Peter takes final snapshots from our patio

We spot the usual suspects (water buffalo, various birds, giraffe, hippo, zebra, hyena) on the last game drive of our trip. Peter and I pack our bags before breakfast and head down to the pool for our final meal. As Fortune pours us a glass of freshly squeezed guava juice, I tell him how much I’ll miss the food here, even the snacks like their homemade dried mango strips. When we finish eating, Peter and I thank Fortune profusely for making our stay so uncommonly memorable. He replies with a sincere, “Pleasure,” the South African phrase that has been used abundantly by the entire Singita staff since our arrival. Then Fortune hands me a little clear bag tied with a paper ribbon. “For your trip back home,” he says. In it are dried mango strips. Of course.

In a few hours, I’ll be on two horrid small planes, then two larger ones that will transport me back to New York. Since goodbyes are difficult, I’ll just end with this:
I’ve discovered Africa and I will return.

A few hours later, relaxed and refueled, we’re ready for our final evening game drive. I nibble on some homemade carrot & raisin cake at tea time and meet new guests who have checked in recently. A young Japanese couple is on their honeymoon; a white Jewish couple from Manhattan’s Upper West Side is also honeymooning, Singita being their final stop after touring Botswana. Two British sisters who look like Paris & Nicki Hilton are glamorous and famous-looking. It turns out the older sister, Joanna Taylor, is a popular actress in the U.K. and married to footballer Danny Murphy. Peter jokingly suggests we take paparazzi shots of her to sell to the tabloids…

Tonight’s game drive ends up being one of our most exciting! Just before sundown, we spy a group of impala in a hilly section of the bush. Mark maneuvers the Landrover over rough terrain, climbing over thickets and strong branches, temporarily taking us on a wild, all-wheel drive ride. The impala are nervous, agitated, and barking their alarm call which signals the presence of a predator. This is the moment Peter’s been waiting for: a view to a kill! Dudu searches the surrounding area for clues—tracks, broken branches, etc.—that will help her determine how far away the lions are. As a tracker, her sense of awareness and intuition is razor sharp; she can tell the speed of a lion, where it turned around, where it hunted, if it missed or caught its prey—all written in the dirt.

Dudu motions for Mark to veer in a northwesterly direction… and lo and behold, we see a pride of lions simultaneously sleeping and sunning themselves. They lie only a scant three feet away, and I believe it’s the closest we’ve been to a lion so far. One yawns lazily, showing off a missing tooth; another sniffs, rolls over, and stares at us upside down. As we watch utterly fascinated, Mark runs through the life-cycle of the lion, its behavior, hunting patterns and social life. He believes these lions are part of a group known as The Mountain Pride. Suddenly one lioness gets up and begins moving towards our vehicle. I freeze. Peter snaps away with the telephoto lens, and for the first time on this safari, I feel afraid. “Don’t be scared,” Mark whispers, “Everyone, just stay still. Whatever you do, don’t stand up.” The animals view the Landrover as one large creature, something more dangerous than themselves, and generally avoid confrontation… but as soon as one person stands up, they recognize the individual and accidents can occur.

The other rangers have gotten wind of our spotting and soon Landrovers roll up one by one, turning the once peaceful and intense scene into a Disneyland-ish, zoo-themed spectacle. Our group had been too entranced by the lions to notice time passing by… but it’s dark and that means we should be heading back to the lodge for dinner.

Our car can’t stop talking about the lions and the kill that didn’t happen. A family from New Jersey is riding with us: a mom and dad are visiting their teenage son who is doing community service work in Africa. Peter and I are chatting with the son about Cape Town when Mark interrupts us: “Sorry, everyone, I have to ask you to cover your eyes.” There’s yet another surprise in store for us? (I hope it involves a bathroom…)

Surprise dinner party in the bush

About 5 minutes later, Mark gives us the okay to look. When we open our eyes, it’s an unexpected, stunning sight. An elegant dinner party has been transported outdoors to the middle of the bushveld. Lanterns flicker on a dozen makeshift dinner tables, all formally set with centerpieces and tableware. I see a fully stocked bar area glowing with more lanterns, canapés and finger foods. A grilling station is firing up beef kebabs, duck breasts, chicken thighs, filet mignon, and ostrich sausages. A crackling bonfire flashes in the middle of it all, and what looks like the entire Singita staff is milling around the guests who are disembarking from their Landrovers with astonished expressions.

