A Garden Route Travel Report

The Garden Route/Safari Trip

For the record, I am writing this with an attitude. I had kept an ongoing, hand written journal of this whole trip and during the last few days of the trip, lost it. So here is a version from memory.

After a week of hitting the tourist sites in and around Cape Town, Mark, Louis, Richard and I hit the road. The plan, as organized by Mark, was to head to Addo Elephant Park, north of Port Elizabeth, as quickly as possible. We drove straight to Knysna, a large coastal city. Actually, Knysna is separated from the ocean by a dune protected bay with an ocean inlet. So the “waterfront’ is actually a large river-fed estuary. The city itself is active, with streets of shops and restaurants. It was just 5:00 pm when we arrived, so everything was closing up. Failing to find a cup of coffee, we headed to the waterfront to find a hotel. Big mistake. The rate for rooms was R1200. We headed away from the water, toward town, and found a nice hotel for R600, breakfast included. The “Grey Wood” was built to look like a mountain lodge, surrounding an above ground swimming pool. We found a restaurant one block away. Since we were off season, we were among a very small group of people, most of whom were there to drink and watch the world cup rugby games.

After a buffet breakfast (with a bird flying in and being netted in a most dramatic way!), we were back on the road. We arrived at Addo in mid-afternoon to discover the Addo Park had no reservation for us. I had a record of confirmation on my laptop, but without Internet, it wasn’t much use to me. The nearest Internet was 7 km away at the orange elephant, a backpackers hostel, which closed at 5:00 pm.  So at 4:35, we again hit the road for the Orange Elephant. We made it, and after reconfiguring settings for IP address, I pulled up the reservation, but NOT for Addo, but the Elephant House. “Oh, that place can cook a good meal” our host at OE said. “You passed it on the your way here.” The four of us, Mark, Louis, Richard and I, piled into the car, and drove up the road a few km to the Elephant House (EH). We were greeted in the parking lot by Pietre, the host and owner. He offered us cordials to change our harried mood, and led us into a peaceful, green courtyard.

EH is a vision. It is made from Pietre’s family efforts over 6 generations. Originally a farm, EH is now an exquisite, stylish, restrained guest haven. It is a series of buildings connected by open verandas that run along all sides of the buildings. Several courtyards are formed by the connected buildings. The main house now offers a dining room, library, and the main kitchen. All sides of the main are extended with covered, fully furnished veranda. Our room was located in the back half of an outbuilding, connected to the main house by a brick path running through a courtyard, with a fountain in the middle. Our room faced away from the property. It has recently been remodeled. At the door entering the room, there is a large bed with crisp, white linens – sheets and duvet – and lots of big white pillows. The furniture is all antique, but sparse, nothing decorative. The bath is divided into a cell with a modern double sink, and a large bathtub. In a separate cell is a room-sized shower lined with 4-inch teak boards, floor, walls and ceiling. The half of the room with the tub and sinks ends in a windowed wall with a 9-pane windowed door that leads to a bricked courtyard and an outdoor shower. To the left, and outside the walled outdoor shower, the brick floor gives way to the pebbled gravel (chinitas) of the outdoor lounge – table and chairs, cushioned daybed, and a chaise lounge. This outdoor parlor is the entry way into the suite. The décor here is a mix of luxury for the body and austere furnishings for the eyes. There are fresh purple irises in a crystal vase, filling the room with the smell of springs I remember from my Michigan youth.

Dinner is served at 7:00 pm in the main house dining room by candlelight. There is a perfectly cooked filet mignon, placed on a bed of scalloped potatoes and steamed vegetable, al dente. This was preceded by blue cheese spread on triangles of toast. Dessert was a caramel sponge cake filled with a caramel syrup and served with whipped crème. We signed up for morning and afternoon/evening safaris the next day (R650 each for each safari).

Morning breakfast was served on the patio off the dining room. A little chilly. We had an English breakfast (scrambled, back bacon, grilled tomato and mushrooms – no beans), toast, yogurt, and muesli. Yes, very full. We left with Xaxambeli in an open-aired Land Rover at 9:00 am. He told us that since we were going to Schotia safari in the afternoon, we would concentrate on elephants in the Addo safari, as they were not part of the Schotia trip. And we did.

