The last fortnight on our 5-month sojourn and we suddenly felt as if we were running out of time. Technically we were still illegal aliens with a bit more aggro to come. This blog is predominantly a happy picture story with captions, so I might as well get the aggro out of the way at the start.

​SA Home Affairs VFS Global 
​
In summary, we first found out that our Irish passports were only good for a three month stay after we'd booked our flights for a five-month stay. Initially this seemed a fairly trivial obstacle. Ha ha ha. There was allegedly a new online app that would expedite everything. After initial attempts to follow this route it proved purely ephemeral. Some email communication between Oxfordshire and Cape Town later, I resorted to calling the Embassy in London. The operative there was rude and unhelpful. And so it went. 

The received wisdom was that we should leave for SA as planned at the beginning of October 2021 and apply for an extension once we got to the other end. A month before our allowed 90-days was up, we were told. No worries, we were staying fairly close to Caledon Home Affairs, so not a major hassle.

There is no point repeating chapter and verse[1] what happened after that except that the process had moved to Long Street in Cape Town and in mid-February 2022 we were R15,000[2] poorer and remained sans visas.

What could they do when the time came to fly home on February 28 and we remained technically aliens. You may well ask! We had heard stories, at least one of them verifiable, of travellers stuck in South Africa for an indeterminate period. It took our friend something like three weeks to sort things out before returning home.

Come mid-February we enquired (yet again) about progress and were told to be at VFS in Cape Town at 2PM on Friday, February 18. Given that we could be there all afternoon we booked accommodation on the Cape Peninsula for that night. Confirmation of the VFS booking would be emailed to us that we would need to print off and present upon our arrival at Home Affairs.

"Did you think your appointment was on Friday the 18th?" Kerry blurted when Shan answered our phone. We'd emailed her to ask if her husband, Tim, would mind printing the confirmation. We had no printer at our current place of abode.
"Yes," Shan replied, "we've booked and paid for accommodation for that night!"
"Well Tim's just noticed that the appointment has been confirmed for Monday the 21st."
I shan't repeat my normally polite wife's stream of invective. She was very cross when she managed to get hold of the agent on the phone. Apart from anything else, it wasn't even clear whether we'd been granted the visa or not and with just 7 days to go ...

To be fair, they did pull the stops out and came back with an answer: "Be there when VFS opens on Friday morning and they'll see you then ... ."
They did see us and after a fair old nail biting wait we went through another interview and some signings and finally our visas were stuck into our passports. Idly flicking through my passport to look at the paperwork this morning I noticed that the visa had been granted four weeks previously. They could at least have put us out of our misery. Listen here: no more depressing stuff [Ed]

A tale of two quite different eateries

These were two fab places to eat that we'd somehow managed to miss out on until our return to the UK was looming.

First there was De Vette Mossel, a kind of weekend pop-up with panoramic views while having, to quote my wife, "Great fun eating 7 courses with our feet and chairs teetering on the sand."
The plan was to entertain our generous benefactors as a final thank you and maybe distribute a few bottles we'd rashly overbought in our rediscovered love for Western Province wine.

​So here's to Kerry, Emma, Sheila, Tim and Tony.

Above: (top) The view of the Klein River lagoon so cunningly framed by the proprietors that, no matter where you stand, it is always right in front of you; (row 2, l-r) Shan and Kerry, a.k.a. Kinkles, having a laugh; joined by Emma on the pier; all the okes[3], presumably taken by my vrou[4] seeing as she's not in the picture; (Row 3 l-r) Tony; Tim; Sheila; me having a laugh with Emma; (Bottom) Sea Gals ... see what they did there.

OK this is starting to sound a bit like a corny Cornish postcard (which is a delightful juxtaposition with the lekker[5] food and continuity announcer/maitre'd).

​On the opposite end of the spectrum was Le Chalet, an old-fashioned fine-dining restaurant to which Emma had been dying to take us. It was fabulous. Leo the chef/proprietor has clearly downsized from a much more substantial Swiss establishment to Fisherhaven, where he continues to serve up one delight after another in this entirely family run restaurant. If one sits outside there are views of the Bot River lagoon where an eclectic list of fine wines will round off ones visit (this is all beginning to sound like a blurb but these are all my own words). Le Chalet seriously delivers. Why did we only discover it within days of heading back to the UK?

Above l-r: An unassuming, but very typically Swiss, chalet; the dining areas follow suit; each course is prepared and delivered with style.

Après visa

We were getting a tad antsy while going through an entire morning of visa minutiae, partly because they still hadn't confirmed that we had actually been granted the visa but mostly because we had a date with Angela Lloyd[6] before some prearranged family engagements. Angela had not yet had the privilege of a particular cheese and of  a winemakers produce we'd been lucky enough to get hold of up the Hemel-en-Aarde valley. Her car was on sick leave and we had promised to get some of these examples of deliciousness and drop them off in Kenilworth. 

Intuiting that we would refuse any payment for a couple of bottles of Die Kat se Snor and a chunk of cheese, she lay in wait with a bottle of 2018 Skerpioen as a thank-you to us. For those of you in the know, I don't need to describe what a fine present this was. For the others, suffice to say that "thoughtful" and "generous" don't come close to our appreciation of the gift of one of the Sadie Family's signature wines.  The question now is when, and with whom, do we drink it?

Our final destination that evening was the Grosvenor Guest House in Simon's Town, which was most comfortable in its own right but also remarkable for its sweeping views across False Bay. Before settling in for the night, we set about exploring the town itself.

Arthur Deale

Shan had never stopped there before and considerable nostalgia ensued wandering around the streets of the town where her Dad, Arthur Deale, had spent his time in the naval base during WWII. Much of the architecture of Simon's Town and many of the buildings date from long before that time. 

Above: (top row) Naval ships are juxtaposed with civilian vessels these days but the majestic mountains encroaching on False Bay and those enshrouded by cloud beyond the Cape Flats are constants from Arthur's time in Simon's Town; (middle row l-r) the beautiful boy on the right is Arthur; one would like to imagine that he, a Durban boy, might have enjoyed a curry in this establishment [although it is sadly unlikely that the Natal and Cape cultures had merged to that extent in the 1940s]; a little more likely might have been that Arthur could have stood outside this fine convenience when out on a passeggiata with a date during shore leave; back at the Grosvenor Guest House sipping wine on the patio and the moon made a dramatic appearance with two babies; (bottom row) across False Bay at night.

And here's an aside to the Deale family who grew up with Maxi, the Great Dane. In Simon's Town, at the main viewing spot, there is a statue to Just Nuisance a raffish but much loved Great Dane[8] who inhabited the town and its surrounding areas during WWII, eventually becoming enlisted in the navy. One does wonder if Arthur chose Maxi as Judy's 30th birthday gift partially in memory of nights spent under Nuisance's protection.

The other side of Shan's family

After WWII, and some time before 1951, Eric Arthur Percy Deale met Judith Elaine Eriksen. This was a lucky coincidence for me because that was how my dear wife came into being in 1960. Before that my outlaws, Patrick, Martin and Kerry came into this world. Judy (Judith) still lives in Hermanus and was the main focus of our 144 days outlined in this blog. Her niece Vickie Tyrrell and nephews, Leif Eriksen and Charles Phillips live in Cape Town and we were headed to Miller's Point, South of Simonstown, to join them for a pukka braai. The venue was a splendid wooden shack, owned by Leif's wife, Angie's family since time immemorial (we believe built by her grandfather in 1929). We'd heard about it for years and now we were going to visit it. Before launching into the pics, I must apologise to Angie and Shan for the camera distortion my iPhone brought to the wide angle extremities. They really aren't that wide.

​Above: (top) the view from Angie's shack at Miller's Point; (below l-r) Angie, Leif,  Joe Tyrrell, Vickie, Charles and Shan; don't ask [any of the participants may elaborate in the comments to this blog if they have a coherent explanation - as with all these blogs, they are living things ... Charles knows].

Scrabbling 

Before we left we simply had to have lunch at the Tesselaarsdal Post Office (which we shared with a very polite family and an extraordinarily well-behaved stag party [maybe there was more to follow later]). We also had to pay our respects to Carolyn Martin at Creation Wines[7] and have a cocktail on the beach at Dutchies (miraculously we'd not got around to this for 5 months!).

Above: The overall framework of this series of blogs, now ending, was a 5-month expedition for us to spend time with Shan's 92-year-old Mum, Judy, after we'd all been drained by Covid. More than half a century had elapsed between the two photos above and Shan and I got our own daughter, Kate, in the bargain.

Postscript ... a doff of my hat to Creation Wines

​For 5 months from October 2021 to February 2022 I'd dithered over a trip to Creation. There was a website but it wasn't clear to me what was on offer or how to go about making reservations et al and time swept by.

This came out in a chance remark to a newfound wine Twitter friend, Lisa Harlow. I think she was a bit irritated with me but didn't show it. Suffice to say (a brusque "leave it to me" to be exact) Lisa contacted Carolyn Martin, Creation's co-owner, who contacted me. At this stage we had no time left for a proper visit but Carolyn agreed to meet me at the winery for a chat on our last Saturday morning. We were en route to Tesselaarsdal.

When I saw what I'd been missing I knew I'd deprived myself and, more importantly, Shan, of a unique experience. We vowed to go back there when we were next in Hermanus.

Actually, the opportunity came up for one of us to visit Creation again sooner than expected. Shan's Mum, Judy, had reached a crossroad and she really needed to be moved to a care home. If Shan didn't pop back to Hermanus, Kerry and her family were going to be left with an intolerable burden. The two sisters worked like Trojans and I scratched my head for a way to release some of the tension. It didn't take long to to come up with the obvious answer. I contacted Carolyn and set the Creation ball rolling. Happily Tim, Kerry's husband, was complicit and offered to fetch the two tired and emotional sisters after a 7-pairing fine-dining experience. 

​The deal was sealed and I reckoned I earned a few brownie points to mitigate my unrequited FOMO.

The tableau above has become a bit of an icon on the N2 highway before traversing Sir Lowry's Pass on the descent into Cape Town. It invites travellers to browse a stupendous collection of bric-a-brac and perhaps consume a welcome breakfast before embarking on the final 100km of the journey.

The 5 days of missed highlights proved to be pretty intense. A pause at the end of Day 2 seemed a good idea so that we could include a few surprises, starting with breakfast in a prison.
Actually you already went off piste at Grunters Twice! ... get on with it, (Ed.)

Turn off at Riversdale

Who'd have thought of taking in the Riversdale prison on a road trip? Actually, who'd have thought of stopping at Riversdale!

It turned out there was another good reason to swerve off the N2 highway at this unassuming town but, first, how about a volle tronk ontbyt (see below) with all the trimmings, to set us up for the day ahead.

Above: (clockwise from top left) while choosing your breakfast, you can read how the dastardly Gilbert Hay of Heidelberg came to meet his maker in Riversdale; following that you can admire the rope that brought about his dénouement; then you can consume the hearty brekker, fit for a convict[1]; a fair degree of convo-chic has been added to what is now a labyrinth of small shops selling art and used furniture (some of it very good value for a wandering British tourist).

​Now, back to that other reason (incorporating a bit of preamble).

The English have a strange tradition of "bagging Wainwrights", which involves going through a book (or many books) identifying Wainwrights (hills/mountains in the Lake District catalogued by one Alfred Wainwright), walking up them and then ticking them off on a sort-of bucket list.
You can imagine the conversation halfway up Scafell Pike in the drizzle, two Wainwright-baggers on a mission cross paths:
​"Hello, lovely day 'innit? This is #113 for me," chest slightly puffed out.
"Oh, this is #142 for me. Have you done Blencathra?"
Interlocutor number one looks crestfallen, aware of being trumped by the taller, more difficult peak.

