Weather-wise, May has to be the month to visit Durban. It’s not necessarily the best time to see the rest of the country, though: in the artistic KZN Midlands, they’re already wearing crocheted garments and huddling around artisanal log fires.
In the Cape, they’re opening yet another vyf-man-kan (five-litre box) of red, battening down the hatches against the wintry storms and praying for more of that cold rain to fill their direly depleted dams.
We’ve never been gym bunnies, Roy and I. Neither of us has belonged a gym for the past 10 years at least. Yet here we are at Virgin Active La Lucia, notching up a creditable three or four visits a week.
Can 1,200 kcals a day be part of a luxury getaway? If you can go without alcohol and coffee for a week, then the answer is a resounding “Yes!” – and you’ll find it at the outstanding Brookdale Hydro.
Brookdale is located in a lovely part of South Africa’s rural KwaZulu-Natal Midlands. Not only was it just what the doctor ordered for a barging couple who’d spent the past four months bingeing on baguettes and butter – it was pure bliss.
Located just behind the famous old Oyster Box Hotel, our 11th floor flat in The Oysters complex has breath-taking views over that hotel, the iconic lighthouse, and the long, wide stretch of golden sand that stretches all the way south to Durban.
Indian Ocean waves dash against the fisherman-dotted rocks for which the seaside town of Umhlanga Rocks is named. And the Beverley Hills Hotel is right next to the Oyster Box – it’s a five-minute stroll from our front door to theirs.
As we brush up on our French vocabulary and dust off our boat shoes, there’s one last thing to do before we head for the French canals – indulge in some real curry, and to us that means Durban curry.
It’s been going for about 25 years, but Impulse By the Sea Indian restaurant at Tinley Manor Beach, about 50km north of Durban, is still somewhat off the radar – except for those in the know, of course.
So, who won the annual potjiekos* competition at The Dunes** this year? It took place only last Sunday, and though winning seemed important at the time, I really cannot remember.
*Literally “small pot food”, potjiekos, or simply potjie – pronounced “poiki” – is quintessentially South African. The traditional potjie itself is a three-legged, black cast-iron pot that comes in a variety of sizes.
Of course, Christmas is all about celebrating family. (Unless you happen to be a Christian, in which case it might be about celebrating something else.)
So here I am with Roy, appropriately ensconced in the bosom of our family for the next month and more. We have our own self-contained guest suite – sounds a bit better than granny-flat, doesn’t it? – in the house of son Carl and his wife Carrie in Iluka, 30km north of central Perth, Western Australia.
Plenty. Durban has quite enough to keep me busy, and that’s the truth.
By comparison to my home town, Singapore is a major world city that offers just about every entertainment you could possibly think of – everything from world-class concerts and exhibitions to international sports events and more. New restaurants of every level and description, from hawker stalls where a meal costs around US$3 to global celebrity chef restaurants where you’ll easily pay $200 or even $300 a head. So, after our nearly 16 years in this amazing metropolis, am I missing all that? No, not really.
As Roy and I prepared to head off to Modimolle in Limpopo Province (previously Nylstroom in the Northern Transvaal) for Mathilda and Leon’s hugely enjoyable wedding a few weeks ago, I found myself questioning my cultural identity as an “English” South African. What does that strange expression even mean?
For white, English-speaking Durbanites, an invisible yet undeniable divide lies to the west of us – somewhere between 100 and 200 kilometres, I reckon – that separates us from the mainly Afrikaner hinterland. Julie Simpson calls it “the boerewors curtain”. (That’s why the Limpopo game-farm buck in the photo look so nervous; they know they’re only a stage away from biltong.)
Durban’s not just about sun and surf – it’s also less than a two-hour drive from an agricultural hinterland that bristles with dozens of more-or-less-chi-chi farm stalls, handicrafts and cottage industries, craft breweries, hostelries, spas, cafés and restaurants. This bucolic wonderland is called the Midlands Meander, and what better destination for a couple of nights’ R&R with my sister Dale from London and our mutual BFF Julie?
Day One – of pork crackling, dental disasters and craft ales
