and c) when the bill came we found out the bottle of water was €8.50 (!!) so hardly worth the effort of diluting.

Still it was a very pleasant evening and the setting, food and company were perfect so all in all, all smiles.

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 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.

Africa, Reunion

Travelogue Reunion 1: Saint Denis

SAINT DENIS

27-28 December 2018

It had seemed an unnaturally long wait between booking the trip to Reunion (an island paradise French protectorate in the Indian Ocean) in the middle of the year and getting to the end of the year to actually go on the trip. But, finally, it was time.

Slipping through a blissfully traffic-free Joburg like a hot knife through butter, we were soon scoffing roast lunch (even though we’d had Christmas roast leftovers for breakfast) at the airport lounge in anticipation of our afternoon flight.

Flying Air Mauritius was a slightly different experience to what we’d become used to. For one thing, we got assigned a window and middle seat which we were unable to change (and didn’t please Christian, being a confirmed Aisle Man) and the entertainment was managed centrally through those tiny screens hanging from the overhead lockers.

The entertainment programme was quite peculiar. Almost immediately after take-off, a random episode from random seasons of 3 random sitcoms were flighted – without announcement – one after the other. Then nothing for an hour and a half or so. Then a full-length movie started around about the time we started our descent, so I’ll never know what actually happened at the wedding that all the characters were communing to attend.

We had a quick hour and a bit to pass in transit in Mauritius and were soon being welcomed into the next plane to do the hop to Reunion’s capital, St Denis.

Although we’d been fed proper meal service on our first flight, the time difference pushing us 2 hours into the future played tricks on the appetite and we were hoping for a snack on the Reunion flight.

It was not to be and the hospitality was just a mini juice carton. Although, as Christian said, the flight is so quick that if it was full they’d struggle to get around with the juice boxes even!

We disembarked in Saint Denis to a curtain of humidity; a balmy 28 degrees at 11pm. Getting our bags was simple since it was a 2-conveyor baggage collection and only 1 was moving, so we envisaged a simple induction to Reunion life.

It was also not to be.

We joined the queue outside the airport, waiting for a taxi. But every time a taxi minibus arrived, a pert lady with a clipboard and laminated-photo-on-a-lanyard authority ushered other people in and sent them on their way.

Several reiterations later, we questioned the process and she revealed that she was with an airline other than Air Mauritius and part of their service was to transfer their passengers to their destination. And we were to wait.

We are not great at waiting.

We crossed the road to the strip of tourist operator windows, where one lonely sole was still operating, hoping he could arrange an on-the-spot transfer. He could not.

We waited and waited, as the airline queue grew smaller but taxis became fewer and further between and tried without success to use the airport free WiFi to hunt down the how and who of airport transfers. All the websites gave local phone numbers, which didn’t help us since neither of us have roaming and there was nowhere open at the airport to buy a local SIM card.

Eventually we returned to the kiosk to ask the chap to call a city cab. He tried two vendors and, having no success, took pity on us and offered to drive us to our hotel on his way home. Hooray for friendly locals!

We were on the road 10 minutes later and he dropped us at Central Hotel, which was a lot more “basic” than it had appeared in the pics online. Thankfully we’d upgraded to the en suite room or we would have had no space to put our single suitcase!

Nonetheless, the bed was comfortable and the aircon welcome and we got a great night’s sleep in St Denis to prepare us for our first day of adventure.

Which had to begin with procuring a local SIM card!

FRIDAY

Emerging from the hotel, we discovered we were on the less salubrious side of St Denis… But, being a small town, still less than a couple of hundred metres away from the market (and upmarket) action.

We followed our road right up into the main shopping area; a seamless mix of local charm and international label brands. Everything very French, including our snacky cheese and ham samoosas to fill the gap as we shopped.

We took a short (and sweaty) wander around, bought a local SIM card and walked down to the big, beautiful and very blue ocean before heading back to our hotel to check out and get a taxi back to the airport to pick up our rental car.

The St Denis airport turned out to be our less-than-lucky place when our car rental company told us that there was a 2 hour wait for our car.

Fortunately, we had our spanking new local SIM at the ready so we did a quick Google Maps search that revealed a very lovely lunch spot less than 300m away – a wheelable distance even for our heavy suitcase.

What a find! Le P’tit Gillot turned out to be the restaurant and pub at the local Tennis Club and you would never have told it neighboured the airport with the frame of tropical trees and mountain backdrop. We got one of the last tables on the terrace and window-shopped lunch options from surrounding tables, which was much less taxing than translating the entirely French menu.

We bypassed the hamburgers and whatnot and shared two dishes of authentic fare – the Rougail Saucisses (pork sausages in a rich bredie) and Emince Poulet Aux Champignon (a sort of chicken stroganoff teeming with little button mushrooms). Massive portions and rich, delicious sauces. If this was anything to go by, we were going to like eating our way around Reunion!