And so it was with Shan and me that sunny morning in February. I doubt the Wainwright-baggers would've accorded us the credibility we felt we deserved but we'd motored over a few South African passes in our time, many of them gravel in a dubious state of repair.. names like Sani, Naude's Nek, Quacha's Neck, Ramatselitso's Gate, Price Alfred's, Bainskloof, and Swartberg (the last three of these the  sadistic machinations of Thomas Bain - and the last mentioned the one Shan made me vow to never take her over again). Now we were contemplating a new road, swooping over the Overberg into the Klein (Little) Karoo.

If you love craggy scenery with gentler curves, ascents and descents, Garcia's Pass will get you started and begging for more. The gravel road to Barrydale just behind the mountains is a perfect introduction to the Little Karoo if you wish to relieve the monotony of the N2 highway, mostly notable for taking the shortest distance between Mossel Bay and Cape Town.

Montagu (Montagee)

​It was an easy drive to Montagu (allegedly pronounced Montagee by those in the know although we couldn't bring ourselves to do this), punctuated by brunch in one of the many cafés in Barrydale. 

Above (clockwise from top left): breakfast on the terrace at the scenic Kogman & Keisie Guest Farm[2]; the pocket Leidam Bird Hide and sanctuary in central Montagu, with egrets and stuff, which delighted my wife; two samples of the delightfully OTT baroque/contemporary/Art Deco BluVines winery, dining and coffee establishment ... the pic on the right a kind of temple to wine and the one on the left for sun-worshippers who are serious about their religion.

When he heard we were spending the night in Montagu, my friend, Daryl (Balfour) insisted: "If you go nowhere else in the town you must go to BluVines."

​Sadly they weren't open at the time for evening meals but we managed to drop by when leaving town the next day and vowed to return if we ever visited the area again.

Greyton

I had heard about Greyton but Shan wasn't sure. It is a small town in the Western Cape with a bit of a rep for being a lovely place to visit. I probably wouldn't have been that bothered had it not been for the lure of wine. Somehow a few winemakers had recognised the potential of the area around there. In recent years one in particular had risen to the fore through a combination of her skills and her fortitude in overcoming a devastating fire.
​
For all our Roaminations around the length and breadth of South Africa during the five months starting at the beginning of October 2021 and despite Greyton being a relative stone's throw from our base in Hermanus, we had never seemed to get there. Weekend trips had been mooted from the very start of our stay but never quite materialised for some reason or the other:
"There's an art festival on this weekend and accommodation will be impossible in the town;"
"Why would I want to go to Greyton with all the other superior attractions;"
"It is a drop with a mountain - every time we've been there we've never seen the mountain because of the cloud;"

And so it went. And now we had less than three weeks left. And I wanted to "bag" a winery, Lismore, with its window on the world in central Greyton. With a following wind I might catch a glimpse or even a word with its inspirational winemaker, one of South Africa's current finest, Samantha O'Keefe.

In so doing I had set myself up for another in a series of "Broomfield Moments[3]".

After more than 4 months during which I had, unbeknownst to Ms O'Keefe, tried to contrive an opportunity to congratulate her personally on her peerless Viognier I had failed miserably. Not only was she out of town (I believe she may have been in London being feted by the likes of Roger Jones and Neleen Strauss, restaurateurs of note and formidable sommeliers to boot) but the Lismore shop was shut for the time we were there.

As for the dreaded cloud cover, there wasn't a daytime Greyton moment when we didn't see the mountain.

So for anyone asking hopefully of our visit to Greyton: "Did you see the mountain?"
​My answer was going to have to be: "Yes but we didn't see Samantha O'Keefe."

Above: (top row) The Lismore shop is bookended by scenes from our rather pleasant digs at Fiore Garden Centre, Restaurant and Guest Accommodation - on the left the mountain can be clearly seen, on the right the makings of an evening joyfully spent; (bottom row) one of several corners of the town that has been attractively restored.

But someone did tell us we should visit Genadendal ... perhaps it was Emma?

Genadendal (née Baviaanskloof)
​
It does seem a little bizarre that Genadendal is evidently subservient as an attraction to Greyton. There is so much to say about the former that I'm really not going to attempt a full description. It is a place that stands proudly on its own and deserves a day spent there, walking around absorbing the magic and taking in one of the most comprehensive and wide-ranging but eclectic museums we've ever visited.

Essentially Genadendal was the first location in Southern Africa where European religious zealots attempted to proselytise the local population and the intervening almost 300 years has had its ups and downs. The Genadendal Mission Museum tackles this pretty much head on and is consequently a fascinating interlude for those interested in the vagaries of South African history since the Moravians arrived to set up the mission in 1737. It has veered from a refuge for freed slaves in the early 1800s to an eminent teacher training facility set up in 1838 and closed in 1929. Nelson Mandela visited in 1995 and it is rumoured that his naming of his Cape Town presidential residence was associated with that trip. Visit the museum to absorb the fascinating details in more depth.

Today Genadendal is a town of two parts, the somewhat regal historical village and a sprawling modern township. It is ironical that it has become subservient to Greyton, falling under the latter's tourism ambit.

Above: This is a sampler of what is to be found in the historic village. There is no substitute for the museum and for generally moseying around. The final frame shows the mountain sans cloud - at its base there are nature walks between Grenadendal and Greyton.

A few quirks on the last leg

The subject of Shelley-ann's opening photograph to this blog draws travellers in to an extraordinary cave of bric-a-bac with useful ideas for that gift you just forgot to buy for your Capetonian hosts before setting off on your visit - options can be mulled over via enjoying a breakfast, brunch or lunch.

We were also drawn to the fine pub that now inhabits one of the old sheds at Bot River station. The Shuntin' Shed serves tasty pizzas and other victuals to go with the beer and wine. Bot River is becoming increasingly admired for its wine and I would salute the entrepreneur who established train-based booze cruises

​Individual, longer road trips had always pushed our time envelopes, ending up with a rush to get back to Hermanus. A closer-to-home mini-trip was in order. Of course, "closer-to-home" is a relative concept when confronting the vast spaces of the Western Cape.

Visiting Arniston at last
​
We must have been the last of the intrepid travellers we knew to miss out on Arniston. In fact, calling the place Arniston is a bit misleading. The most interesting bits are in adjoining Kassiesbaai and at the end of a short(ish) trek South to Waenhuiskrans.

Let's start with Waenhuiskrans and its grot (Afrikaans for cave seems most appropriate). Timing is all because it's not good to be inside the grot(to) when the tide comes in. That much is fairly obvious from the pictures but there is also the access to the cave which involves traversing large slippery boulders for a hundred metres or so before slithering through a low entrance to reach the final destination. And that's after you've descended a precipitous path of uneven rocks before you even reach the water. Not great when one's balance is compromised by Long Covid.

​Shan got there first and took the following fab photos. She also established that, despite the fact you'd never get a wagon and attendant oxen down there, the cave was originally named Waenhuis (Wagon House) on the hypothetical assumption that if you could, they would fit.

Above: (top) A splendid shot from the back of the cave; (bottom left) Shan slithered forward for more of a view from the grotto's mouth; (bottom right) taken from outside the grot four intrepid surf anglers dice with the waves that would grab unwary tourists at a slightly higher tide.

​​Happily, we emerged relatively unscathed. A few cuts and bruises for me but not a scratch for my wife, the gazelle.

We repaired to Kassiesbaai for lunch. To Willeen's Art, Craft and Restaurant to be exact. This enabled us to do several things:

• Park outside the swanky modern Arniston Spa and Hotel and immediately leave it behind to stroll through the original fishing village. Why would something like this be given planning permission?
• Traverse the real village, made up of historic fisherpeople's cottages, all charming but in varying states of repair.
• Have an excellent value fish lunch while watching the antics of the bathers at Langklip beach. Including a station wagon that pitched up laden with people (about 8) and out of which popped a young boy who found the closest bush for a seemingly interminable pee. By the time he had finished, the rest of the family had managed to extricate themselves from the vehicle.

We strolled back to the 'Posh" bit to retrieve our car going a little bit past it to check out the small enclave of kerk and the odd restored cottage that were separated from the riff-raff by the Spa and Behemoth now occupying the central ground.

Above: (top row) Langklip beach at the Kassiesbaai end was by far the most lively and provided the backdrop for an enjoyable lunch; (2nd row) characterful buildings in the old fishing village en route to Willeen's and the beach; (3rd row) Shan at Willeen's and a meal of succulent fish; (bottom row) improvised sculpture and an informal housing unit pumping out a dash of reggae.

​We retired to the BlueSky Arniston Guest House for the evening (although I did escape for a quick sortie to take some photos in the lengthening shadows, below). Despitebeing set a fair way back from the sea front, this was one of the best accommodations we stayed in during our 144 day odyssey.

Above: (top row) a kerk[1] and historic farmhouse form a small collection of historic buildings on the "posh" side of Arniston/Kassiesbaai; (2nd row) some of the fishermen's cottages facing across the "Newtown" have been smartened up but most still retain a more informal and sociable air; (3rd row) heading to the beach to catch the last rays and perhaps a swim; (bottom) a kind of passeggiata in which car drivers are also participants, crawling along the few streets - don't expect to maintain even the 30 km/h speed limit at this time of the evening..

​The next section of our journey involved skirting around the particularly wild stretch of coast to the North-East of Kassiesbaai, which includes the De Hoop nature reserve. Our primary point of interest was to be the Sijnn winery, which we had been told was doing some splendid things that were specific to the local terroir. As was often the case on our South African road trips, there were other unexpected diversions, too.

Above: map of the 650 km, 5-day inner circle of missed highlights, note to self - spend a few hours in Napier if following this route again, maybe time it for lunch.

​Sijnn at last

"If you get a chance and you're passing Malgas, you must try and get to Sijnn wines," my friend, Daryl (Bikey) Balfour, pronounced.
'Er, Bikey, you don't just "pass" Malgas! Nonetheless, my heartfelt thanks because we did just pass Malgas but only because the primary destination was the Sijnn vineyard (at your recommendation, of course).
There were a few of bonuses along the way thrown into the bargain, too. A couple of these presented themselves before we even got to Sijnn when we were confused by the signs and had to ask for directions ...

Above: (top left) listen guys, this occurred on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere between Ouplaas and Malgas and we weren't quite sure we were on the right track - there was no-one else to ask; (top right) and yes there was a Dop Shop[2], together with an estate agent, a trading post and Grunters Restaurant and Pub (complete with disco), in the middle of vast scrubland with a few gravel roads heading in various directions; (bottom left) and yes there were two pristine Dutch cyclists in Grunters having breakfast, having cycled that morning across semi-desert from Swellendam, 45 km away; (bottom right) we resolved to return to Grunters after visiting Sijnn - we were definitely up for a burger and chips. 

So now we really are at Sijnn

It would seem that I have been serendipitously dilatory catching up with my blogging endeavours in the week during which Tim Atkin MW[3] delivered his much awaited 2022 SA report[4]. Not only does it reveal that he has named Charla Bosman (née Haasbroek) his 2022 Young Winemaker of the Year but it also includes a comprehensive article on Terroir in his introductory section "South Africa at a glance - The 10 things you need to know."

