Open Invitation
Heed the call of the Karoo. Take a road trip inland and be enveloped by a quiet sense of space, untamed by five billion years of evolution, and delight in the graciousness of the welcoming strangers who become friends along the way
Words Jillian Starke
On a map of the Cape, the Karoo takes on the shape of a Scottish terrier – its tail flicking into Nieuwoudtville in the north-west and its nose in the sheep-farming town of Colesberg – covering roughly 400 000 km2 of semi-desert countryside. Its main arterial, the N1 highway, is a means to an end for many travellers between the Cape and Jo’burg and is experienced with the windows up and the air-con on, interrupted only for Wimpy burger pit stops. The quiet, dusty towns can pass in a blur, as seemingly lifeless as the unforgiving landscape from which they’ve taken root. But detour on to a quieter road, stop over in a little Karoo town, or venture into a nature or wildlife reserve, and the journey north-east becomes the real adventure.
‘Zebra? Ja. Giraffe? Ja,’ the receptionist at Inverdoorn Game Reserve is rattling off the list of wildlife to an enquirer on the other end of the line when I arrive at the lodge. A 10 000-ha wildlife oasis a mere two-hour drive from Cape Town, it’s no surprise that Inverdoorn is a tourist hot spot. Everything runs like clockwork and it doesn’t take long to surrender to the line-up – which, for a one-night package, includes two game drives, three buffet meals and continuous interaction with a highly trained guide. Ours, Grant, is as patient as he is knowledgeable, which I decide must be a job criterion because he fields questions such as ‘Do you get kangaroos out here?’ with remarkable tact.
In the cheetah enclosure Grant explains that this is a quarantine for rescued cats that have been bought from farmers in Namibia who would otherwise have shot them for preying on livestock. The intention is to release them into the reserve once they’ve acclimatised and been reintroduced to hunting. The herds of impala had better watch out; it’s not just because of the distinguishing black ‘M’ on this antelope’s rear end that they’re called ‘McDonald’s’ out here.
Entering the reserve, Grant follows the telltale brown mounds that lead us to the park’s two white rhinos, sharing snippets of information about the various antelope and buffalo spotted along the way. We stop for sundowners at a breathtaking lookout deck where every direction you look in yields vistas of a roughly hewn landscape, gradually softening in the purple shades of the setting sun.
To experience the passion for conservation that is at the heart of what the team at Inverdoorn does, detour off the N1 just before Worcester, taking the R43 towards Ceres and then branch off on to the R46. It’s essential to make a reservation before you arrive. For an alternative wildlife experience, the nearby Aquila Private Game Reserve offers a guided horseback safari.
Back on the N1, the tarmac stretches as far as the impossibly blue horizon, where low, scudding clouds have scattered into little puffs. Hardy scrub bushes prickle the baked orange earth and the breeze coming through my window carries the scent of succulents. The only thing perhaps more soporific than driving through the Karoo is taking a train. And if there’s one place you’ll want to arrive at by rail, it’s the Lord Milner Hotel in Matjiesfontein. Stepping into the foyer of this century-old hotel, I’m whisked back in time to an era of Victorian grace – regal stairways, ornate furnishings and silver service induce an instant calm. Which is exactly what the enterprising young Scot, Jimmy Logan, had in mind when he purchased land at this remote railway halt back in 1884.
The crisp, dry Karoo air had cured him of a chest ailment, giving him the idea of developing a health and holiday resort for the well-heeled traveller. Olive Schreiner rented a cottage from Logan and it was here that she penned The Story of an African Farm, a controversial best-seller set in the area.
The Lord Milner’s dining room opens to the seven o’clock chime of the grandfather clock. I’ve swapped my dusty travel gear for something a little more elegant (the dress code is smart casual) and, seated next to a crackling fireplace, I am served succulent Karoo lamb chops with mint sauce off a silver platter. If stars were awarded purely on gracious service rather than amenities, this three-star establishment would have row upon row of them. The Victorian charm that has been maintained in Matjiesfontein is largely thanks to David Rawdon, who bought the village in the 1960s and painstakingly renovated the hotel to its former glory.
Sipping coffee in the early morning light on the spacious balcony outside my room, I watch the first train of the day come in, half expecting to see the white-gloved gentry disembark amid a flurry of parasols and walking sticks.
‘Like dry champagne’ is what the Karoo air has sometimes been compared to, and if it’s the effervescent starlight you’re after then Sutherland is the place to stop in at. Here you’ll find the largest telescope in the southern hemisphere, so powerful that one could see a candle flame on the moon. Granted, there isn’t one, but there are plenty of other incandescent bodies to focus in on. Provided you’ve packed your woollies (it’s the second coldest place in the country after Buffelsfontein and temperatures as low as –16°C have been recorded in July), to reach Sutherland you drive for 110 km after the Matjiesfontein turn-off, along the R354.
Urbanites are beating a steady path to the enchanting hamlet of Prince Albert at the foot of the adrenalin-inducing Swartberg Pass. If you’re here at full moon, take a night drive up the pass to view the spectacular mountains in the moonlight. Hiking, 4x4 trails, ghost walks, visits to Gay’s Guernsey dairy, wine tasting, or simply taking in the natural beauty of the surrounds, Prince Albert is the kind of elixir to modern-day living that you can’t get enough of.
Following the footprints of creatures that lived here 35 million years before the first dinosaurs, I am completely dwarfed by the ecological history of the 88 000-ha Karoo National Park. To get a sense of our place on the timeline of evolution, the park’s outdoor fossil trail and Interpretive Centre are definitely worth a visit. And it’s not even out of the way; 10 minutes after exiting the N1 you’ll find yourself surrounded by the characteristic koppies, flat-topped dolerite mountains that have been weathered this way over the millennia.
