So, it was bye bye Bollywood, and hello to a very swish beachside apartment in Mossel Bay, travelling on near-empty very good roads. The Indian Ocean lapped softly on the beach below our deck, just a few steps down to the miles of golden sand. And the sun was still shining two days later as we left to drive north east to Knysna – to bring back memories of what used to be.
Difficult to envisage what used to be, though – the town had grown so big, and apparently so fast. Most of the hills surrounding this spectacular cliff-fringed lagoon with it’s famous ‘heads’ channeling and calming the sea into the lagoon are now dotted with luxury homes, golf courses, hotels and guest houses. We stayed in the old part of town, with a bird’s-eye-view right over the lagoon and out to the Knysna Heads, took a sunset champagne-and-oyster cruise out to the entrance between the high cliffs, and watched a lone seal play in the swirling waters.
There’s an elephant park just outside Knysna where they have a rehabilitation and conservation programme. We fed, walked with, and got up-close-and-personal with these gentle giants – they have a few that interact with humans – but the rest are still unpredictable and wild. It was a very interesting insight into how South African wildlife is being managed, and a precursor to our upcoming four-day stay in a few days time in a game lodge north of Port Elizabeth. But before that, we had another stopover at Storms River Village.
We have met some interesting people on this trip, and heard some extraordinary stories from people we’ve met on the journey. One of those people was Marcos who welcomed us into his guest house. He apparently built the place over a period of time almost with his bare hands. The village is small, quaint, and free from any fear of crime. We sat before a cheery log fire over a bottle of Pinotage in Marcos’ guest lounge, surrounded by antique furniture, books and memorabilia and swapped stories of our lives. His wife had left that very morning to fly to spend some time with her brother in Sydney. Marcos said he would not be happy living anywhere else but in the village; he later asked pertinent questions about what qualifications are needed to obtain a resident’s visa of entry into Australia. Marcos, like most people we’ve met and spoken to since we arrived in South Africa is an Afrikaner, and options of emigration on grounds of ancestral connections are limited. So they have largely accepted the new South Africa and plan to stay put and hope for the best for their children and grandchildren.
The first rain fell the following day, as we drove a few kilometres to catch a glimpse of adrenalin-seeking jumpers throwing themselves off the world’s highest bungy jump, at the Blaukrans river bridge. Peter resisted the temptation, thank goodness – our holiday wasn’t even halfway through! Storms River mouth was exactly as its name implies, that day – wild and windy and scary with high waves crashing against rocks and the cliff face. Deep river gorges high mountains and the Tsitsikamma forest dominate this beautiful and rugged region. But we had to move on, dropping our hire car off in Port Elizabeth we waited for the transfer vehicle that was to take us to the Pumba Water Lodge for a four-day sojourn communing with nature in its wildest form.