And we had – thanks to the map of the island our Good Samaritan kiosk guy from the night before had given us – worked out over lunch the optimal route we planned to take in our week-long circumnavigation of Reunion.

We trundled back to the airport on the off chance that our car was ready early. It was not.

The airport did however have the World’s Best Fans, with blades that were easily 3m long, so it wasn’t terrible having a sit in the breezy Arrivals Hall for a last half hour before we could get on our way.

We were issued a sporty 6-speed Fiesta and before you could say “turn on the aircon”, we were zooting out of the St Denis airport on Day 1’s roadtrip mission: 43km to Saint Gilles.

Europe, Netherlands

Travelogue: Maastricht (Pink Pop)

MAASTRICHT

14 – 17 June 2018

Another great night’s sleep in Amsterdam had us up and out at the requisite time to meet our growing group (Kieron joining us from SA and Harry from London) at Central Station at 11h00 to catch the train to Maastricht.
Yet again, Burger King saved our bacon and restored good humour for the train ride that was taking us to our music festival. And after a two hour train ride through the pretty Dutch countryside, we arrived at Maastricht Station for the second part of our trip.
Neil had booked us into a hotel right across the road from the Station so it was easy as pie to get there and checked in. Kaboom Hotel was new and neat and had functional and fun decor. Perfect for our stay!
We wasted no time getting moving: Back across the road to see how to get to Landgraaf, where the festival was actually being held. Instinctively splitting into teams, we (sort of) efficiently sorted train tickets, cash (oddly, lots of places in Netherlands only accept Maestro cards, which none of us had) and a bargain Heineken festival kit comprising waterproof backpack cooler + 10 beers for €10 with a couple of Amstels for good measure.
Soon on the train to Heerlen, we opted for the bicycle cabin with the flipdown chairs along the walls that face each other so we could pass the short hop with a giddy round of a drinking game called Fives that requires little more than being able to make a fist / open your hand at will and to correctly predict – in multiples of five – the total number of digits being shown by the people participating in the round.
We organically absorbed a Laurel and Hardy pair of Dutchmen who happened to be sitting in a couple of seats amidst our rough circle and who had earned themselves one of our Amstels for what looked like a passing interest in our game. On arrival, assuming that they knew where they were going, we followed them to the bus stop… Only to find we had another train to catch.
Back to the platform and on board the next train, we had a forty minute journey to get us to the correct stop.
The Landgraaf station was very busy. The shuttle buses (free, included in our ticket) didn’t seem to be operating so quite a queue had formed at the bus stop. We gave it a 10 minute wait but then, super eager to get started, just walked to the venue instead. It wasn’t that far – maybe a K and a half – and gave us time to see the sleepy town surrounds and suppose what the locals thought of this annual thrall. The last stretch up to the main entrance was lined with banners from previous years. Anyone who’s anyone has played! And that’s a lot of anyones seeing as next year will be the 50th Pink Pop festival!
The festival grounds were MASSIVE and a bit overwhelming all at once. The whole festival was cashless so we started with making an investment in the green plastic squares currency (called Munten) printed in sheets with serrations so that you could easily break off whole or half tokens. One token got you a small beer or a tiny wine, served in plastic cups on paper trays of 6 servings.
With a welcome beer in hand, we decided to acclimate with a base close to the main stage, so found a table in a long open marquis with rows and rows (and rows and rows) of tables and benches opposite a long line of bar and food trucks.
Cleverly, the festival incentivised recycling by offering a token for every 50 cups or 25 trays returned. With the rate that beers were going down, it was a very manageable proposition. And resulted in a remarkably clean and tidy beer garden.
Our warm up served us well and we were in fine fettle for our first true festival performance, Snow Patrol.
We worked our way to a central position between the massive banks of speakers that fed the music to the back of the field, ensuring that the anticipated 60,000+ capacity could all hear what they came for. We had a good view, both of the stage and on the big screens flanking it on either side and it was an enjoyable performance in the afternoon sun.