This is important to this yarn because on that day in February I learned more from Charla about terroir than at any time in my previous half century of being a wine-lover. Described by Jancis Robinson MW as "the total natural environment of any viticultural site"[5] it all became crystal clear sitting beside Charla on the Sijnn verandah while she gestured at the spectacular scenery in front of us. It was a glorious day with the Breede River valley bisecting the arid scrub on its way to the sea.

Shan and I were tasting the 2017 Sijnn White under the tutelage of its eloquent winemaker..

After a brief chat about the coincidence of two great young winemakers, Francois and Charla, having the same family name, and establishing that they were firm friends but in no way related, we turned to more serious matters.

This vintage of Sijnn  was the White's 10th vintage. Charla noted that they were just beginning to understand their terroir which had brought about the most exceptional vintage yet at Malgas. The latest 2021 vintage is described by Tim and others as the best yet so I'd better be sniffing out UK importers before Sijnn fans have snaffled the lot.

Shan wandered off to admire the landscape while Charla poured some of the red vintages for me. The latest of these, the 2019 was awarded 96/100 points by Tim in his 2022 report.

I think the most fascinating aspect of this little bit of heaven on the edge of Malgas was that a decade or so earlier the terroir was being treated with extreme scepticism by fellow winemakers. Seemingly hot, dry and arid compared with other emerging regions such as Hemel-en-Aarde. But, enabled by owner David Trafford, Charla had a multi-faceted plan to harness the cooling sea breezes Malgas shares with Hemel-en-Aarde including:

• Continuous experimentation,
• Constant refinement of different grape varieties and their combinations (borrowing where feasible from the likes of Portugal and Greece instead of the more traditional French cultivars favoured by the rest of the Western Cape)
• rigid harvesting regimes such as handpicking in the cool mornings.

I could go on (and on and on) so apologies to readers if I've been dwelling a bit about the winemaking details that were a revelation to me ... we'll be returning to Grunters soon for some soul food.

But briefly back to the fact that two of South Africa's foremost emerging winemakers started out in life with Haasbroek as their last name, I think it was Charla who assured me that it wasn't as unusual a name as I'd imagined it to be. Apparently, not even in the wine industry.

Thank you again Bikey for the suggestion, it was totally worth it.

Above: (top left) we caught the comfy wine and food tasting verandah at a quiet time of the year and were privileged to enjoy undivided attention; (top right) the Breede River winds its way to its mouth with what appears to be an extension of the Overberg in the background; (bottom left) Charla Bosman née Haasbroek and David Trafford; (bottom right) not too easy to find in the UK, Charla pointed me towards a Scottish distributor who was most efficient but didn't have much stock - will Tim's report make finding Sijnn wines outside South Africa easier or more difficult?

Grunters Restaurant and Bar at the Breede River Trading Post

Returning to the Breede River Trading Post and while consuming our fat boy (and girl) special burgers we contemplated this phenomenal establishment with not a dwelling in sight or within several kilometres. It must seat close to a 100 revellers at peak capacity. Unless they are all Dutch cyclists and/or horse riders, you can forget pistols at dawn. SUVs at closing time a definite possibility, though.

Above: (top row l-r) the trading post that is a precipitous few kilometres from anywhere on the Breede River; clearly they must entertain the occasional fisherman, given the name of the bar and restaurant[6]; there is an ample sound system (which was currently blaring out Bruce Springsteen) and seating for what must be 100 diners/revellers; (bottom row l-r) Shan can't keep the grin from her face as she contemplates a fatty-burger a la Brucie; examples of some serious lavatorial kitsch - where does one actually find such things.

Ferry 'cross the Breede

It had been with a little trepidation that we committed to this route. As with quite a few remote rural locations in South Africa it can be quite tricky to obtain current information as to the passibility of roads. Had it not been for the drawcard of Sijnn we probably would have taken an alternate route via Swellendam.

When contemplating our travel plans we could only find info via the net. The following was a fairly typical entry from two years before[7]: "It was with great sadness that we said farewell to the historic pontoon/ferry over the Breede River at Malgas. Since the first half of the 19th century it has transported goods, animal and vehicles over the River. However, it will soon be replaced by a yellow metal monster with no character at all. I salute the amazing men who harness themselves to the cable and walk the length of the pontoon to pull it 120 metres to the other side of the river."

​I suppose it was a little sad but this was outweighed by the relief at finding the new crossing in place and working like clockwork. It's free, too, which is always a surprise to the British motorist. The passage was as smooth as anything; just a tad of welly/wheelspin getting off and up the ramp on the other side marred our stately progress.

Above: (top row) the pont approaches from the far side; our car embarking; (bottom row) we had to travel via the mouth of the Breede to pick up an easier road up to Riversdale; finally ensconced at our accommodation for the night with a glass of wine.

​Tomorrow we would be breakfasting in prison before crossing the mountains in the background of the last picture above.

Coming next
​
The last 3 days of our short road trip, taking in Garcia's Pass, Montagu, Greyton and Genadendal. 
​
[Endnotes]:

1. Church
2. ​Drink shop/off-licence
3. ​Master of Wine
4. TIM ATKIN MW SOUTH AFRICA 2022 SPECIAL REPORT - you can buy this at https://timatkin.com/product/2022-south-africa-special-report/?mc_cid=a61f022527&mc_eid=c975afe41f 
5. The Oxford Companion to Wine, Jancis Robinson and Julia Harding, Fourth edition (2015), Impression 4, page 737.
6. A popular South African fish to eat.
7. There were many others like it but it didn't seem as if there was a single authoritative source.

I guess it shouldn't be surprising that Hermanus in the Western Cape has at least two proper wine merchants. It is, after all, at the foot of the Hemel-en-Aarde valley, new darling of the South African wine cognoscenti.

Of course, Hermanus having been the focus of Walker Bay for as long as I can remember (and that is becoming a very long time), there are many other wine outlets, too. They range from street corner minimarkets, offering a handful of cheap and cheerful bottles, to large chain store outlets with vast premises and surprisingly little choice.

During numerous previous trips to Hermanus I have treated The Wine Village, which sits a little out of town at the entrance to the Hemel-en-Aarde valley, as a temple to much of what is Great and Good in South African wine. A generous space housing so much, enthused over by a knowledgeable staff. In fact I'd have had no reason to go anywhere else had it not been for a message from my old pal Daryl[1].

"Banj, go and see Gary at Wine & Co in the centre of town."

Why would I do that? Nirvana was already at The Wine Village?

But, as we were staying within a stone's throw (well almost, certainly easy walking distance) of the centre of Hermanus, it wasn't long before I stuck my head in the door of Wine & Co to see what Gary had to offer. There was an instant, almost spiritual, magnetic draw. This was a rare quality that I'd experienced only a few times before. Fairly recently at the Wine Kollective in Riebeek Kasteel[2] and, in the beginning, Wherever Solange Raffray Was at the Moment. I never went back to The Wine Village. Sorry guys, you were great.
​
The shop's exterior blends in with its attractive surrounds and the interior is intimate. Gary and Siemon are attentive but not intrusive. It seems as if, despite its pocket size, everything is in there. Mostly Saffa wine but also some international gems (and a choice bottle or two of pukka Whisky).

The shop has many nooks and crannies and, believe me, there are treasures to be discovered poking their insidious noses from those shelves. They go for diversity rather than vast quantities of each individual wine. Except, maybe, for the central bins that contain the "quaffers". There are Persian rugs on the floor that both filter out the harsher sounds and possibly save the odd dropped bottle from a terminal catastrophe.

Oh no, he's orff at a tangent again ...

But first, before progressing further I'm going to digress as I'm often wont to do: We were recently running low on everyday Chardonnay at home in the UK and I had some credit on an account I have maintained at a large mail-order retailer in Norfolk. They generally supply me with splendid products from Richard Kershaw, Kruger Family and other similar wines. I tried to order 5 or 6 of my favourites and they were out of stock. Might as well try something less familiar, I think. Ticked the box for 6 bottles of some Californian stuff at £13 (R260) a bottle. It duly arrived and was clearly off. I attempted to report this via an extremely clunky process on the retailer's website. Eventually ended up phoning the company to report that something was wrong with the wine.

"Can you try another of the 6 bottles?" the operative suggested. I wasn't keen but she seemed be adamant. I've been drinking wine for more than 50 years and I know when a bottle's contents are vrot[3]. Shan agreed with me and she drinks Chardonnay most days of her life.

We opened another bottle. If anything it was even more vrot. I tried to report back but I could not find a way to do it other than via a completely useless bot that had been preprogrammed with a restricted set of options. So I ranked the wine on the site. The winemaker replied promptly and suggested I contact the "Customer Happiness Team" for a refund. Also, this retailer has a set of super-customers that are like school prefects who seem to parse the customer feedback loop. Don't know what their role is other than to tell you to contact the Customer Happiness Team. The winemaker had already told me this on the same thread. Two of them responded in this fashion.

It is not immediately obvious from the site how to contact the Customer "Happiness" Team and somehow I ended up back in the same loop. There was a phone number through all this but it was never available. Eventually found a side street in the bot that allowed me to request a call back within a day or so. In fairness the call back was fairly prompt and my account was credited in full. But what a process and no offer to refund the actual money.

OK, so shit happens and we have to suck it up in the name of convenience. Only problem is that these companies that emulate the likes of Amazon have seen off huge tranches of "corner" shops throughout the UK. Our town used have a wine merchant, as did the next town 5 miles away.

How are Gary and Wine & Co different?

Let's start with the social intercourse. Visiting the shop is an intrinsically enjoyable experience. 

If it's just a bottle or two of Shan's everyday Chardonnay you need, foraging becomes a pleasant stroll into a picturesque part of the town and a furtle around in the Wine & Co bins in the middle of the shop (see above). There is almost always one for Chardonnay. Pick up the bottles you want, exchange a few words with Siemon or Gary, pay at the counter and leave the shop with a smile on your face.
​
Of course your smile is splitting your face because the benchmark quaffing Chardonnay is priced at R70-ish (That's less than £3.50[4]). So, in real terms[5] for comparison's sake, your basic benchmark wine, handed over with a smile, is costing a fraction of its Norfolk equivalent which comes at best with a clinical transaction and at worst with more than a week of aggravation.

At the other end of the scale, Wine & Co gets most of the exclusive "allocation" stuff, including from the likes of the Sadie Family, Alheit, Mullineux, Savage, Leeu Passant, Porseleinberg and many more. For those not in the know, these are limited-quantity high-end wines that riff-raff, like you and me, have no access to (except that we do, provided we know a Gary).

​But that's only the half of it and it's not long before the real fun starts ...

Above, clockwise from top left: I'd asked my nephew, Michael Tindall, and his wife and daughter, Janine and Mia, to pop down to Wine & Co to take some photos for me (I'd been too preoccupied every time I went there myself to think of grabbing some pics). Michael's thank-you was to have been the bottle of Anysbos DISDIT he is holding in his paw. Unfortunately, I evidently hadn't explained to Gary that that bottle should go home with Mike[6]; In the mean time, to demonstrate the versatility of the Persian rugs, Mia reclines while checking out the options for her parents' evening quaff (her mother is sadly not in the picture, Mike having delegated the lichtaffen responsibilities); deprived of their DISDIT, the Tindall family bought their own bottle of home brew ... watch out for sharks, crocodiles and bilharzia; Gary and Siemon depriving Mike of his hard earned gains with a smile.