Karine, Fortune and Peter

Fortune finds Peter and me in the crowd to hand us a glass of champagne. “This is beautiful,” I tell him, “How did you set this all up? It must’ve taken all day…” “The entire staff worked on the dinner, starting in the morning. We took multiple trips in many Landrovers to transport the food, lights, and furniture.” It’s a high-style campsite complete with heat lamps and port-a-potty!

At the end of cocktail hour, we’re seated according to our game driving groups with rangers sitting at the heads of the tables. Soon after Fortune takes orders for our casually elegant three course meal, the stories flow. The teenager from New Jersey tells us about his encounter with vervet monkeys, which leads Mark into a comic rendition of monkey mayhem on his family’s sugar farm.

A well stocked bar, of course

The NJ mom complains about the deer problem in her suburban yards. I ask Mark more stupid, layman questions about zoology. Everyone (with the exception of Mark) gets rip-roaring drunk. As we finish up dessert (and a round of shots of South African liquor the teenager ordered for our table), we hear the familiar sound of deep, spiritual singing. The local women are back to serenade us with traditional Shangaan songs, and this time there are more of them. Their voices carried by drunken clapping reverberate throughout the bush, and if any animals are nearby, I’m sure they’d stay away thinking we were one large, bacchanalian, merrymaking animal.

Singing and dancing

It’s my last night on safari and the drive back to the lodge is a reflective one. Without Dudu in the car, I volunteer to hold the special flashlight so Mark can see the road better. I do a poor job. It’s a silent ride with the air feeling chilly and crisp, but so healing and healthy. With all the alcohol consumed at Singita, I’ve never heard anyone complain of a hangover. It dawns on me that I’ve woken up at 5:00am every morning without feeling headachey or dehydrated after an entire day of drinking. There must be something in the air…

I can see why someone like Mark, who has grown up in and around nature, feels at home here in the bush. It is a place for the loner, the human being who maintains a deeper relationship with the animals and landscape than with a man or woman. Being on safari is escapism in its earliest, vestigial form. You don’t need to speak to anyone on safari, really… you can just watch, observe, listen to Africa, and still feel fulfilled. A life without cell phones, taxi cabs, and traffic congestion sounds enticing to me. I bet I could live here. The next morning, a sober Karine relays her thoughts to Peter, and he responds, “You wouldn’t last two weeks.”

Our outdoor bed

I’m up at 5:30am even without the dawn wakeup call. I leave Peter soundly asleep and take some photos of the sun rising on our patio. The sun’s colors look perfectly blended and ethereal streaming through the nets of our tented bed. Though many of the guests do sleep outside on the terrace, Peter and I have yet to try it. Yesterday afternoon we stepped out on the terrace to watch some giraffe drinking from the river and noticed footprints on the outdoor bed. Baboon tracks! On the day we checked in, the staff warned us to keep our patio door locked because wily baboons can expertly open sliding glass doors and raid the mini bar!

Candelabra tree

After gorging on another delicious breakfast, we meet Mark and Dudu for our scheduled bushwalk. Since we’ll be traveling mostly on foot, I leave behind my journal, which makes it difficult to remember the names of all the plant and bird species. Mark and Dudu carry their rifles, though as always, they will do their best to avoid using them. We see poisonous candelabra trees, plants shaped like banana leaves, and gorgeous acacias casting silhouettes against the turquoise sky. Mark instructs us to lean down onto the ground to inspect curious-looking piles of dirt. The mounds are perfectly formed pyramids, and after we dig through them, we find tiny insects called ant lions. They trap other insects, mostly ants, in their dirt pyramids to feed off them. Peter puts one in his hand and it plays dead, a clever survival tactic I never thought such small creatures could pull off.