Our much-debated pickle was whether to dash from the main stage to the smaller stage adjacent to see The Offspring and then dash back to the main stage for the night’s headliner – and main reason for our trek in the first place – Pearl Jam. Now, with some firsthand experience, it was clear that there would be no ‘dashing’ and manoeuvring the crowd and keeping our merry band together seemed a highly unlikely combination.
Kieron and Harry braved it while the remaining 5 of us put the time between acts to good use, topping up with supplies, visiting the (astoundingly clean and dry) portable toilets and strategising on how to best immerse ourselves in the crowd for the best position closest to the stage.
The last objective was the least successful. The Dutch are a very organised concert audience. They assume position and do not, under any circumstances, move from their spot. They are also very (very, very) tall.
Despite only managing intermittent glimpses at the actual bodies on stage, the performance was unbelievable. Eddie Vedder has a magnificent voice and the quality of both sound and visuals was so flawless that the experience wasn’t hindered by lack of line of sight. Eddie also related an anecdote about playing Pink Pop in 1992 where he’d climbed onto the video cameraman’s boom and launched himself from there into his adoring fans, crowdsurfing across the audience and back to the stage. We later realised he was wearing the very same T-shirt he’d worn that night, which is an amazingly sentimental touch!
Minds officially blown, we shuffled back to the train station with the tens of thousands of people that weren’t camping and needed to get back to wherever they’d come from. It took a good couple of hours to get back to Maastricht, by which time we’d dissected the day and the performances and all aspirations of an afterparty had dissolved.
Saturday morning was a leisurely start and since there were no early bands that anyone particularly wanted to see, we took a walk through Maastricht’s cobblestone shopping streets to get to Vrijthof Square, the centre of Old Town, known for its beauty, being lined with trees and a variety of quaint restaurants and pavement cafes.
A solid feeding under our belts made a world of difference and set us on our merry way for Day 2 of festivalling, which was a much easier mission to repeat seeing as we already had our train passes and knew where to get the Heineken coolers (we got a few).
This time we managed to catch the shuttle transfer and were soon entering the festival grounds. We repeated the easy start at the beer tent – and even bumped into our Laurel and Hardy duo from the previous day, making us feel right at home!
We worked our way onto the field for a band called Nothing But Thieves (a name we collectively had a mission remembering so they were mostly referred to as Barking at Cars or similar) and managed to get separated, which was a bit scary with so so SO many people. Fortunately, with some navigation on WhatsApp we got reunited, so all’s well that ends well.
A bit more ambitious than the previous day, with both the confidence of having better bearings and less pressure from the lineup, we bounced off to one of the other stages to see A Perfect Circle, bought merchandise, ate pasta, chilled in the pretty little cider garden, saw some of Noel Gallagher‘s set (shame, his solo career seems to be a bit watery and he only really got a rise with the Oasis songs he now covers) and were soon on our way to see the evening’s main event, Foo Fighters.
The concert was a bit self-indulgent with the singer and drummer swapping places for songs, lengthy drum solos with the drum podium elevating into the air and Dave Grohl calling people up on stage. Not my favourite at the best of times, it was a particularly gruelling task to deal with all the ad-libbing and showmanship.
We left just before the end to get ahead of the madding crowds, which made a world of difference to the length and comfort of our commute.
Motivated to rise only because of check out time, we left our lovely hotel to catch the midday train back to Amsterdam, opting to picnic on the couple of hours’ journey on the train to allow more time at our destination.
Arriving in Amsterdam, we stowed our luggage at the Central Station lockers and did a flash tour around the city centre, stopping for a traditional waffle (finally!) and ending up at a Mexican restaurant, of all things, serendipitously as the Mexico vs Germany World Cup match was on.
A last lunch, a farewell Heineken, some cards for old times sake and the group disbanded as first Kieron and Harry headed for the airport and then, an hour or so later, so did we.
What a rockstar getaway!
Europe, Netherlands

