Our farewell meal –
superb Peking duck!
Next day’s drive was short and pleasant,
along the coast with a brief coffee break
in Knysna, a beautiful holiday resort
on a lagoon. South African scenery is
ever-changing, and one can go from
Karoo desert to rolling English hills to
semi tropical beachfronts in a matter
of hours. As we were quite early, we
decided to stop at Gordon’s Bay, about
ten kilometres short of Winery Road.
It’s a small, quaint seaside town on the
edge of False Bay and we spent an hour
having a few drinks and fish and chips;
edible enough, although it has to be said
this is one cuisine where England reigns
supreme.
Winery Road was fantastic; situated
on the edge of the Ken Forrester wine
estate, the view from my bedroom
spread across acres of vines to a
backdrop of the Simonsberg mountains.
We dined at the restaurant with Ken’s
mother in law – an old friend of my
brother – and had a really fun evening.
A favourite on the menu was duck
“
Suffice to say it
was one of the
most enjoyable
48 hours I have
ever spent
“
70
and cherry pie; a popular hangover
from Ken’s days as a restaurateur in
Johannesburg. The next day we spent
touring the winelands, visiting the
Rupert family’s incredible car museum
at L’Ormarins and then having freshly
poached trout for lunch at Le Petit
Ferme, located in the hills high above
Franschoek with fantastic views across
the valley and beyond. On a day like
that, one can readily imagine why Jan
Van Riebeeck, on landing in 1652,
named the area Cape of Good Hope.
Sadly, the holiday was drawing to a
close, but my brother and his wife had
one last – and the best ever – treat in
store for me; a return journey from Cape
town to Pretoria on the famous Rovos Rail.
Owned by Rowan Vos, it is considered
by many to be the most luxurious train
in the world, and has been voted the
International Rail Travel Society’s favourite
rail experience. There is not room here to
dwell in detail on the sheer magnificence
one encounters on boarding; the beautiful
stateroom with en suite shower and toilet,
the rosewood panelling, the immaculate
service in the bar and dining cars, the
tour of the Kimberly diamond mine, and
much much more. Suffice to say it was
one of the most enjoyable 48 hours I have
ever spent, and an experience I will never
forget.
One last night in Johannesburg, a
farewell dinner of Peking Duck, a last
swim in my brother’s pool and it was
farewell OR Tambo and hello Gatwick
– urrgh! Of course it was great to be
home with Liz and see the girls again,
but I couldn’t stop thinking about my
trip. Paradoxically, although some 9000
kilometres away, South Africa is the
nearest thing to Britain you can get;
virtually everyone – black and white
alike – speaks English, and most of the
time they drive on the left. We share the
same menus and type of beer, and the
ancestral link is apparent wherever you
go, be it in street names, architecture,
statues and the like.
True, its politicians are past masters
of the euphemism; there are no
more squatter camps, only ‘informal
settlements’ and blacks and coloureds
have been transubstantiated into
‘previously disadvantaged people’.
Without doubt it’s also a troubled
country with many problems, a lot of
them considered insoluble in typical
African tradition. It’s culturally bi-polar,
in that the majority of whites continue
to live a hedonistic lifestyle without
any compelling need to question the
origin of their good fortune, and the
majority of blacks have seen little or no
improvement to their lot. Evolution to
democratic independence, however –
whilst by no means perfect - has proved
to be far smoother and less chaotic
than that glorious Socialist paradise
immediately to the north. When you
query the endemic corruption, you
are greeted with a polite smile and
questions about Chris Huhne, Jonathan
Aitkin, Jeffrey Archer and the News of
the World. Criticism of the collapsing
government health service is met by
comparisons with Staffordshire hospital,
the NHS, abuse of the elderly and SARS.
Mentioning violent crime is countered
with comments about British soldiers
hacked to death in broad daylight and
the UK’s seemingly uncontrollable
paedophile problem. Et tu, Brute.
So: all in all, a great time and glad to
be home. Oxymoronic? I don’t think
so. I could never live there, but certainly
can understand why so many of our
countrymen do. Would I ever go back?
In a heartbeat!
By John Clarke