Xaxambeli spent the morning stalking elephants through binoculars and by scheming with information from other guides. It was a strategic operation. Instead of elephants we saw warthogs, bok and meerkats. In late morning, we spotted a herd on a rise, their back and heads just visible above the fynbos (heather, low lying scrub brush). Xaxambile parked the Land rover, and we waited as the herd slowly ate their way down from the rise, on their way to cross the road. There was a huge male with tusks, several females, some juveniles and a few infants. All together, about 50 elephants moved slowly toward our vehicle. With cameras, binoculars and bald eyes we “oooo-ed” and “ahhh-ed” as the elephants slowly moved in our direction. But it seemed like all at once, we were surrounded by the herd. The way the ground pitched, the herd was forced to cross the road toward a path on the other side exactly where Xaxambile had parked. They were so close, so huge, so quiet, moving slowly, parting and rejoining to move through the fynbos, parting to stream around our now tiny Land Rover. We watched until the final rump disappeared into the brush on the other side of the road, continuing to listen to their soft hurrumphs and snorts; watching as the adults gently guided the babies on the right path. Xaxambeli drove around the rise, snaked through a pass, and we had to stop. The elephants were grazing along the road and completely blocked any traffic. We watched as the dominant male kept us in his left eye, casually uprooting and eating jade trees, eating trunks 3 inches in diameter. Eventually, Xaxambeli edged the Land Rover around the edge of the herd. The combination of size, quiet, power and gentleness was for me some kind of awe. So close.

It began to rain lightly and we headed back to EH. At 2:00 pm after a half hour of down time, we piled into the car, drove north, past Addo, for a 20 km drive to Schotia Park for an afternoon safari. The four of us were joined by a young German couple who had been coming to South Africa on their vacations for some time. Our guide for this safari was Malcolm, a 50-ish Afrikaans guide. Since this was a small, private game preserve, we immediately saw rhinos, bok, and wildebeests before we stopped for coffee at an old, renovated farm building. In the fading light of the early evening, we saw a pride of adult female lions with their newborns in the distance, climbing a hill. We never did find them, though we followed winding paths through the fynbos. We later saw a juvenile male alone, separated from his brother, according to Malcolm. Later, we heard before we saw, the older patriarch, as he made his way down the hill, and through the trough of the valley. With Malcolm’s narrative to help shape the events, we watched the nervous juvenile male head out the other sided of the valley (kloof). Malcolm reversed us, took a loop that brought us to a ridge that formed the passage way out to the kloof. Just as we parked, the juvenile sauntered up the hill leading into the clearing of the ridge where we sat. Then all of us, including the juvenile male, heard the muffled growl of the king. The juvenile skittered down the opposite side of the ridge into the scrub. Safe in our Land Rover (?), we stayed put. Shortly, the adult came up out of the kloof and into the clearing where we sat. He looked to swaggering, moving his head side to side, issuing muffled throaty grunts. He surveyed the clearing, then stretched out on the grass, and rolled over on his side. Malcolm suggested that we head toward dinner, but on the way, we could check on a small group of giraffe that we had seen earlier, grazing some way up on a hillside. Apparently, they move down the hill as evening approaches. We found them nibbling on acacia trees. Malcolm pointed out that one of the females had just lost a newborn to the lions. She was still swollen with milk. Now it was nearly dark and we headed toward the kiva for dinner.

When we arrived, we had coffees around a hot, bright campfire while we waited for the buffet to be ready. There was shepherd’s pie made with bok, rice, vegetables, and for dessert, caramel pudding cake with schlagg crème (a pattern?). After dinner – coffees, fire and soft acoustic guitar played by a guide from another group. In fact, as I thought about it, each of the guides had helped prepare and serve the buffet, had brought his group their desserts, and cleared our table, and now, while we sat, listened and sipped, was cleaning up after the dinner. The smoothness of this operation tells the tale, a professionally choreographed event. I have mixed feelings here. Of course, I want this event to be a good one [“after all I paid money…”], but I also want it to appear rustic, a first time, to not be “the tourist.” It is a nagging sort of awareness. I wouldn’t come to South Africa without going on a safari, but it does seem like it is SA “tarted up,” produced for my consumption as a tourist. I am much more at ease walking down a path, on my own, without a specially produced event. Glad that I didn’t figure this out until after our guests left. We drove back to EH in the dark.