Travelogue: Amsterdam

TRAVELOGUE AMSTERDAM

13-15 June 2018
As all trips tend to, this one started with a mad race to the airport. Having recently started a new job, I wanted to leave the office as late as possible to try and still get in a full day. We’d logisticked the plan to suit, packing yawning dogs into the car so they could be dropped off at their grandparents by 6am and I’d get dropped off at the office by half past.
Managing a breakneck day, I hailed an Uber at 4pm to take me to the Sandton Gautrain Station and was very lucky to have been just ahead of and in the opposite direction to the rush hour traffic. The Gautrain did me no favours, rejecting my card as expired from lack of use and requiring me to buy a new one for my journey.
Still, even with all that, I arrived at the airport only shortly after Christian who had meanwhile driven from his conference venue (conveniently in close proximity to the airport) and dropped our car with the valet parking people.
It was very strange arriving at the airport with nothing but my handbag… But a welcome relief to check in our suitcase – well in time – and head to the Emirates Lounge for an exhale and a snack before our flight.
We were exhausted so managed to get quite a bit of sleep on both flights and arrived in Amsterdam ready and raring to meet our friends.
The trip had been inspired by Tim and Wendy (commonly collectively referred to as ‘Twendy’); lifelong fans of Pearl Jam, the band who we’d all travelled to see at the popular Pink Pop Festival. Twendy had come earlier to catch a Pearl Jam concert in Amsterdam on the Tuesday night as well, but we were happy with a couple of nights to sightsee Amsterdam and then the weekend at the Festival.
We had booked Airbnb accommodation near to Twendy’s in Prinsengracht Street, on the outskirts of the city centre. A short train ride and a brisk 20 minute walk from Central Station later, we were in our digs to drop our bags and turn out again to get to the designated meeting place.
Twendy’s dropped pin guided us straight down the canal to the Ellis burger bar cafe restaurant nestled against a busy (with bicycle traffic) intersection. We were delighted to see them and spent a couple of hours catching up on what they’d seen and done and had yet to see and do, washing down quality burgers with cold Heinekens.
Making the most of our proximity to our investments, we went past Twendy’s first and then via the grocery store to get some Heinekens and Grolsch for sundowners on our roof terrace. It was hardly the summer we’re used to, struggling to maintain 20 degrees Celsius, but it was a very pleasant evening and a big novelty to be drinking Dutch beer in Amsterdam.
Twendy had booked tickets to another concert that evening so we walked them to their venue – since everything was new, everything was an adventure – and then caught a tram to the notorious Red Light District.
I still had the Rick Steves app on my phone from our Italy tour the year before, so we used his easy-to-follow route and narrative to guide us. Funny enough, when we were stopped outside a church, a family pulled up next to us and, hearing the voice from our speakerphone, excitedly said to us “Rick Steves! Rick Steves!” pointing at their earphones and phones.
On concluding the walk, we used the opportunity to visit one of the many Irish bars to log on our Guinness Index. We settled in a bar called Slainte and earned made it famous at a fairly respectable #15.
Shortly after we arrived we spotted a chap wandering around the pub, clearly looking for his people. On a hunch, I asked if he was Neil, Twendy’s friend who lives in Amsterdam. He was!
By the time Twendy joined us, we were old friends with Neil and we all enjoyed a catch up – and celebrating the turn of midnight into the 40th birthday of a lady with whom Twendy had made friends on the bus between the concert venue and the pub.
Shattered from our long journey and enthusiastic arrival celebrations, we only managed a couple before calling it a night and wandering back to our apartment.
We’d pre-booked a walking City Tour (through Sandemans, the same company as the one we’d recently done in Dublin). When we’d booked, 10h30 seemed like a very reasonable start time and we’d had dreams of a lovely fry-up to start our day. It was not to be, when we first fluttered eyelids at 09h45!
Fortunately, we’d had some experience with the city now – and it’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do – so it was simple enough to navigate to Dam Square where the tour was starting (and for Christian to nip into Burger King for us to get their first order of the day).
We met with our guide, Sam; an American actor who’d done stints on both Broadway and the West End in London and was now permanently based in Amsterdam. We went through the usual ‘meet the group’ routine and then headed off on the tour.
Starting the tour in front of the memorial in  Dam Square commemorating WW2’s fallen soldiers, Sam told us that the city formed over the river Amstel in 1100 and joked that only such an old city could have something called ‘New Church‘ that was 600 years old! He also shared that Justin Bieber had recently bought the most expensive property in Amsterdam, overlooking the Square – there goes the neighbourhood!
We walked across to the Old Church, which was built in 1306. Amsterdam was the largest trading city of the world back then and where the Central Station is now was a massive harbour with ships from all around the world. These brought hordes of sailors, so the church started the prostitution business to protect the virtue of the ‘nice’ ladies and pimped to benefit from the massive money the industry generated – and absolved the prostitutes’ sins when they confessed to them on a daily basis, even allowing them to pay (literally) for their sins in advance!
Legalisation of sex work was only formalised in the year 2000 (very progressive, being the first and only country to do so). Previously it’d fallen under ‘gedogen‘ (not legal, but not enforced) because it was good for business, didn’t harm anyone else and was done (relatively) discreetly. The legalisation was to make the industry safe, protect the prostitutes and stop the child abduction rings. It’s now the city’s safest place, with response times as quick as under a minute when panic buttons are pressed.