Gary pretty much remembers one's name from the first step one makes into the shop. He also remembers the names of anyone who has accompanied you, so Mark, Shan and Kerry (Shan's sister and Michael's mother), who lives in Hermanus, are all addressed as such. Some other people can do that but Gary remembers one's preferences, too. So, instead of a dodgy website (housed in Norwich) that keeps offering me wine I've explicitly said I don't like, Gary has the knowledge. Stored. In. His. Head.

And it's not long before regular customers get a WhatsApp message going something like this:
"Just opened a bottle of ... that you might like. Pop into the shop if you'd like to give it a try."

I also mentioned that Wine & Co doesn't carry vast quantities of each individual wine. That's because (and I'm surmising here):

• It enables them to carry a broader range
• Gary will get you more of it if it exists in SA. Actually, that extends to wines they don't have in stock, too. 

You can almost see him tapping the side of his nose with "I'll see what I can do." He rarely fails.

I could go on and on but I'll leave it with this thought. Wine & Co is more than a shop. It is a gathering place for people who love wine. If you accept an invitation to "Pop into the shop" you'll probably end up in a spirited conversation with like-minded individuals who've also received the summons. What better way to spend half an hour at the end of the day. If you truly love wine you just want to share that love. If a wine is pretty special, I personally want to sip it in the company of similarly appreciative winos.

Just before I left, I actually took my own bottle of 2017 Syrah down to one of these soirees. I'd bought it direct from wine sage Francois Haasbroek[7] at Blackwater Wine and wanted to share it with people who understood and would appreciate it. Gary and Siemon fitted the bill perfectly.

Wine in this Valley wasn't always as ubiquitous as it is today. A strange statement to make? We are after all talking about the extended Hemel-en-Aarde Valley? Walker Bay, maybe?

If one takes the liberty of extending the valley to its logical extremities, i.e. Grabouw on one end and Stanford on the other, there's a lorra lorra wine producers there these days. Richard Kershaw, Oak Valley, Paul Cluver, Elgin Vintners, Shannon, Lothian, Almenkerk, Paul Wallance, Ross Gower, Charles Fox, Highlands Road, Spioenkop, Iona, Rivendell, Luddite, Beaumont, Gabrielskloof, Wildekrans, Benguela Cove, Whalehaven, Southern Right, Bartho Eksteen, Hamilton Russell, Bouchard Finlayson, La Vierge, Bosman, Cap Maritime, Newton Johnson, Restless River, Storm, Spookfontein, Alheit, Ataraxia, Creation, Kat se Snor, Domaine des Dieux, Seven Springs, Tesselaarsdal, Boschrivier, Raka, Stanford Hills and Springfontain comprise an (finger in the air) incomplete list of the wineries gracing this strip of the Western Cape.

Some might argue that the valley can be shortened to the strip from Hamilton Russell to Tesselaarsdal (the bit that looks like a pukka valley on the map, below). That would deny the unifying factor of this region i.e. the cool and often wet climate, induced mainly by the breezes blowing up from the Antarctic-influenced Atlantic and also by the altitude of many of the vines.

​There are certainly dynasties developing in the Hemel-en-Aarde valley itself and the makings of an epic novel cannot be denied. Tomorrow's Gone With the Wind, maybe? Well, perhaps, but it wasn't always thus. And Walker Bay wine is not going, it's coming. I suspect that two of the people to interview on the subject would be Berene Sauls of Tesselaarsdal and Carolyn Martin of Creation. I started to scratch the surface with both of them but I probably left it too late for our most recent trip. They were both eager to help but are extraordinarily busy people. 

A follow up (and more diligently organised) visit awaits before justice can be done to Came with the South-Easterly c'est ne pas?.

A wine journey

My own wine journey started in my parents' dining room, probably about 55 years ago. A brief summary of things that progressed from there is in an earlier blog. The first time I formally visited a wine estate was in 1974 when things were most informal indeed when Sydney Back came out to greet a strange yellow car in his driveway.

Enough of that, though. Having visited quite a few European wineries, and at least one Australian one, I was amazed to discover, while on a visit to Hermanus a few decades back, that wine was being made in the Walker Bay Area. I believe this was in the last gasp of the 20th century. A colleague and I were doing some work at Sanlam in Bellville and slipped out early on a Friday afternoon to visit my outlaws, Billy and Judy Bosch, in Hermanus. I refer to my in-laws as outlaws as they were constantly up for a prank (Judy still is, aged 92). Sadly I cannot find the picture of Judy blocking out the M in HERMANUS at the town's entrance while Billy and she drove us on a whistle-stop tour of the town. It had to be quick as the sun was just about to drop below the yardarm and there was wine and biltong to be consumed. Ross and I had stopped at a butcher, probably in Kleinmond, to forage for sundowner snacks en route. We couldn't resist some lurid orange shark biltong, much to Billy's disgust. That was when he informed us that they were making some posh wine at Hamilton Russell, which was more-or-less at the entrance to the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley proper.

It must've been Anthony Hamilton who welcomed Ross and me to the picturesque little whitewashed building beside the dam the next morning.  We sipped happily in the sun before buying a couple of cases of Chardonnay. It had seemed expensive for South African wine at the time but it was delicious and we had spare luggage allowances on our Business Class tickets back to the UK that evening ...

We did notice the Bouchard winery next door as we were leaving but we had a plane to catch and a couple more wineries to go before we did that, namely Boschendal and Spier. Boschendal's house and grounds are the stuff Cape Dutch legends are made of but neither of the wines were to Hamilton Russell's standard. We had chosen wisely.

Richard Kershaw MW

Between then and now and thanks to Angela Lloyd (recommended to me by Erica Platter, an ex-colleague and friend), we discovered the wonders of Richard Kershaw at the Western end of the extended valley. My initial inquiry was about Syrah but Erica, not that fond of red wine, chimed in that Richard's Chardonnay was a bit special, too. After managing to source a pretty decent range of Richard's wines in the UK, including Syrahs, Chardonnays and a Pinot Noir, Shan and I had been taken by the similarity of his top range Chards to the Meursaults we occasionally treated ourselves to. Restless River and Kat se Snor (both pure Hemel-en-Aarde) have recently joined that club but more of that later.

We were therefore delighted when Richard invited us for a winery tour (after the Cape Town Cycle Tour in 2018) and then back to his house to try some of his more esoteric, limited-run, single-block wines. Those who know him will nod in agreement when conversation taps into his knowledge of oenology that has brought him the Master of Wine (MW) title. His enthusiasm and sincerity are awe-inspiring. Happily our daughter, Kate, had selflessly volunteered to drive us back to Hermanus.

That WAS an afternoon. A Belgian couple had joined us, earnest post grad oenology students who asked detailed questions that wouldn't have occurred to our little family group. Richard's answers not only satisfied them  but went above and way beyond. Our heads were spinning with knowledge and the effects of a generous few millilitres of world class wines dispensed via a Coravin. Perfect use for such a beast, which inspired my family's birthday gift to me that year.

Pictured above: (top row, Backsberg 1974) The iconic Arch on the road from Klapmuts to Franschhoek as it was in 1974; me being embarrassing for a candid snap outside the cellar/tasting room; (middle row and bottom rows, Grabouw 2018) Me being starstruck - we'd tasted generous samples from the lined-up bottles; Shan persuaded Richard to put his arm around me for a picture; the vines in the valley below; a last look at Shan's Fauvist rendition thereof.

La Vierge

La Vierge's Peter Clarke and I had been close friends at school and beyond when wine became something to drink and Tassenberg was the only intoxicating (legal) beverage we could afford. Now I was encountering fine wines with saucy names (christened, allegedly, by his quietly spoken, genteel wife, Rose) such as Jezebelle, Original Sin, Satyricon, Seduction, The Affair, The Last Temptation, Nymphomane and (of course there had to be) Redemption. The restaurant is also festooned with magnificent artwork, a few examples of which match the risque naming enjoyed by the wines.

We went there to celebrate Shan's (virtual) 60th birthday. Her actual 60th had been in lockdown but we managed to make up for it with a splendid lunch and a most pleasant Jezebelle Chardonnay. We weren't aware at the time of the  Apogée Chardonnay, which received 94% from Tim Atkin but remains untested by madame's palate. This will be rectified. In the mean time we quaffed a lot of Jezebelle with our delightful "landlady", Emma Hayter, after a few cases found their way to her wonderful abode opposite Shan's Mum's cottage in Mitchell Street. Little had we realised that La Vierge had been a favourite haunt of Emma's late husband, John.

​As soon as we found this out, we booked to take Emma there to thank her for putting up with us. No sooner had everything been organised than Pete (Peter) phoned, announced he was in town (he is not often there) and invited Shan and me and another couple of school friends, Campbell and Sally, for lunch on the same day. It was a strange dilemma that ended up with Pete inviting Emma to join us. We all got on like a house on fire, discussing the panoramic toilets from whence you could gaze out at the traffic on the Hemel-en-Aarde road while performing appropriate ablutions. The trick was that drivers on the road below seldom, if ever, glanced up to spot the diners using the lavatories.

Peter was drinking the excellent 2017 Last Temptation Riesling, which became a favourite of my stay in SA along with Leon Coetzee and Margaux Nel's award-winning The Fledge & Co Elgin cool climate Riesling. The Fledge sort of qualifies for Walker Bay Status because the grapes came from there although the wine was marketed through their Calitzdorp operation.

Pete and Emma certainly livened up the gathering but where could Shan and I now entertain our delightful host? All will be revealed a little further into this blog (and a few others to follow). 

A tale of two wine emporia 

Every time I'd been to Hermanus on many previous occasions, the Wine Village was always one of the first places I would visit. And so it was in October last year. I wasn't disappointed and nothing would have changed had Daryl Balfour not suggested I try Wine & Co in the town centre.

Wine & Co had two advantages: it was a reasonable walk from where I was staying in Mitchell Street, sure, but the primary reason was Gary ... the level of personal service was (is) extraordinary. The shop is small and doesn't have the sheer volume on the shelves but, unless you want 5 cases of Columella that evening, I would not bet against Gary sourcing it for you.

There was one wine I wanted (a six-pack of) and it was apparently only available via an awkward distributor. As I knew the winemaker, I went direct. But Gary doesn't give up. Without me knowing it, he sourced the wine, god knows how. I felt dreadful having made my own arrangements.

Then there were the obscure wines he is sent to try. I lost count of the times he shared those with me. I guess Wine & Co is Hermanus's old-fashioned adult sweetie shop, where there are hidden gems and personal service second to none​. Maybe a little discreet gossip to those customers he has learned to trust.

Restless River

How did we first come across Restless River? To be honest, I think I bought a mixed case of tempting wines, perhaps from Ben at VinoSA. I am always on the lookout for a top notch Chardonnay and habitually browse Ben's tempting array. Happens I'm also a fan of Swig in London so it might also have been there, too. Being at the top end of SA Chardonnays, Ava Marie can be not as easy to find as one may think. Probably down to the small volumes produced ... you see, Craig Wessels is a bit of a perfectionist when it come to his wines. In this, he is aided and abetted by his gracious wife, Anne. He is notorious for having poured a whole year's production of red down the drain once because, in his view, it didn't come up to scratch. That's dedication. Especially when you only make one white and one or two reds (give or take three or four experimental wines on the side, if that's what the Wanderlust labels are?). Two of their flagship wines are named after their daughter and son (Ava Marie and Le Luc {Pinot Noir}) and the third after the two small vineyards (Main Road and Dignity) on which its Cabernet Sauvignon is grown. I think there are less than 4,000 bottles of Le Luc produced in a year and maybe double that for the Ava Marie and the Main Rd.