An hour after the sun goes down, fleeced up to the max, we set out for a night game drive. I thought the chilly 5°C temperature might send the animals into hibernation, but the super powerful searchlight of Jan, our guide, highlights a number of nocturnal animals, most impressively a magnificent spotted eagle owl, so close I could see the light reflect off the dilated pupils of its enormous orange eyes. A
ccommodation at the park is in comfortable, self-catering chalets with panoramic mountain views. Marvel at the civil engineering of Andrew Geddes Bain on the winding 12-km Klipspringer Pass, and stop en route to see the spectacular red waterfall – the Rooivalle runs red after the summer rains because of the topsoil being carried downstream.
It’s midday and the thermometer in my car is hovering at 37°C , my petrol gauge is in the thirsty red and I’m halfway between Beaufort West and Aberdeen on the R61 which, if I’d looked at the map book before I set out, I’d have known is a 160-km stretch of nothingness. The inevitable thudder and, then, silence. I get out and stretch my legs. A black eagle soars high above me before stopping mid-air, presumably sizing me up. Just then something comes speeding towards me – my rescuer. A friendly chap from Queenstown drives me to the petrol station in Aberdeen (a town that boasts the second highest church steeple in the country at 51,5m) and then laughs away my suggestion of hitchhiking a return trip, instead driving me back to my car on the roadside. He finds it even funnier when I suggest the car might not be there and he’ll have to take me back to Aberdeen again. ‘This is the Karoo,’ chuckles Wouter.
The fourth oldest town in South Africa, Graaff-Reinet boasts the most proclaimed national monuments in the country. Reinet House, circa 1812, has a fascinating collection of Victoriana and the world’s largest grapevine twists and turns around a pergola in the garden. The Old Library in Church Street houses an interesting collection of photographs and newspaper clippings of Robert Sobukwe, the founder of the Pan-Africanist Congress who led the campaign against pass laws that ended in the Sharpeville Massacre of 1960. Sobukwe was born in this Karoo town in December 1924.
History aside, the real reason I’m in Graaff-Reinet is to sample the much talked about cuisine at Andries Stockenström. Having bought the guest house from renowned chef Beatrice Barnard only a few months ago, Gordon and Rose Wright have big shoes to fill. Starting with a pineapple amuse-bouche to cleanse the palate, the four-course dinner is a crescendo of flavours. The sublime Gorgonzola and roasted cherry tomato tart with basil pesto is followed by Karoo lamb served with potato rösti and lightly steamed side veggies. Chef Elcid Mosterd, who was trained by Beatrice, has cooked the tender lamb to perfection. ‘We don’t add any seasoning,’ says Gordon, ‘as the herbs and flavour comes from the lamb itself.’
My co-diner is raving about the kudu, but I decide to save room for the baked fig (freshly picked from the garden) and almond tart. Gordon’s philosophy is ‘to keep things simple and not overcomplicate flavours’ and the proof of the pudding is most certainly in the eating.
Magie vol, ogies toe, I retire to my poolside room, where the rich burgundy bedspread has been folded to the side to reveal crisp white cotton sheets, concealing an electric blanket that makes getting into them doubly blissful.
On the drive up to Nieu Bethesda (an hour or so from Graaff-Reinet) I detour into the Camdeboo National Park on the Murraysburg road. Here, in the Valley of Desolation, giant dolerite columns descend on to the sprawling plains of the Great Karoo below, a sight that is staggeringly beautiful, potentially spiritual but, alas, the cause of a sudden onset of vertigo. Back on solid tar, the route to Nieu Bethesda winds through picturesque mountainside; vervet monkeys dart across the road and isolated windmills are the only sign of human activity. After the luxury of the past few nights accommodation, I’m not expecting much from the backpackers I’ve booked into, so I’m pleasantly surprised when I get there.
Like a home you can come and go from as you please (the doors are never locked), it is clean and simply furnished, and the owner, Katrin Allemann, welcomes you with hot tea, homemade bread and apricot jam. That night we gather at a large wooden table in front of a roaring fire, while two kittens scamper playfully among the chairs, and we swap road-trip stories over a hearty springbok potjie.
A fellow traveller raves about Stuurmansfontein farm in Carnarvon (63 km north of Loxton), where you can stay in a historic corbelled house, and Katrin talks about the anticipated changes that will come with the tarring of the road between Graaff-Reinet and Nieu Bethesda.
That night a storm rages, though by early morning the dirt roads are dry again. Sadly, one of the roof sheets of Helen Martins’ Owl House blew off in the night and came crashing down into her courtyard of emblematic cement and glass creations, decapitating a king and – literally – breaking a camel’s back. The custodians of this cherished museum are visibly saddened this morning as they sweep up debris around the fallen statues. Helen Martins, artist and recluse, was fascinated with reflection and space, light and dark, and since she took her own life in 1976 her artwork, once an object of derision and embarrassment, has become a celebrated icon of Nieu Bethesda.
Opposite the Owl House at The Village Inn, Neil and Idil Sheard serve really good country grub. They bought the premises 16 years ago, paying a mere R10 000, and later opened the village’s first coffee shop, which their friends said ‘would never work’. Idil has translated several of South African playwright Athol Fugard’s works into Afrikaans. On arriving here, she realised that ‘many of his characters were based on people in the village and most of these people had not read his plays because of the language barrier’. So she approached Fugard one night when he came for dinner (he owned property in the village) and he was delighted that she would put his plays into what he refers to as ‘their rightful language’.
Back on the N1 heading homewards it strikes me that the 500 ml bottle of water in my hand is double the average annual rainfall of any given area in this semi-desert region, hence it often being referred to as the Cape Thirstland. While it may want for water, the Karoo has all the elements of a land less discovered and has quenched my longing for open, inviting spaces.