We walked along Zeedijk Road – the highest point in Amsterdam, at 1.6m above sea level. With more than 30% under sea level, it’s felt that this is part of the reason for the city’s history of tolerance and brotherhood. Because everyone had a common enemy; the sea.
Sam stopped us outside the old gate to the city. An important building that had also housed the Guilds, among them Rembrandt van Rijn who had been contracted to paint the surgical procedures being conducted in the top of the same building in the 1600s. He was only 26 and became a very wealthy man in his lifetime (rare among the classic painters) from his signature portrait painting.
Next up was a building in the University of Holland, housed in what was the headquarters of the Dutch East India company from 1606. Sounds like a business well ahead of its time, modernising the industry with fleet sailing to mitigate risk while harvesting and trading spices, gold, cotton etc AND introducing the investment/stocks model for a continuous stream of money to plough into taking over the world, as a global mega-power colonising in every direction with such gems as New Amsterdam (now New York), New Zealand and Cape Town. The only Dutch protectorates left are the 5 islands in the Caribbean, which Sam quipped is to give the Dutch somewhere warm to holiday.
We took the midtour break in a bar in a building that used to be a convent. You could see evidence of some of its former purpose in odd elements like a lingering pew and a small staircase up to an altar-like podium with austere gilded cross backdrop. Quite a contrast of past and present!
Our tour had circled round and we were back in Dam Square, this time on the opposite end, outside the Royal Palace. The story goes that Napoleon sent his brother Louis to rule the Dutch. He didn’t do very well and Napoleon took Holland back from him within 3 years. But even in that short time old Louis had made some monumental changes, like introducing street numbers and surnames.
Sam pointed out that Amsterdam, being built on swampland, wanted to make the most of their land so they taxed homes according to their road frontage. This is how the narrowest house in Amsterdam – a red brick building only 1.8m wide, coincidentally adjacent to the widest bridge in Amsterdam – came into being. Ironically, the house is inhabited by a couple over 6 feet tall with 2 large dogs!
The houses have pulley hooks attached to the top of the house and the fronts generally lean forward a bit, so that (back in the day) stocks and wares and (even today) bulk furnishings can be hoisted into the house. Some of the houses have sunk in their foundations so also lean to the left or right, leaving rows of houses looking like multicoloured teeth in dire need of braces!
These houses line the 165 canals in Amsterdam. French Hugenot Protestants came to Amsterdam looking for religious tolerance and work and ended up digging these concentric semi-circular canals to bring goods to the merchants’ houses. So, essentially, the city is 190 islands connected by 1200 bridges.
The tour ended at the Anne Frank House. Although voted by the Dutch as one of their most famous and beloved, Anne was actually German (born in Frankfurt); her family had moved to avoid Nazi persecution (Amsterdam was among the safest places in Europe) and the house was actually her dad’s business building until 1942, when they were forced to seek solace so went into hiding. Two years they spent, holed up in that tiny attic with windows boarded up and separated from the business by a sliding book case. Eight people, in complete silence all day while the business ran in the rest of the house.
It’s a really poignant story that this teenager kept such a vivid account or their story and ended up perishing with her mother and sister in a concentration camp, leaving behind only her father, who retrieved her diary – a gift he’d given her for her 13th birthday, in fact – and made her documented dreams of becoming a revered author come true posthumously.
Sam recommended a traditional Dutch restaurant for lunch, so we messaged our friends to meet us there in a couple of hours and took a brisk walk to the Rijks Museum for a cultural whirwhind whip around to see some Vincent Van Gogh and Rembrandt Van Rijn masterpieces on home soil. Very impressive. Especially Van Rijn, whose The Night Watch is truly breathtaking.
The museum was a bit further than we anticipated so we were a bit late to meet at Cafe Sonneveld for our traditional lunch. No mind though, the restaurant was very quick to serve up our ‘stamppot’ and we were soon enthralled in the meatballs and mash style meal.
The plan for the afternoon was to rent a boat and see the city from the water… But it had started to rain, so we took an hour out to sit in a coffee shop and play cards (which was a very fun excursion of sorts in itself).
It didn’t rain for long, so we were soon back on course, with a full cooler, a picnic of snacky things and a playlist of the main contenders at the impending festival to complement the trip. It was pretty chilly and the rain had obviously scared off other potential boaters, so we had the canals largely to ourselves, which was wonderful and a couple of hours later we’d seen more of Amsterdam than I’m sure most see in their entire stay!
Our body clocks must’ve been quite confused by the dark coming so late (you can’t really say from the sun staying up so late when there was no appearance of the sun to speak of), so when we went to Foodhallen for dinner, we somehow missed it completely. The venue is a warehouse of food stalls of all varieties – from pizza to seafood to Mexican to frozen yoghurt – but they had all closed (at 10pm sharp) before we’d made our minds up… So we just went to one of Neil’s favourite restaurants, Rotisserie, instead for massive, juicy burgers.
It’s always good to walk home from the pub after such long day/night outings – and it was much easier this time, since we had a better lay of the land and a trip to Maastricht the next day to look forward to.
Africa, Tanzania