Breakfast the next morning was in the dining room. The front that brought the “elephant showers” had cooled the temperature over night. We said goodbyes to the staff, and headed back toward the west, but this time with the intent of going slowly and seeing what was on the way. Our first stop was Jeffrey’s Bay. As a group, we were in a different operating mode,that only emerged as we made decisions about what to do next. The first half of our trip had been about getting to a place we had already scheduled, so that the trip became mileage, getting there, and time expended. These formative factors of time, distance and goal were not as concrete as they seem now, but were definitely the rationale for our trip decisions on the way out to Addo. Now the operation was of a different sort. We were in the business of building our vacation step by step. This we proceeded to do. Jeffrey’s Bay was made semi-famous as the “world’s best surfing spot” by a movie I never saw. But there you have it, enough of a tease to get use there. What an interesting place. We are off season, and so is the town. The beach is deserted, the town if Jeffrey’s Bay is deserted. We find a self catering apartment with two bedrooms, two baths for a very reasonable rate. Dinner is one block away at a surprisingly nice Italian restaurant. The next day, we shop at the “factory stores” in particular a Billibong outlet store,that also carries Dakine. A wonderful new all weather coat and some swimwear. I guess it isn’t the sleakness and design of the store, but what it sells. Learn this lesson. On our way out of the downtrodden beach town, we hit the “suburbs.” A new mall sits on the top of a low rise, complete with McDonald’s. But the surrounding area is bare. It is like the Kostner movie Field of Dreams – “build it and they will come.” So here sits this mall and no development to give it context. Louis buys a second safari hat. They look good on him, but the only difference in the second is that it has ventilation. I take advantage of the McDonald’s and have a cheeseburger meal. And it nearly as good as the many I have had in Tampa. I used to feel guilty about eating at Mcdonald’s in Europe. After all, in a country with a different culture and cuisine, take every advantage of it. Yea, yea, I’ve thought that. But also tell myself that this vacation is about pleasure, self indulgence. If it feels good to sleep in, do it. There will be other alters in other cathedrals. Traveling should not be a boot camp operation. So I enjoyed my guilty pleasure. The Coca-Cola is a universal drug. Apart from the fact that it used to contain cocaine (who needs it?). The drink itself, sweet sticky syrup, is a drug. So we continued with a Mikky D buzz west, on N2.

Our next stop was in Plettenburg Bay. I am perhaps influenced by what I read about “Pletts” in the several guidebooks we lug around with us (why kaolin-coated papers for all these books – heavy!). Pletts was definitely more upscale than the towns we had seen. It is described as a “glitzy getaway.” The town sits on a rise, looking down on a beautiful beach. The shops are upscale. We found an inexpensive self catering unit called O’Hanna’s, and had a strange arrangement of rooms. Each of our bedrooms had a skeleton key lock and an audible, electronic alarm that out host disarmed. The kitchen/lounge and the entrance door also had a key and alarm. The rear door, of course, differently keyed, opened onto a small bricked patio with braai. Throw in the key to the back gate (short cut to downtown), and it made for a bunch of keys. For dinner, Mark, Richard and I went for the prawn special at a restaurant down the street.

The next day, after breakfast at O’Hanna’s, we drove back east to Tsitsikama Falls for ziplining. The none cables were stretched across a gorge made by a small, tannic river. Our guides Ryan and Ahmed were great. Ahmed led us on each of the lines, and Ryan stayed behind to help each of us clip on and screech away. Ahmed took my camera at the beginning and photo-videoed our traverses. Ryan kept the performance/performed anxiety up with off-side comments about the low death rate, and the cable security. At the end of the experience, we were able to purchase photos of our trip and videos of our zips, already burned to a CD. This is an amazing bit of visual literacy/commerce.

We took Mark to Storms River for mountain biking, and then returned to Tsitsikama gorge for lunch at a small local cheese shop, gift shop, and restaurant. An older, post-feminist Afrikaans woman ran this beautiful shop that featured “slow food” in contrast to the fast. Who couldn’t relax in such a space. She and her staff grew the vegetables she served. Her husband grew a tea,that he was attempting to market. Then, back to Storms River to pick up Mark. We drove down the valley road to the beach at Storms River. It appeared to be a second house, get away. Very nice home tucked in the growth, all looking very empty at this time of year. We drove back to Pletts where we had dinner at Le Mer, obvious by the name, a French seafood restaurant. Somehow I missed all that and thought we had sat for an Italian meal. My pasta was not very Italian.

From Pletts, we drove to Montagu the next day. We drove scenic route , elaving the N2 at heidleberg onto 322. For a bit of 322, we were driving in a gravel washboard, and got a cracked wih=ndshield for our trouble. At 324, we headed north on a serpentine road through Tradouws Pass. This was a cliff side road that was blasted into the steep sides of a mountain gorge. It was hard to imagine the little river we saw down below carving this massive, jagged crevice. Every now and then, the switchbacks gave a heart stop view of the valley we had just driven, or that Richard had just driven. (I can’t believe he drove this whole trip. He claims that the stability of the steering wheel helps with the jerking at his back. When someone else drives, he is subject to the swaying without any warning and it causes nerve jolts.) Mark and I had a few girl screams as Richard careened down the 180 degree curves. All of this downward motions carried the four tires too close to the edge of a cliff road, carved from the rock face.