Although we have some of each of the non-Wanderlust wines (and the reds have not yet been touched, waiting for what I know not?), the Ava Marie has tended to be our focus. Why is that then? Because it blew me away from the first sip. And there was a bit left over for the following day and it tasted even better.

This came as no surprise to Angela (Lloyd) when I "published" my notes (WSET-based) and since then we have both nodded knowingly when holding wine back for the second and maybe even a third day1. I'm sure Angela, being the consummate expert, had known this for decades but was happy for me that I'd discovered the same thing.

I had, at the time, taken to Twitter and Anne Wessels had kindly thanked me for loving their wine (this was approximately two years ago). It turned out that we were from similar backgrounds in Durban, KZN, and that Craig had been at school with my laat-lammetjie2 brother Paul. Also turns out the Wessels had a good knowledge of Montrachet in Burgundy (details in an earlier blog). 

In December last year we finally met Craig face-to-face at their scenic homestead in the Hemel-en-Aarde. Truly Heaven and Earth. We were treated to a vertical tasting of a number of their wines, including a very early Ava Marie. I would have noticed the precise year (and should have found out later if I was a proper journalist) had Craig not been keen to show those who wished to see it around the winery. Happily for Shan and me there were only a few takers as the rest of the gathering was happily tucking into the fabulous spread of food and wine. As you can see from the photos below, this gave us ample opportunity to interrogate our host in detail.

Readers will see from the pictures that the winery is spotless. This is not always a prerequisite for excellent wine but is was very quickly clear that Craig has a scrupulously ordered mind. Second best is not tolerated ...

Above: (Top) Craig in his element; Posh amphorae that were specially imported from Florence to give an unwooded component to their Ava Marie and thus one of the added dimensions that makes this a unique wine. The juice in the vats (when there is some) has a dark colour as a result of exposure to oxygen during pressing. This is an intentional process carried out to stabilise the colour (without using any chemicals) and protect the wine from oxidation further down the line. Craig described it as a kind of like a "flu shot" for wine; The middle two pictures are more indicative Craig's recent experiences in modern art. In the right hand picture his is explaining how carefully he drilled the holes, evenly spaced and in straight lines. He then had to delegate the job because he had more important business and various other patterns emerged. These resulted in Restless River's submission for the Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art in Cape Town's prestige waterfront district3 As you can see he was pretty earnest in his presentation; (Bottom) Serious playground in the background where wine and pukka coffee are consumed until the early hours, accompanied by a notably credible album collection. I was jealous; Evidence that the Wessels invest in their winery rather than their Lambo (a disproportionate number of those flash supercars can be seen elsewhere in the Winelands).

Bosman Hermanus

It is appropriate that Bosman follows Restless River here because it was Anne Wessels that recommended the place to us as a dining venue and as a winery. The first person we wanted to take there was Emma, having been gazumped by Peter Clarke on our initial attempt to take her to la Vierge.

Serendipity was on hand. The day turned out spectacularly, even the clouds waving happily to us when we arrived. I was a tad nervous to whether as Emma would enjoy it, especially as I had taken a punt on kicking off with the Bosman Pét Nat Chenin Blanc. This was a bit of a risk as I'm not necessarily as enthusiastic about Champagne as some and, besides, I doubt Bosman had any of the latter on the wine list. Shan doesn't generally do drinking at lunchtime and had valiantly offered to drive so Emma and I had quite a bit of Method Ancestral to get through before ordering something else, which we did. Happily, Emma seems to be enjoying the aperitif in the picture below.

Bosman does what we always appreciate at lunch time; a series of smaller plates that are delicious and convenient to share. We were all happy with our choice and the fizz was eventually replaced with the Upper Hemel-en-Aarde Chardonnay, which did the trick accompanying a series of delicious shared small bites. 

Emma was brought up to be gracious so the fact that she kept going back there with her friends was a particularly gratifying endorsement, even though she had enthused all the way in the car journey back to Hermanus.

We enjoyed it so much we took our extended family there for lunch a month later. I ended up having to eat about three Pastéis de Nata because they were running out and I didn't want our table to go short  ... it happens to me all the time. S'why I need to shift a stone or three.

Above: (Top) is sort of self-explanatory except it might take a bit of imagination to see the fifth finger in the hand of god creating the Hemel-en-Aarde; (2nd row) Pet Nat is a great start for lunch with Emma; A couple of wild swimmers head across the dam for fresh supplies, maybe. Babilonstoring in the background; (3rd row) l-r Max, Kate, Bennie, Crone, Andrew, Kinkles, Tim, Shan, Michael, Janine and Mia; (Bottom) the Pastéis de Nata that Bosman does so well; Caption this ... .

​Spookfontein, Tesselaarsdal and Creation

My excuse is that we ran out of time. It is a bad one and I certainly need to return for in depth chats with Berene Sauls and Carolyn Martin in which we can allocate time for a bigger picture story about where the valley is going. I think Anne Wessels has some ideas about Tesselaarsdal, too. Heaven forbid that it should end up under the mooted giant power lines transmitting nuclear generated energy from Banmtamsklip near Pearly Beach to the West Coast of South Africa.

The pandemic didn't particularly help in the early part of our "tour", leaving many venues temporarily (and sadly, in come cases even permanently) shut. Also, during the second half we were somewhat distracted by how unexpectedly long-winded our visa extension would become. When we'd investigated from the UK it seemed as if it would be a simple formality. That's enough moaning [ed].

I would dearly have loved to have had a face to face meeting with Berene to expand on her wine and the future of Tesselaarsdal village but her time was pretty much dominated by her day job at Hamilton Russell. It is at the latter winery that Berene makes her Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. The Pinot has been greeted with world-wine acclaim and no doubt the Chardonnay will, too, when it has time to rest awhile in the bottle. The first picture below is of the 2021 Chardonnay that was showing promise when we quaffed it in Hermanus, courtesy of Wine & Co.

I you follow my blogs you will by now have discovered that I have a bit of a thing about Tesselaarsdal, its past and its future. I'm not the only one4 but there is more to be played out. I do know for sure that Berene and the Wessels (and probably more besides) would dearly love to be part of that.

In the mean time it was rosé in the sun at the impressive building at Spookfontein.
"You must go there, if only to see the building," we were advised when we inquired from others in the know if it was open for lunches. 
We eventually made it by the skins of our teeth and enjoyed the food and wine, too: 

Above: (2nd row) Spookfontein's architecture is assuredly modern and built to blend in with the spectacular terrain; (3rd row) The detailing is lovingly carried through the interconnected buildings and there are substantial outside areas to sit and absorb the winelands and their surrounding mountains; (4th row) There was an engagingly cute Schnauzer frequenting the dining room. He was well-behaved. See if you can confirm if his name was Marmite (now gold-dust in SA having disappeared from the supermarket shelves)? (Bottom row) Inexcusable pun, I know, but the Spookfontein architecture graces every corner of hospitality and production.

Now, what about Creation? I have to hang my head in shame as a retired IT Architect. I dearly wanted to have lunch there but was having difficulty navigating the web site. It seemed to me on initial inspection that plain old lunch wasn't an option.

My Twitter friend (something good came out of lockdown), Lisa Harlow, was too polite to point out my cerebral shortcomings but did demand: "Have you been to Creation?" I mumbled something in response to which Lisa, a UK resident and specialist tour organiser, interjected: "I'll contact Carolyn Martin."

Which she did and before long Carolyn was contacting me. Sadly it was too late for Shan and me to properly visit by that point but we did drop by briefly to say hello and to be treated royally by Creation's co-owner (with her husband Jean-Claude).

Hopefully around the time that this blog goes out, Shan will be enjoying a full tasting experience there and will tell me all about it when she gets home to the UK.

Lunch with Angela Lloyd

​Now, last, but heaven forbid it should be least: lunch at Chez Lloyd. Without Angela's input, our Wineland perorations would certainly have been much diminished. We may never have become acquainted with Richard Kershaw for a start. Perhaps more importantly, though, Angela brought wine deliberations to life for me throughout lockdown. Tweeting throughout the pandemic was the closest we'd been able to come to a fireside chat.

Now all that was to change. Shan and I were headed to Kenilworth bearing coals for Newcastle (i.e. wine) and needed to complement it with some fresh flowers. We set off from Viv's place in Muizenberg, satnav (TomTom) primed with the coordinates and with plenty of time to spare to find suitable flowers. Now, it has been my experience with TomTom that it's great when you know where you're going and don't really need help but the wheels can come off (TomTom, thankfully not the car) when one most needs it. Such was the case on our way to Angela's. We saw parts of Mitchell's Plain we'll hopefully not see again. 

We did actually arrive on time but only with seconds to spare. We were warmly welcomed by our host and helped pick herbs while Angela set about the finishing touches to a delicious lunch. 

We also had a tour of her accurately temperature controlled and expertly stocked wine cellar. Green with envy, I could imagine soirees with the great and the good of the Cape Wine Community. And just in case you think that Cape wines dominate, there's also a cornucopia of exotic wines of various vintages that are either just ripe or still waiting to be. I may be a chav but I can spot a Chave out of the smallest corner of my eye..

Above: We focus on two very different and venerable Rieslings of completely different character. I think Angela managed to convert Chardonnay Shan to the virtues of well-kept Rieslings. And finishing off our scrumptious lunch with fresh Stollen did NOT go unnoticed alongside the Mosel.

Salut and thank you again for your gracious hospitality, Angela. Hopefully we'll be able to reciprocate soon up this end of the globe. Maybe fish out some ancient Badenhorst Chenin to share with the redoubtable Mr and Mrs Jones.

Coming next

We head back North East towards Kwa Zulu Natal and beyond to commune with friends and relations and for me to commence another road trip with my darling daughter, Kate.
​
[Endnotes]:

1. Actually I had first noticed this when trying my first bottle of Ryan Mostert's Smiley V2. My benefactor, Daryl, had given it to me noting that it was a bit controversial.  We'd been discussing El Bandito at his house and he had been undecided about the style of wine then classified as "Natural". I was, too after consuming a couple of glasses when I got home. And then something made me try it again the next evening and I was hooked. A salinity had materialised from somewhere and introduced a sublime balance to the drink. I relayed this info back to Daryl, who was delighted I'd enjoyed his gift.
2. ​Late lamb. He was 14 years younger than me.
3. If you really want to know what it is, it came out of a brainwave of Craig's. He wanted to recycle these  boards that been a component of some packaging and thought they'd make a handy sieve when eliminating detritus from bunches of grapes destined for whole-bunch maturation. He didn't do a demo for us so we had no guarantee of their efficacy nor whether the uniform holes or the more arty random ones worked best.
4. Quite some heartwarming detail in this article​

There is nothing so precious as quality time with one's daughter  ... especially if she's a good driver and you're both on a scenic road trip from Greasy Grey Gauteng to the Western Cape.

It once was that I was on stolen time when taking my family on holiday. Now the roles were reversed. Kate had a brief break from the corporate world to visit her 92-year-old gran in Hermanus. As a retired individual, I had all the time in the world to fetch her from Johannesburg International and transport her 2,040 km  to the South Western tip of South Africa. A journey of some 24 hours driving in 5 days' elapsed time. 