Travelogue: Zanzibar

ZANZIBAR

26 April – 1 May 2018

A lot of planning had gone into our long weekend flit to the little island of Zanzibar in the Indian Ocean. Since the purpose of the trip was to participate in our besties’ knot-tying, there were also all the pre-event events to plan and enjoy alongside the usual travel logistics. Having met some new faces along the way who would be in tow on our island adventure, the prospects looked promising for an unforgettable experience.

In the same adventurous spirit, we cast aside our usually unwavering support for our beloved Emirates in favour of the far quicker Kenya Airways routing. This however meant that we were due to depart ORT at 01h00 on Thursday morning (gulp), which we rationalised as quite efficient since it would give us enough time to do leisurely prep after work, drop the dogs off at their respective grandparents and get to the airport for 22h00.

The thought process was solid (and the airport wait very civilised in the lounge with free wi-fi to stream telly on the tablet), but Kenya Airlines threw us a curve-ball, keeping us waiting queued at the gate for 45 minutes. Hardly what you need at that hour! Boarding well after 1, we were shattered and had no trouble drifting off to one of the handful of average movie titles on the entertainment system.

The upside was that our transfer time in Nairobi was cut to almost nothing and we literally only had time to walk through the terminal from our arrival gate to the boarding gate for the Zanzibar hop, stopping only to pick up an extortionately-priced chewy sandwich to bridge us from the distant memory of last night’s dinner at home to lunchtime when we would eventually arrive at our resort.

The thought process was solid (and the airport wait very civilised in the lounge with free wi-fi to stream telly on the tablet), but Kenya Airlines threw us a curve-ball, keeping us waiting queued at the gate for 45 minutes. Hardly what you need at that hour! Boarding well after 1, we were shattered and had no trouble drifting off to one of the handful of average movie titles on the entertainment system.

The upside was that our transfer time in Nairobi was cut to almost nothing and we literally only had time to walk through the terminal from our arrival gate to the boarding gate for the Zanzibar hop, stopping only to pick up an extortionately-priced chewy sandwich to bridge us from the distant memory of last night’s dinner at home to lunchtime when we would eventually arrive at our resort.

The short 1h20 flight was in partnership with Precision Air, on a small plane with less than 100 seats. Having also been slightly delayed, the pilot apologised for the inconvenience and made it up to us by circling close to Mount Kilimanjaro giving us up-close views of the rugged mountainside and reach-out-and-touch-it-close views of the snowy peak. Now that we’ve seen it, we can happily add summiting Kili onto the bucket list… And strike it off.

Having consulted quite a few weather apps – sort of like continuing to shake a Magic 8 Ball until you get the answer you want – I’d had concerns that we were in for a wet weekend. To our delight, we landed in a sunny Zanzibar – and Christian started sweating almost as soon as the plane door opened on the 30 degree humidity.

I broke into a bit of a cold sweat myself when a very serious lady stopped me as we were entering the airport terminal, demanding my Yellow Fever Certificate; which of course I didn’t have, on me or otherwise. I had instant mental pictures of being detained in this hotbox of a departure hall and sent on the return journey home.

All overreaction of course, but a tired mind is a overly fertile imagination ground! Christian – always the sensible one – provided passports and details that we’d come from South Africa and only ever-so-briefly flitted through Nairobi. All was well and we were waved through to Passport Control.

Our driver (arranged through the resort) was ready and waiting for us, as promised, so we gave him our Jiffy baggage (our suitcase had been shrunk wrapped to within an inch of its life at ORT, as a mandatory service by the airline) and jumped into the back of our car, a quarter century (or more) old Camry with 286 thousand K’s on the clock and a furry dashboard to boot!

Our driver was congenial enough and pointed out a few things along the way through Stone Town and on the surprisingly well maintained dual carriageway beyond, admirably patching together his limited English for a comprehensible story, but not stretching quite far enough to be able to effectively field questions, which made for a stilted one-way conversation.

He did share with us that there had been immense flooding a few weeks prior, which gave me hope that somehow I’d caught weather forecast flashbacks or lazy climatologists had been assuming the status quo. The blue-sky clear day gave no indication that it planned to burst banks this weekend. Fingers crossed.

We passed through 4 seemingly pointless roadblocks en route to the resort. Each time our driver was beckoned to pull over, which he dutifully did, and had an obligatory rapid-fire exchange (that made us feel like we were in trouble) before we were sent on our way. Maybe it was the fashion police querying the furry dashboard!

An hour and a bit of journey time later and we arrived at Michamvi Sunset Bay Resort and were greeted at the open-air reception by Shirley, who gave a quick run through of the order of things and showed us to our room.

We had a lovely spacious ground floor suite facing the volleyball court and the sea beyond. Our block of four had Michele and Ian above us, Milly adjacent to them and Anna and Marina due to be our neighbours the next day. Very cosy set-up.

We had no trouble finding our friends, with their conversation and Mich’s laugh carrying from the bar, where they had already settled for the afternoon.

With planes having already flown overhead (we know because we were in one of them), there was no hesitation ordering the first beer for the day, which doubled as a cultural experience since it was a local Kilimanjaro lager. Ice cold and very refreshing.