The idea we had with Montagu was to relax in the hot springs. We arrived on Monday, in the late afternoon, with just enough time to check in at the tourist information center. There we booked a chalet at the Avalon Springs Resort, a grand old hotel built next to a hot springs. In the last few years, the Avalon has added several chalet duplexes that climb the mountain side behind the hotel and springs. The impact of the “vacation luxury” décor was staggering. Entrance was into a lounge area with a flat screen 32’ TV, bar equipment, and several pieces of woven lounge furniture. The lounge was separated from the adjoining kitchen by a large grey and brown granite counter. The kitchen was beautiful, with dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances (including a dishwasher), granite counters and backsplash. Each of the two bedrooms was en suite, with additional 32” flat screens in each. Off the front of the lounge and facing the hotel, springs, and valley, was large tiled deck with a dining suite and large bricked braai pit with an electric grill. When we were still in the “open all the cupboards” stage of awe, we decided a second night here was needed. We did not know what was going on around us.

The next day we woke up to no water. We were later to find out that the day of our arrival, yesterday, was a day without much electricity. Mark went hiking and mountain biking, Richard wasn’t feeling well, so he slept, and Louis and I went to the pools to “take the cure.” At 4:00 pm I had an appointment for a Swedish massage. But when I tried to re-book our room, it was taken. Since there was a problem with the water supply in the chalet at the higher altitude, all that was available were rooms in the hotel. I say “all” that were left because we had our hearts set on the easy, glitzy, modern luxury of the chalets. The massage was great. At the time, I thought that it was a little too soft, without the deep tissue work that I like. But the next day’s soreness made me grateful that it was only a light one. The new rooms, numbers 6 & 7, turned out to be very luxurious in their own way. Each had a very ornate caramel colored marble bath. Mark & Louis even had two French Provincial chairs in the bath facing the mirrored wall, presumably there for them to apply their make-up. The upholstery was African with a zebra stripe print.

We left Montagu and Avalon springs for Cape Town. This seemed like a long stretch. On the way back to Cape Town from Montagu, we stopped for lunch in Wellington. At a shoe store, the owner carefully asked where we were from and why we were in Wellington. He was kind enough to elaborate that because “Wellington wasn’t on the way to anywhere” they seldom saw visitors. What an interesting guy, now without his name. In the past he had taught languages at an unspecified college. He claimed to 11^th generation Afrikaans. His female ancestor was the second woman to own property. This was in the 1650’s. It reminds me that this “primitive” feeling, looking country has a colonial history parallel to that if the US. South Africa is beautiful. The US is a miracle. Richard found me my first pair of Crocs in the store in size XXXXL. From my perspective, the X’s lose their semiotic punch after two, but whose counting. I love them. While we ate lunch on a second story deck off the front of a restaurant, I was able to watch the people come in and out of stores, parking cars, dragging kids, rushing to beat the universal 5:00 pm closing time. It seemed to me, perhaps influenced by the shoe salesman’s comments, that these were the “natural” South Afrikaans, middle class, unaffected, and did I mention, white. The town along a single stretch of road was isolated and small.

OK, onto Cape Town along the N1. We took Mark & Louis to the airport late afternoon the next day (Wednesday). But on the way, we drove up the mountain in our backyard to have a look at the Rhodes Memorial. Cecil Rhodes, as in Rhodes Scholars, of Rhodesia, with a plan for English settlement from Cape Town to Cairo, left this patch of land to the city of Cape Town (as well as the land for the University of Cape Town). His memorial is flanked with huge granite Doric columns and bronze lions, reportedly his favorite animal. I can see the memorial gazing out from its green mountain lair, above our apartment. True to form, just like he did for our trip up Signal Mountain, Mark had packed sandwiches. He is such a thoughtful one. So we had lunch on the memorial plaza overlooking the city of Cape Town, as it winds around the mountains that bracket it. Then we went for coffees and dessert at the little thatch roofed restaurant behind the memorial.

It was so sad to drop them off after a wonderful 3-week holiday with them. When they first arrived, they stayed at a condo on Kalk’s Bay, south of town on the peninsula. Everytime we drove out to Kalk’s Bay from Mowbray, there were Southern Right’s Whales in the bay. Kalk’s Bay is a small inlet on the False Bay South of Cape Town. The town is a short narrow strip nestled between the bay and the mountain at its back. The only way is up, and the undrive-able, cobblestone streets went just that way, straight up the mountain side. The waterfront hosts a small fishing dock that is in use. So, daily, boats bring in their catch and sell it right there. There is much filleting and fish cleaning going on, with guts and discard fed to the resident seals. They appeared quite tame, I guess used to an easy meal. So used to humans, and even lethargic that tourist ventured in for close ups with their cameras and attendant faces behind the camera. A middle-aged woman leaned into a rather large male seal, only to have it lunge toward her with a loud, sharp bark. She jumped vertically and back, as we all did. I can only imagine her heart ratge and adrenaline levels as mine were sky high. And she was quite bit closer.

After the worst fish and chips I’ve ever tasted, we returned to the seals who were now off shift and rolling in the water making the most of the sunset. We needed to leave in order to make it to Pietre-Dirk Uys in Desparate First Ladies, at UCT’s Baxter Theater down the street from our apartment in Mowbray.