"Twenty four hours to drive from Joburg to Cape Town!"  you might cry, "that's just over 1,400 km and should take no more than 15 hours?"
And I might reply: "Perhaps, if you wanted to dice with death by boredom on the way," all the time congratulating myself on the fact that I had witnessed some of the most magnificent scenery in the world by straying (by about 600 km in this case) from the straight and narrow.
Of course I also had a cunning plan to palm off driving some of the most boring stretches on to my unsuspecting daughter. At least that would allow her to give her full attention to the spectacular bits while I drove, I reasoned with myself.

Well! That plan went to hell with me driving the first section in a cyclonic downpour. It didn't help that a huge percentage of the roads in the Free State are unfit to drive in the best of weather. Shan and I had approached the journey from the Eastern side of the Vaal Dam and were lucky to emerge in one piece. The Western side seemed to be a preferable alternative. Actually we were probably lucky we couldn't actually see the potholes (or where we were going for much of the time), hidden as they were by a sheet of water. Kate couldn't see the scenery, either.
​  
Hades to Heaven

But we survived and were delighted to finally arrive at our attractive and cosy accommodation at Honeysuckle Clarens where we were to pause for two nights. After repairing to our respective suites for a brief rest we sallied forth into the town in search of sustenance. It being Sunday night, there wasn't much choice but, as luck would have it, possibly the nicest restaurant of all those I have visited in Clarens appeared out of the gloom. The Bocca Di Lupo (doesn't that sound more splendid than the more prosaic English "good luck") was everything it needed to be, open and friendly and the owner relieved to be working his last night before closing for a seasonal break.

For much of the remainder of this blog, I'm going to switch to a picture story and let the captions conduct the narrative. There are a lot of pics. Anything that looks like a selfie is Kate's work. Dads don't do well at selfies.

Above, clockwise from top left: Me peering into the gloom somewhere between Heilbron and Bethlehem while negotiating s downpour of biblical proportions; and r-e-l-a-x ... happily ensconced at Bocca, armed with Aperol spritzes; reassuringly authentic Italian grub was accompanied by an equally reassuringly decent Soave; Kate taking a quiet moment the following morning with the van Reenen family graveyard (a little more about this in the narrative below); The gold-edged splendour of the Golden Gate National Park[1].

Kate was fascinated by the history brought to life by the van Reenen family graveyard at the Western end of the Golden Gate National Park. These remote cemeteries are a feature of rural South Africa and frequently contain vignettes of local tragedies around which romances have been built. This one was no exception with at least two stories which reveal themselves the more one uncovers. The first of these was a doomed romance in 1932 in which forbidden love between 22-year-old Valerie Wilcocks and 21-year-old Johan de la Harpe was cut short by lightning during a horseback tryst in the mountains nearby. The affair had split the families who were reunited in grief, allowing the couple to be buried together in this remote corner of the Free State.

The other tragic story from the van Reenen graveyard was starkly recorded in the same cemetery where young Nathan van Reenen is lying just below the tombstone of his brother Laurens. Nathan was "slain by an unknown assailant on 7 December 2013 in Durban whilst coming to the assistance of a victim of crime". He was sixteen years old. There must be a tragic story about Laurens, too, who died aged 24 in 2005 but I cannot find any details. Nathan must have been a laat lammetjie[2]. 

Nieu Bethesda here we come (one day)

The enthusiasm and resilience of the young is contagious and does spur one on to share in a whirlpool of activities. This had been evident in Clarens where we sped from one activity to the next.

Sadly, because of the state of the roads we were strongly advised not to follow the road South along the border with Lesotho. Having travelled that road a couple of years earlier and feasted my eyes on the fairytale spires of the Maluti Mountains it was with regret that we turned briefly North again before tackling the main arterial routes of the Free State.

Above: Clockwise from top:  Our route South West from Joburg to Hermanus; a typical Free State highway; finally the serenity of The Bethesda (guesthouse).

After a joyful welcome from Carla Smit, the Bethesda's proprietor whom Shan and I had met 3 months earlier, we repaired to our rooms to freshen up for an evening in town. In her excitement Kate reappeared earlier than expected: "Dadly, I just had to tell you that this is THE BEST hotel I've ever stayed in, thank you so much!" With which she returned her room to luxuriate for a while longer. To be honest, I couldn't disagree. Carla just seemed to have the balance more or less perfect. I say Carla because she's the one who meets and greets but her husband, Ludolf, has a similar presence albeit a little more behind the scenes.

Above, top to bottom, l to r: en route to Boetie's Bar (as one does in NB) the road stretches out to the associated township that is becoming increasingly integrated with NB central and hardly an hour in 24 goes past without sight of someone walking, riding a horse or driving a car along this thoroughfare ... (happily, though, not too many cars); Kate finally has her G&T ... Carla and Ludolf can be spotted in the background on the extreme left ... it is after all the de facto watering hole in NB; Boetie himself presides over the bar; My ideal house in NB - verandah on the street so the occupants can converse with passers by.

Three days condensed into one

My daughter being, well, my daughter, and therefore imbued with the energy and enthusiasm of youth, was keen to be up and at it on the morning of the only full day we had in Nieu Bethesda. When Shan and I were there we had a much more laid back approach to things but probably didn't engage in many more activities(apart from eat more sumptuously).

Above, clockwise from top left: Breakfast awaits and we're the first to arrive, champing at the bit to visit the rock people out of town; Kate does a turn with a rock person (not sure if it was a walk or a tango) ... these statues are dotted all around quite a substantial area of veld bisected by a stream and a dam; inside the Bushman museum looking out at the Tower Cafe; In the grounds of the NG Kerk gazing through the trees at another view of the township.

We also whizzed around the Helen Martins museum like a duo of whirlwinds, so I'll leave any descriptions of her house and art to a couple of earlier blogs[5].

And that was just the morning! We were distinctly peckish by the middle of the day - time for the Brewery and Two Goats Deli (BTGD). This required a bit of a walk.

Above. clockwise from top left: this substantial suspension bridge crosses the Gats River, which is often just a dry riverbed but can become a raging torrent; the homestead that fronts the BTGD; a sunflower welcomes you to the brewery; we chose to share a platter for lunch ... thank goodness we did; the house terrier wishes we'd ordered a platter each (we still snuck him a bit as he was so appealing); I always take this picture when returning from BTGD, it has different moods and frames the ever-present Compassberg appealingly.

A brief rest was required back at the Bethesda, accompanied by tea on the patio, and then a walk around the town

Above, clockwise from top left: contre-jour goats in the centre-ville; back at Boetie's Bar and my daughter looking relaxed and a teeny bit sunburned having escaped an English winter; the following day we asked Carla to show Kate the cellar, she was happy to oblige.

Two things about Nieu Bethesda that compel me to go back time after time: the time-cycle seems to stand still for a while, which induces a feeling of relaxed wellbeing; homes and hospitality providers with verandas that allow one to interact with passers-by. 

Kate and I spent our last evening having supper on the verandah at Elbé Van Heerden's Village Inn talking to people at the adjoining tables and the occasional passer-by in the street. Just fabulous.

Another 579 kms up the road via the Seweweekspoort Mountain Pass

Kate at the wheel again, doing the drudgery on the N1. We turned off at Laingsburg and swapped driving duties. Just wow. This is almost as spectacular as and prettier than the Swartberg Pass a little further East but the road quality is superb gravel. More in the captions below.

​Our ultimate destination for the day was Mymering Wine and Guest Estate. I don't know what it is about the Southern lee of the Swartberg but the hospitality model is more hospitable. Shan and I first encountered this at Boesmanskop where the proprietor, Tienie, fed us a gourmet meal and then invited us for conversation in his sitting room. At Mymering, dinner was with the owner and friends and family and no-holds-barred conversation was encouraged. Our host was a retired consultant doctor from Gqeberha and had opinions on everything. What fun. What debate. Kate didn't hold back ... I was so proud of her strongly held opinions.

Above: It was all worth it! Shan's sister, Kerry, managed to snap this moment of tri-generational hilarity. I'd love to know what 92-year-old Judy said to provoke the guffaws but will demur to the threesome's precious moments to enjoy whenever they see this picture.

Coming next

A pause to celebrate the concept that small is often more beautiful than big ... buying wine in the Western Cape
​
[Endnotes]:

1. Shan and I had visited a few months earlier and I had been there on my lonesome a year or so before that.
2. Afrikaans expression for children born long after some of their siblings. Literally a "late little lamb".
3. I had a conversation with Carla about the cushions and I can't remember whether the fabric illustrations were Tretchikoff prints because my  addled ageing brain became confused with  another Tretchikoff encounter in Calizdorp.
4. More Tretchi info in the Boerewors Express on Page 6.
5. ​With Shan earlier this year and Richard in 2016.

This next instalment of this blog was supposed to be a joyous thing. It would have been had I kept on top of things. However, the longer I've taken, the sadder the outcome has become.

When I first set about a series of anecdotes covering a road trip up the East Coast of South Africa and then returning more or less through the middle, I had planned for three episodes. I am now on episode 5 with probably two more to come.

First in Mpumalanga there were Sharna and Daryl, followed by Stuart, and now we come to Heidi and Andrew Newby. The last time I had seen them was while in the Western Cape 18 months previously when they were living in Hopefield, North of Cape Town. A couple of fleeting visits that left more questions unanswered than had been on the original list.

In the mean time the intrepid couple had upped stakes and moved most of the way across South Africa to the banks of the Vaal River, just below the Vaal Dam wall. Ok, not quite in Mpumalanga but as near as dammit is to swearing.

​Above, L to R: Andrew proudly cutting into a round from his new cheesery in Deneysville; 18 months earlier, Andrew, Heidi and me near Smitswinkelbaai, lunching at a friend's cheesery.

"Why are you abandoning Hopefield for Deneysville?" I asked Andy shortly after the Newby family  embarked on a Great Trek of their own, from the Western Cape to the banks of the Vaal.
​“We need more grass for the animals, Banj,” was the explanation. Short and to the point as always.
​
When I finally arrived in Deneysville in January, my old friend was equally succinct.
"Why are you staying here for such a short time, Banj? And without Kate and Shelley-ann?"

I mumbled  through my explanation of all the Covid obstacles. I'm not sure he was convinced but it did lead to the three of us talking about daughters that evening, how proud we were of them and how Mila was spreading her wings and working in Germany. Andrew was proud and sad that she was so far away but not so far that she didn’t drop everything to visit her Dad when he first became ill. Kate had done something similar for me when I wound up in hospital in France a few years previously. Dad-daughter bonding over a glass of something was highly recommended. The three of us counted our blessings with some rather fine wine provided by Daryl “Bikey” Balfour. We were in the Newby restaurant on the plaas and discussing their ambitious plans for a padstal.

Beyond that they were contemplating converting their almost 100 stables into B&B accommodations for parents and children to share experiences with the animals on the farm, a short distance from the Vaal River. Earlier in the afternoon Andrew had proudly showed me around his recently completed cheesery (already with a sideline into wider charcuterie). We discussed the finer differences between Chorizo and Chouriço, the latter being more spicy, something that was proved the next morning at breakfast.

I had set out that morning from the Eastern Transvaal, the boot of the car containing a box of assorted wine, something Mr and Mrs Newby appreciated with the splendid repast the three of us had devoured with a degree of lip smacking enjoyment. Food was second nature to the plaaswoners[1] but decent wine was less easy to come by in rural Deneysville. Bikey’s cellar is, by contrast, a legend and we muttered our appreciation as we settled into nostalgic reminiscences.

I can’t pretend we weren’t concerned about Andrew’s mobility but there was an air of cautious optimism. He was in the South African health care system and appropriate treatment was on the horizon.