Less refreshing and more bracing was the first shooter of the day which followed soon after, prompting us to order lunch with haste, to get a good lining of the communal stomach to aid stamina for what promised to be a vigorous welcome party.

The food at the resort was wonderful and a fresh and flavourful fish wrap and a light and creamy chicken coconut curry made up for the spartan (and awful) food on our journey.

A handful of people had already arrived, and we met everyone as they wandered into our afternoon, positioned almost cinema-style in a row of deckchairs in the bar facing the ocean, using the lovely seascape as our panoramic TV and whiling away the time as day became sunset became evening.

Conveniently, dinner was a set menu to be served around the swimming pool. Our selections had to be logged by 4pm to aid kitchen logistics – and a blessing that our group wasn’t faced with complicated ordering procedure by the time dinner rolled around.

The food was again fantastic and our Kingfish main course so outstanding that we contemplated a weekend of pescatarianism to take full advantage.

Retiring to the bar again after our meal just revived the party rather than retiring it and the drinks flowed and friendships formed.

FRIDAY

After a very necessary, very long sleep, we surfaced just after 09h00 to catch the tail-end of the breakfast service. Served on a thatched deck on the beach, we soaked up the night before with hearty omelettes, cold meats and cheese, fruit, juice, the works! … And then went back to our room to have a lie down while everything digested.

The resort was quiet with the majority of our posse having gone on an organised tour of the island. We’d decided in advance not to go, rationalising that a day of leisure was a rarer pleasure than any excursion could be.

We took a lovely long stroll the length of the beach off to the right to see what was around the corner of our cove. But it remains a mystery as cove corners are never a simple ‘approach and peek around’ situation and we gave up before we’d rounded the long bend that the ‘corner’ actually was.

It was lightly tinkling with rain by the time we got back, which was the perfect excuse to shower and lounge and only properly present ourselves at around midday.

Shortly thereafter Anna and Marina arrived and we found Milly, who had also not gone on the tour. We chatted and caught up on who had been doing what since we last saw each other and then the four of us checked out some of the free snorkeling gear to take an explore in our waters.

Turns out that the equipment was completely unnecessary since a) the water was crystal clear so you can see the seabed from above the water and b) there was nothing to see in the water except the seabed. Still, it was nice to have a bit of a paddle about – and have a story to tell about an otherwise eventless day!

Achievement behind us, we retreated to the sea-facing loungers and read and relaxed and allowed the day to pass around us.

At around sunset, Anna reignited our ambition by suggesting a game of beach volleyball. What began as a relatively level playing field of Christian versus the two of us girls took a turn for the worse for us when Ed teamed up to balance the numbers. We had a short but sweaty burst of activity before retiring to the pool.

By then the other guests who were staying at neighbouring resorts had started to arrive for the official Welcome Dinner, so we changed into our ‘dress’ shorts and flops and met at the bar to greet the newcomers and compare notes.

Dinner was served none too soon and we were ushered to the Sea Breeze deck (where breakfast had been served) and seated at 2 long tables from where we could help ourselves from the buffet and grill. A feast that made for a good lining of the stomach for what turned into a rather long night, propping up the Sunset Bar and attempting to dry the island of Kilimanjaro lager, which we’d been told was subject to a shortage in supply. I’m sure they could hear us from the mainland, laughing and singing well into the early hours.

SATURDAY

Our late and festive night made getting up early that much more difficult, with the itinerary requiring a 07h30 departure for the girls to get going for the bachelorette, which was a swimming-with-dolphins and pamper combo. The boys were heading off on a booze cruise excursion, only due to leave at 11h00.

We jumped into our transport, picked up the other ladies from their respective resorts and crossed the island to catch a boat that would take us to where the scout boats had told us where the dolphins were.

We found a school of 7 and plopped into the water. Floating on the surface face-down allowed for a wonderous experience, with the dolphins writhing and playing below us, often no more than arm’s length away! They seemed completely casual about our presence in their world and carried on about their business, mostly gliding along at a pace we could follow but easily making space with a few graceful kicks of their tail.

Each time they’d throw us off their trail, we’d get back into the boat, find them again and then drop back into the water to watch some more. It was a fantastic experience. Truly once in a lifetime.

Returning to the resort, our breakfast deck became home base to the pamper party, with private rooms allocated for massages and mani/pedi sessions and henna tattooing in the communal area. Very social and a wonderful opportunity to get to know each other – and see the boys sail past and up the coast towards Upendo where we’d be meeting them at sunset.

Our journey to Upendo was less glam, thanks to the state that the rains had left on the (I suspect already bumpy) dirt roads between the two resorts.