Dudu showcases a pair of kudu horns

Further along on our hike, Dudu spots a pair of kudu horns. They are the only remaining bones we see from an obvious kill site. Massive in size and weight, it’s difficult to imagine an animal being strong enough to support such an adornment on its head for all of its long (or short) life.

We see colorful birds of all varieties and pass by a river full of bathing hippos. One of them bellows and the sound rips through the bush like a sonic boom. When I comment on the ferocity of the hippo’s roar, Mark tells me that the roar of a lion can shatter a human being’s rib cage if he/she is standing too close!

Hippos bathing in the river

On the lookout for animals

 
Relaxing, Resort-Style

A leisurely afternoon on our patio

After our morning bush walk, Peter and I have the entire afternoon to while away before the evening game drive. I read a coffee table book on South Africa on our patio. It’s hard to concentrate on the book when animals are sounding their cries and creeping into your peripheral view. After a few attempts, I put down the book and watch the elephants and giraffes instead.

Thatched roof lounge

It’s an incredibly clear day, so we decide to have a drink in the thatched roof lounge and take turns looking out onto the bush through a large telescope. Wine and cheese sound like an ideal afternoon snack. At this point I should write about Fortune (and the level of service in general at Singita), the lovely young man who has been attending to Peter and me since our arrival. Each guest is assigned a personal butler or valet upon check-in, and he is the one to escort you to the village, schedule your spa appointments, serve you snacks and beverages, take your meal orders, make your stay indescribably luxurious. At first the idea of such personal service invites discomfort when you consider the history of colonization and servitude in Africa… but Singita manages to seamlessly orchestrate the relationship between staff and guest without pretension, guilt or grandeur.

Our favorite man Fortune

Our valet, Fortune, is a native South African with the most infectious smile and the sweetest of manners. He looks maybe 25 years old and speaks excellent English with a faint accent. He also has eyes in the back of his head. Just as you reach for that bottle of Sancerre to top off your glass, he magically appears to do it for you; by the time you lift yourself out of the pool, he’s stashed a pile of fluffy towels and a fresh robe on your lounge chair; during dinner outdoors, when it’s close to 10pm and quite chilly, Fortune is there with a blanket to drape over your shoulders. And now, as I crave some wine and cheese in the shady lounge, Fortune again heeds my call. I ask for “a few bites” of today’s cheeses (as if I didn’t get a good enough taste at breakfast), and a mere 15 minutes later, a glorious cheese platter (a sculptural masterpiece, really) appears with quince paste, dried fruits, fig jam, honey and damn it, more of their irresistible bread. It’s enough to feed six of my cheese-loving college girlfriends, and I pine away for their company.

Fortune and the rest of Singita’s extremely professional staff exceed all expectations of the discriminate traveler. I’ve stayed at some extraordinary hotels around the world, but Singita blows them out of the water. The guest is truly the master of the universe here. As one friendly, older couple from Long Island said to us incredulously, “Can you believe this place? It’s like a dream…”

 
Evening Game Drive #3: A Cocktail Party & the Most Beautiful Sunset in the World

Before our evening game drive, Peter has an afternoon massage scheduled to take place in our suite. While he falls into a post-treatment slumber, I’ll swim some laps in the pool.

Chairs set up to view the sunset

As we meet for coffee and quiche in the lounge, Mark lets us know that Peter and I will be the only guests in the Landrover tonight. “Is there a particular animal you’d like to track?” he asks. Peter immediately responds, “Leopard!” Mark laughs and says he’ll do his best. We spot some water buffalo, funny-looking creatures with curly-Q horns. They remind me of General George Washington with their horns that look like toupees. We finally get a good glimpse of crocodiles in the river! One emerges from the water to sun itself on the muddy banks, and we manage to snap some far-away shots with the long lens. More kudu and antelope varieties skipping across the road. As the sun begins to set, Mark tells us we’ll be having sundowners in a totally different spot tonight. He veers the Landrover off the path and drives towards an open patch of the bushveld. We see other staff members hovering over a long table laden with barware, glasses, bottles of wine and spirits, hors d’oeuvres.