Above, L to R: Group Daily News photo, possibly as early as 1976, starring ... Back row - Andrew, Greg Dardagan, Garnet Currie, Rob Melville, Middle row - Kathy Usher, Liz Clarke, Front row - Don Blackbeard, Russel Kay; Andrew exercised significant influence to secure me a wholesale price on my Honda, which I rode up to Nottingham Road in his honour in 1978/79 (the licence disc being a giveaway as to the date) and smoking a fag to celebrate.

A short detour into shared history
​​
I’m not exactly sure when I first met Andrew? It would have been some time in the second half of the 1970s when I was Motoring Editor of the Daily News and he helped me by testing the motorbikes, something he was infinitely more qualified to do than I was.

I just enjoyed riding the one he had out on test at any given time and they became a unifying factor. We did stuff like a bike and caravan foray to the Transkei Wild Coast and participant/scrambler cooperative coverage of the Dusi canoe marathon[2].  He procured me my first (and last) motorbike (above). But when I saw him in January he had remained a biker at heart, planning a solo expedition on a high-end "scooter" he had recently acquired.

Above, L to R: A bunch of us hung about in the 70s and 80s (Garnet and Bikey Balfour AWOL on this occasion) ... top row, Tony (a.k.a. Spikey Norman) Kinnear and John Pauling ... bottom row, yours truly, Andrew; John Pauling trying to ignore Andrew's gurning, something he was wont to do occasionally; Andrew chatting to Brenda Lynsky at Shan's and my leaving do in 1987 ... I think I spy Andy King and Johnny Thorpe in the background.

As well as working together we spent a good deal of time socialising. Perhaps at the core of this particular "journo" group were the four reprobates in the first frame above but Garnet was always around, too, as was Daryl.

There was a point when the dissolute journo aspect of our lives began to cause health concerns. Some of us resumed surfing and bicycles emerged for regular Sunday rides. Andy was more of a diver than a surfer and expressed his contempt for the rest of the group by gurning.

Shan's and my participation in the Durban group came to an end when we moved to the UK to start a new life in 1987. Andy was at our leaving do. He continued pursue cycling and went on to post some seriously quick times in the Cape Argus cycle race.

We didn't see each other again for 31 years and it was the Argus[3] that reunited us. I took a local group of cyclists to participate in the 2018 event and got in touch again. A couple of reunions occurred with the most recent having been the feature of this blog.

When we parted on the 16th of January, 2022, I couldn't be sure ​when I'd next be in SA but felt sure there would be another visit. We discussed prospects and the uncertainty of it all.
​"Don't worry, Banj," my friend summarised, "We aren't going anywhere."
“Next time you drop by, Banj," Andrew continued, "make sure you bring Shelley-ann and Kate with you ... and stay a bit longer,” were among his parting words as I set off on that Sunday morning to fetch Kate from Joburg airport.

Above, L to R: Mr Newby was so excited for us to taste his new cheese for breakfast as the cat and terrier testify; always an animal lover and encouraged by Heidi, the house in Deneysville was a haven for waifs and strays ... only a terrier can look this beseeching; cheers Andrew, you were one of a kind.

There was to be no next time
​
Heidi walked me to the gates their plaas[4] in Deneysville because Andrew was finding it difficult to walk more than a short distance. As she waved goodbye and I set off to collect Kate I was feeling optimistic about my friend's prospects. His enthusiasm for his charcuterie adventure and the prospects the farm offered had rubbed off during the previous nights longe dinner.

On the 3rd of March, 2022, I received a message from Daryl to tell me Andrew had died that day. Heidi  later posted an explanation on Facebook of the information she'd been given.

​Andrew Newby[5], 1951-2022, RIP

Up to this point I haven't mentioned Graeme Newby, Andrew's slightly younger brother. I don't remember him that well other than that he was a thoroughly decent cove and we all enjoyed his gentle humour when he was around. I do know that he became an optometrist and practised in Cape Town for many decades.

He was known to our group as "Peppermint" and also liked his motorbikes. According to urban legend, Graeme was once visiting the Skyline Hotel, a bit of a notorious dive in Hillbrow, Johannesburg, when he needed to use the loo. He would have been reluctant to leave his belongings out of sight so took his crash helmet with him to the Gents where he was jumped by two aggressors. Not knowing what else to do, he dispatched them with his crash helmet.

On the 19th of July this year, Graeme suffered a massive heart attack in his Cape Town surgery and died. 

Graeme Newby, 195?-2022, RIP

Guys, the world is a poorer place.

​For the first 65 years of our lives I'm not sure my cousin Stuart and I really got each other. I don't think there was any particular animosity but we seemed to live in parallel universes. But things changed when Jane died towards the end of 2019.

Our Dads were brothers and at times our families lived in each others' pockets, but random forces seemed to push us in different directions. I was the first born on Woody's side of the house and Jane was first born on Graham's. For a while our paternal grandmother, Molla, assumed Nirvana had been achieved. Jane and I would marry and ride off into the proverbial sunset.

She hadn't accounted for our parents' baby-boomer proclivities and it wasn't long before Stuart appeared in Jean and Graham's (GKF) household and Susan arrived to grace Shirley and Woody's (EFH). In Molla's eyes the third and fourth sprogs had pitched up to gatecrash the party.

The irony was that by the time Catherine EFH and Rosemary GKF sidled into the mix, Molla had a new round of favourites. Stuart and Sue were relegated, in Molla's eyes at least, to a parallel universe.

Jane and Stuart remained close, enjoying various nefarious capers together well into their teens. Teen stuff was Jane's and my preserve during the mid-60s before she got attached to her first partner. I think Stuart very much ploughed his own furrow at that stage and we gradually became scattered to the wind. Over the years we got together for weddings and funerals and it was the most recent of the latter that cemented Stuart's and my path towards toenadering[1].

Jane and Stuart had remained great friends and that relationship  grew stronger over the years, especially when they both wound up in the UK. Jane as a carer and Stuart on secondment from a major SA bank. Jane was desperate to rekindle a relationship between her brother and cousin but we were both caught up in our own professional lives and opportunities were missed.

Above, clockwise from lop left: Stuart as a pirate, Jane the damsel in distress although she doesn't look too distressed; Stuart, Rosemary (who didn't like her photo being taken) and Jane; Jane on her wedding day smiling at what may or may not be Molla; Jane in latter years at a music festival in the KZN Midlands.

Until the summer of 2019 when she contrived for the three of us to meet for lunch in the Boot and Flogger (B&F) in Southwark, which had become a favourite haunt of mine for London rendezvous. Only, Jane managed to drop out for "work-related priorities". She had been a carer in the South East for some years and came up with a plausible excuse. 

I was pretty stoked after the hour or two my re-found Cuz and I spent in the B&F. I think he felt the same because we readily agreed to meet again the next time he was in town.

The next time I heard from Stuart was when he telephoned me a month or so later in September.  His opening words were: "I've just been contacted by Interpol ..."
Now, our family has always revelled telephone prankery so I left a wary pause hanging ...

"Jane is dead," he blurted. I could tell he was choked up and finding this difficult. Hearing this for the first time I went numb. Probably didn't acquit myself terribly well, which wouldn't have been helpful to my Cuz delivering such a devastating message.

She had had a heart attack in her caring client's home. It had taken Interpol a while to trace her next of kin, i.e. Stuart, via Johannesburg to London where he was currently on business. Stuart ended up shuttling back and forth to sort out her affairs. We agreed to meet near her last workplace in Flitwick and attempt to shoulder the burden together. I have to say Stuart shouldered most of it but I did provide the transport while we went from one branch of the public administration to another between Flitwick and Luton. That meant three or four hours in the car together, during which we made great strides in our toenadering.

A few more days together at random intervals during September and October 2019 cemented our determination to get to know each other better. Stuart had some consultancy work he was doing in London but Covid put a stop to that as well as a planned trip for Shan and me to South Africa. It was January 2022 before we could properly plan our next reunion, this time at his place on the multi-faceted Walkerson Estate where Stuart and his son, Ryan, had recently built a refuge from eGoli[2]. 

Above: The countryside in the Walkerson Estate and the general Dullstroom area could almost be in Wales or the Lake District with its rolling green valleys rearing up occasionally into stark peaks and kranses, the former of which often reach above the surrounding mist. It is mostly rich grassland but indigenous lilies abound in sheltered spots. Many of these lilies, such as the Agapanthus on the right, have found themselves into the garden centres of England.

Walkersons and Dullstroom

"I have a plan for your stay," Stuart announced when I eventually found his abode, nestling on a slope above the central trout stream. "We don't have to follow it religiously but the first step is to go up to the mountain plateau and have a G&T while we enjoy the view of the estate below."
"Sounds great to me," I responded. We were soon climbing into his bakkie[3], accompanied by Cairo the English Rottweiler, and setting off on our ascent.
"There's quite a lot of game up there," my cousin informed me. "We're bound to see Wildebeest and Striped Donkeys but there could be a lot more."
"What's with the striped donkeys?" I asked him.
"They're Zebra. Cairo and I don't like them."
Turns out the zebra keep destroying Stuart's lawn. A particularly annoying event had occurred soon after laying turf at vast expense. Stuart and Cairo managed to chase about 20 of them away from the immediate surrounds of the house in the dark and the next morning the whole "lawn" had turned into a mud bath. Cursing and swearing, he'd gone to inspect the damage. No a blade of grass in sight. Then  he noticed a strange thing: the zebra hadn't munched all the grass, they'd flipped all the turf squares on their backs, mud side up.
"Bastards," my cousin exclaimed. I could understand his sentiment although I still quite like Zebra.

The rest of the plan for the day was to be a braai[4] accompanied by suitable beverages

Above, clockwise from top left: Cairo enjoying the "view" of the valley; we luxuriated in the bespoke G&Ts that Stuart had prepared earlier; I'd stopped of in Mbombela to avail myself of the limited stock in a local wine shop and then Hops Hollow for a selection of craft beers - the latter weren't cold and my cousin's magnum kind of trumped the former; after a couple of cold lagers, we set about the 2011 Lady May with some enthusiasm; by the time the excellent braai was ready to eat we were eagerly revisiting our past, seen here in the Drakensberg at what could've been Loteni or Kamberg, I imagine around1963/4.

Over the next few days my rediscovered cousin and I explored the foundations of why we should be proper buddies during our remaining years. Yes, it was more than our shared affection for Jane or that we were both suckers for a great curry.

"Besides," Stuart observed, "we're both in touch with our feminine sides."

He's probably right ... I'd never really thought about it: we both certainly cared about other people. We also reminisced about how, on the whole, I got on better with his Dad and he got on better with mine. Was that Molla's influence in bringing up her sons or just the distant father-son relationships that were encouraged then? Although Stuart's rakish charm is all Graham.

We tried valiantly to finish the Glenelly but fatigue eventually took its toll. Retiring to our opposite corners of his house my cousin suddenly checked himself and remarked: "Oh and the plan for tomorrow is ..."

Above, L to R: Perhaps my Cuz was too fatigued to notice this interloper as he retired but when I glanced out of the window of my quarters, I spotted this fella about two metres away - the camera flash didn't bother him and I wasn't about to set off a cacophony; Cairo regards me knowingly while Stuart recovers slowly from the night before.

It wasn't long, though, on my second day in Dullstroom, that my host sprang to life: "Now Cus[5]​, about today's plan; first I'll do a fry up then we'll head into Dullstroom for a beer tasting. I'll show you some of the shops, buy some provisions and check out the whisky bar, we can have a pub lunch, followed by a milkshake and then we can come back here and cast some flies."