It was a very cool spot for sundowners. A chic lounge bar right on the beach (obviously) with a menu of some impressive seafood – and curries, which we couldn’t resist.

Everyone was bushed from the long day on top of the long previous night, so it was a relatively restrained session, topped by some very civilised tea and coffee nightcaps on Anna and Marina’s patio on our return to Michamvi.

SUNDAY

Being wedding-eve, intentionally no plans had been made for The Day of Rest, except dinner. Our friend Sarah arrived from England so Mich and Ian took her on a roadtrip to the other resorts to catch up with the long-lost friends she’s not seen in the 3 years since she emigrated. This left the rest of us to laze on loungers, nap, read, watch the sea and – for the more ambitious among us – walk on the beach or wallow in the water.

At 17h30 we met in the Reception to catch our taxi to The Rock restaurant, a single small building covering the entire surface of a little island just off the beach in front of Upendo, where we’d been the night before. And when I say “just off the coast of”, I really mean it.

With the tide in, we used a dhow to get from the shore to the steps up to the restaurant. But with the dhow lengthwise between the two points, we boarded at the back were pushed a couple of metres at most and then alighted from the front of the boat.

Apparently the boat ride is more a precaution than a necessity because of the spiky sea urchins that can really ruin your dinner plans if you step on one!

We again enjoyed our food immensely, ordering Tambi which was described at the Zanzibari take on pasta (thin angelhair strands with fish and coconut cream sauce). And we couldn’t resist ordering Kingfish again, as our newest-found local favourite.

Aside from the food, a visit to The Rock is a must for anyone in the area thanks to its spectacular sunsets views from the terrace that infinities the ocean into the disappearing sun, transitioning the yellows and reds into blues and purples that make every photo a winner!

With our new arrival and new friends now old pals, we undid all the good our restful day had done us and had a solid innings in the bar on our return to Michamvi.

MONDAY

Sleeping in as late as possible – surfacing at 09h25 to catch breakfast before it started closing down at 09h30 – we were at least a little rested in anticipation of The Big Day.

The girls were required in Michele’s room at midday to start with the primping and preening. As is probably quite customary, the boys had much looser and more leisurely arrangements, really only needing to swap casual shorts and t-shirts for smart shorts and shirt since it was a barefoot event a few steps from our quarters.

Unfortunately it pelted with rain all morning and while it did ease up a bit over the course of the afternoon, it was too risky to bank on doing the wedding ceremony on the sand as had been intended, so the decision was made to move the set-up indoors. The hand-plaited palm arch and all the chairs were moved to the bar deck, which seemed sort of fitting with the amount of time we’d spent there over the preceding few days.

Our planning worked out perfectly though and our bride’s party of 3 was all glamourous and ready to go just after 4.

The walk-on song started and we wound our way (barefoot) along the paths from the room into the bar, down the aisle and to the front where the groom and groomsmen were waiting. Our friend Cheese was ready and raring to officiate the ceremony.

It was a short and sweet service, rounded off by the happy couple reading a promise to each other that they’d crafted in lieu of vows. Then we moved to the beach (a few steps away) to take the bridal party pics. Even though it was drizzling lightly on and off, nothing could dampen spirits – or the view as a backdrop for some fantastic pics.

The resort team had done a magnificent job of transforming the Seabreeze deck into a romantic reception, with the tables in a big L around that mirrored a matching L buffet and grill station on the other side. They had framed the room with candles in paper bags which gave the room a soft and warm glow, setting the mood just right.

The formalities were minimal with basic housekeeping. I read messages and well wishes from those who had been unable to join us, Ian gave  short speech and a quick and Christian gave a light toast.

The food was again spectacular and we were spoilt with lobster, prawns, kingfish and tender beef skewers, partnered with starches and an array of exotic salads and sauces. We ate ourselves silly, which fuelled a very long and exuberant party well into the night.

MONDAY

Fortunately there was little to do since we’d compensated for our early start (well, relatively early, needing to be up at 07h00 to leave before 08h00 to get to the airport) by packing the day before.

Our taxi was mercifully early avoiding the potential for any stress clock-watching while obsessing over the potential for missing our flight. He did stop twice on our journey though; once to fill up with petrol (you’d think he’d have done that in preparation since this was a pre-booked transfer) and the other a quick nip to a shop (a side-of-the-road tuckshop window style spaza) for who knows what. And of course we were stopped by police twice.

Nonetheless, everything was Hakuna Matata when we arrived at the airport in time for our check in and we were grateful to only have 20 minutes wait for our flight to start the journey home.

It’d been a wonderful trip, but a restful day of snoozing on the plane would not go amiss!

PS: the only downside to the trip was that there was not a whiff of a Guinness so we were unable to add a new country to our Guinness Index.