If he didn't have a measured delivery, I could swear he didn't stop for breath. I tried to keep up.

Trip to town

Dullstroom would probably like to think of itself as quirky and to some extent it is. Kind of posh quirk, though. The bric-a-brac is in a different league and the milkshake shop would turn Mo Farrah into Mr Blobby given a week or two.

Above: clockwise from top left: Très trendy (chic?); the pretty much everything shop next door; in a whisky bar, a full sized wooden bike with presumably fully-functional Ultegra running gear in a frame on the wall - I mean, they went to all that trouble, they could at least have used a Dura Ace groupset; 4 or 5 spaces/rooms packed to the gills with just clocks - this was one room, others contained all sorts including antique grandfather timepieces; a bric-a-brac shop with quality stuff, including some tasty silverware.

Casting some flies seemed a pretty sensible way to spend the late afternoon after our sensory overload, a little bit of tranquil exercise along the river at Walkersons. I think Stuart caught a couple of tiddlers that he put back. We fished separate beats as he has stellar experience and I just like to thrash about a bit. I caught nothing and elected to walk back the couple of kilometres to the house. The soon-to-fade light brought with it a perfect tranquility after the busy day.

Above: What is it about water and early evening that brings about regenerative powers?

One of the evenings I was staying with Stuart we managed to slip out for a bite to eat at the rather splendid Mrs Simpsons restaurant in central Dullstroom. As is customary when parking in the street in South Africa, there is a system of car guards who freelance in "looking after" your car while you go about your business. It was no different when we went to Mrs Simpsons except that Stuart managed to establish from our car guard that he was a schoolboy and that he needed to watch over x number of cars to make ends meet before he had to walk a few kilometres home. Doing a quick calculation, my cuz gave the young chap x times the going rate and sent him off to get an early night. I think the young lad had exams the next day.

Above: Inside Mrs Simpsons. It was excellent but what is it about places like this that still hark back to the Empire ... or maybe it's a pistache to satirise the so rich and so powerful with so little to offer Everyman.

On my last day my Cuz pointed out that we hadn't really explored the "other" side of the estate yet. There may be some other animals up there he said. He was secretly hoping we'd catch a glimpse of the only sable antelope "in the village". A male whom, Stuart claimed, had been making inappropriate advances towards the female wildebeest. Sadly, we did not come across this lonely fellow but a story emerged. Apparently Stuart and another couple of Walkersons inmates had taken pity on this magnificent buck and had purchased three female sables from a reputable source. Sadly the local game preservation officials were not so sympathetic to our "stag's" plight and the paperwork was taking months ... perhaps now even years. 

I mentioned this story to my old mate, Mario Bozzone, who, in typical laconic fashion, told me how male sables had an inbuilt time bomb, beyond which their sperm count diminished rapidly. Typical Boz ... he researches everything. I must check with Stuart if the ladies have been given the go-ahead to move to Dullstroom, yet.

On my last morning, I peered out of the window pretty early in the morning to see this mountain reedbuck gazing at me balefully from a few metres away ... 

Above, l to r: Oops, there's a scary dude at the window; he looks dodgy, I'm outta here; is this far enough, this grass is actually pretty tasty?

After Shan's and my return from our trip to South Africa, Stuart contacted me to sound me out about scattering Jane's ashes at a special place on our gin mountain. It was sensitive of him to ask. What right would I have to disagree? Anyway, I thought it was a brilliant idea - as I write this I can see her ensconced up there on her new bench, revelling in the view or being philosophical about the mist.

​​Above: there is bit of a saga coming up as to how this photo came about.

But before that, a bit of a journey

I didn't really know what to expect, even though the Daily News Empangeni bureau had been my patch back in 1974. Whilst there, I had been almost joined at the hip with George D'Ath, my counterpart on the Natal Mercury. Theoretically we had been rivals but more often we supported each other.
Zululand, as it was then, was vast and, in many areas, pretty sparsely populated. Often stories would break out at opposite ends of our patch and we'd divi up the fact-gathering. The strip between the Tugela and Phongolo[2] Rivers and bounded by more or less parallel lines, running North-East through Eshowe and Vryheid respectively[3], were scarily remote to us.

Both of us moved away from Empangeni before we properly tackled this hinterland with its lure of the Wild-West. I never saw George again and, sadly, he was hacked and stabbed to death[4] by Witdoeke vigilantes in Nyanga, Cape Town, on 10 June 1986. He was the first journalist to be killed in the political conflict in South Africa. He probably would have enjoyed the dark irony of the story he used to tell of the spelling of his last name. Evidently it had been De'Ath but a recent ancestor had thought it macabre and removed the "e".

And so, in 2022 I came to fill in a bit of the Kwa Zulu Natal (KZN) that had passed me by. These are the pieces of my travels that draw me in with the magnetism of a jigsaw. I reached Eshowe ahead of schedule as the roads were clear early on that Monday morning.

Above: sunrise at 04h30 in Umdloti; my route for the next few Mpumalanga blogs.

From Eshowe the road dips down into the Mhlatuze basin before entering the rugged peaks and krandtzes that form the wild hinterland. Particularly spectacular is the White Mfolosi river valley that bisects the aforementioned  remote strip. I can't remember when I first encountered them on this journey but the one blight was the phalanx of coal trucks presumably ferrying their loads between the Northern KZN coalfields and the Indian Ocean port at Richards Bay. These behemoths can drop down to 10 kph uphill and then make overtaking hazardous by accelerating to 100 kph downhill. Time was that this traffic would have been taken up or at least moderated by the railways.

The journey from Vryheid to Mbombela crossed familiar territory so it was a relief to see Daryl's smiling face after the remaining 4 and a half hours. It wasn't long before we had wine glasses in our hands and were resuming the banter we had enjoyed intermittently over the intervening 45 years. More of the wine later.

Annoyed with myself for having zero photos of the way from Umdloti to Mbombela, I jumped at the opportunity of a bit of photography the next day with my friends the experts.

Sharna and Daryl

The Balfours are renowned in international hospitality, especially for their top flight wildlife safaris[5] majoring in photography across much of the globe. While​ discussing possibilities for the following day, Sharna suggested we take a trip up to Kaapschehoop for an iPhone safari.

They explained that many of the avid photographers who enjoyed their safaris often came as couples and quite frequently only one of the duo would be happy lugging around tens of thousands of dollars worth of camera kit. Consequently, Sharna had boned up on her cellphone techniques and provided coaching for those who wished to take a more casual approach to their wildlife and landscape pictures.

"The latest cellphones have extremely competent inbuilt cameras," she explained, while Daryl nodded knowingly.

I was happy to be in their hands. I did take my Nikon along for the ride after a good night's sleep, though.

Above: The deluxe spare room at Chez Balfour looks outward across the Steiltes Nature Reserve and inward at examples of their fine work.

Kaapschehoop
​
​While the town of Nelspruit is in the Lowveld region of Mpumalanga, Kaapschehoop is 28 km away, still in the Mbombela municipality but on the Highveld escarpment at 1640 m above sea level. The village came into existence as part of the 1873 gold rush that started in the Pilgrim's Rest area. Apparently Kaapschehoop peaked in the late 19th century with almost 5,000 residents and then descended throughout most of the 20th century until a low point of 16 inhabitants.

When you visit the place, its charms are clear. A huge amount of restoration has taken place and the altitude makes it a welcome refuge from Nelspruit. Brandishing our iPhones, Sharna and I darted about taking photos while Daryl looked on benignly.

Above, L to R, top to bottom: the first two pictures of traction engines hint at the town's industrial past; a lovingly restored verandah bungalow; step back in time for some lovely boer food when you visit the wagon house; ponies roam the streets as Daryl contemplates the transport options; more ponies shelter in a renovators' dream; the structure's still standing but it's a little out of town; a grand terrace downtown.

We had hoped to  have lunch in Kaapschehoop but it was a Tuesday and not much was open so we headed back towards Nelspruit. Sharna had pointed me in several positive directions with my iPhone (hopefully the results above bear this out) and a residual appetite for some more photos remained.

Photography lesson 

As we descended the escarpment I spotted a tableau that floated my boat and mentioned this to Daryl, who was driving. He turned the car around and retraced our path a few hundred metres to where the outlook had caught my imagination ...

Above: The first frame with my iPhone was a snapshot of what I'd seen but now what my mind had selected as a promising scene wasn't quite doing it; out came the Nikon and all three of us wrestled in frustration with its settings. The next six frames illustrate a sample of our frustration and eventually the last frame was more or less what I wanted (give or take a few judicious tweaks with Lightroom). A larger version appears as the banner to this blog.

Only after commendable patience on the part of the Balfours were we able to continue our journey to a leisurely lunch at the Kingfisher alongside what appeared to be a raging torrent of a river that I mistakenly took to be The Crocodile. Sadly the river was the less dramatically named Gladdespruit, a tributary of the Croc that had been swollen by recent heavy rain (a harbinger of the soon to arrive devastating East Coast floods, perhaps?).

Wine and grub

Now Daryl is a winester and foodster of some renown. That is not to say Sharna's grub is not on the same level but this evening we were to have a braai[6] and Daryl had once won the SA championships in that discipline. We detoured from the route home to Chez Balfour for some steak. A couple of perfect pieces presented themselves, well aged and marbled and what appeared to be an inch thick. Daryl and I chose one of these. Sharna was worried it wouldn't be enough and tried to persuade Daryl we needed another. We managed to convince her it wasn't needed. I tell you what, you'll never go hungry on one of their safaris with Sharna managing the catering.

Daryl had been given an electronic device for Christmas that purported to present the perfect braaied meat (as if he needed it) but before we go there and to the splendid bottle of Hannibal I need to take a few steps back.

Above: Daryl does like to keep his guests guessing - now revealed op sy moer; Daryl and Sharna haven't got mushroom for their steak lying untouched at the centre of the table.

When I had arrived the previous day I was tested via a brown paper bag on the constituents of the absolutely scrumptious op sy moer. I immediately got the Chenin bit and was appreciating the salinity of its blend partner. I was going for Palomino but didn't want to make a fool of myself so demurred. Of course, Daryl being Daryl, will never concede that I might have guessed correctly.

The splendid and perfect steak was soon added to our plates and melted in the mouth in between sips of the Bouchard Finlayson, a perfect accompaniment to the juicy red meat.

And there were some leftovers from the single steak after we'd all eaten our fill. Those Balfours do eat well, oh yes they do. Merci mes amis.

Recommended route to the Highveld

The next morning my friends were advising me on the route to take to Dullstroom to spend the next few days with my cousin, Stuart.

While they were showing me their recommended route I didn't question that they were sending me North to go West, nor had I realised that we were already North of Maputo. It is often a revelation to look at a map rather than just slavishly following one's SatNav. My personal global positioning, which is generally not too bad, had the Mozambique capital still way North of where we were sitting having breakfast.

​The route swept up in a loop, taking in the Long Tom Pass and the highest altitude brewery in Africa before swinging South to Dullstroom. Thanks guys that was great advice and having travelled that route I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Coming next

I am bound to embarrass my cousin with my newfound affection for the fine fellow ...
​
[Endnotes]

1. Formerly Nelspruit
2. ​Formerly Pongola
3. ​Also more or less parallel to the coast.
4. Slightly more detail of this infamous incident is provided by the Truth Commission here
5. Read all about their Wildphotos safaris  
6. Barbecue
7. Hops Hollow review