Lindsay the bartender

It’s a surprise cocktail party in the bush! We’re the first to arrive… and the first to sip a gin & tonic while we watch the pinks and reds in the African sky meld together. There are sunsets and then there are sunsets. In his autobiography, Nelson Mandela writes that the most spectacular sunsets are those found in South Africa, the ones he remembers seeing while running freely in the bush as a youth: the open spaces, the simple beauties of nature, the clean line of the horizon. I couldn’t agree with him more. Pretty soon, the other Landrovers show up one by one, but Mark and Dudu are eager to track some more animals before dinner time so we say goodbye and ride off in the sunset.

Most of the animals seem to have gone into hiding for the night, so we head back towards the lodge for dinner. Tonight, Peter and I have invited Mark and Dudu to join us at our dinner table, a tradition most guests uphold at least once during their stay. I figure I’ll have time to rush back to the room, shower, and quickly change into something nice, maybe the maroon silk caftan I found in Marrakech.

A pride of lions

Suddenly, Dudu signals to Mark and whispers loudly enough for us to hear: “Lions!” She points her large flashlight towards a spot in the dark, grassy fields. I see them! The first thing I notice is their penetrating stares—the whites of their eyes are practically burning holes in the night sky. Then I see their bodies. They are lying casually in the tall grass, five or six of them, maybe more that we can’t see. Mark turns off the ignition and as we creep towards the pride in a slow, neutral crawl, he radios the other rangers to share the news of Dudu’s discovery. As we watch silently, a female rises and begins to roam around. Another one follows her lead and a few of the lions begin to migrate. We spend nearly 40 minutes following these nocturnal predators before heading to dinner. Mark pats Dudu on the back, congratulating her on the “good spot.”

A flat tire on the way to dinner

The drive back to the lodge is a bit bumpy and Mark keeps glancing in his sideview mirror to check out the car’s wheels. Something’s not right. We pull off to the side and Mark and Dudu get out with their flashlights and rifles. It’s confirmed—we have a flat tire. They pull out a spare and a jack from the trunk, but one of the tools seems to be broken. Mark has no choice but to radio one of the other Landrovers to come help us. In the meantime, we wait in the car. Even though we had just spotted a pride of lions a few yards away, I don’t feel scared. To pass the time, we put our feet up on the seats in front of us and do some star-gazing with binoculars. Mark gives us a quick astrology lesson as he points out the brilliant Southern Cross in the African sky. Soon, a second Landrover comes to our aid and we’re on our way with a spare tire attached.

After a speedy shower and change, we’re shown to our dinner table by the lantern-lit pool. It’s a gorgeous setting for a very special dinner with Mark and Dudu. Peter encourages Mark to choose the wine, which he does appreciatively, but not without requesting a beer first. The initial sip of his brewski elicits a soft, “Ahhh… tastes so good.” The staff is not allowed to drink alcohol during any of the guest gatherings or sundowners, and of course not while driving. I tease him about getting drunk with Peter and me tonight since it’s a special occasion, but he laughs politely and says he’s only allowed a few glasses during our dinner. Dudu, on the other hand, has never touched or tasted alcohol in her life, nor does she care to. She’s nearly 40 years old. Our dinner conversation is full of questions about Mark’s and Dudu’s lives in South Africa, about their families, how they like their jobs, the types of guests they encounter at Singita. Mark was raised on a sugar farm in Durban and learned to speak Zulu before Afrikaans or English. As a youngster, he dreamt of being a ranger, and now he’s living his dream. “When I’m away from the bush, I get depressed. This is where I’m happiest… in the bush, with the animals.” Dudu also dreams of being a ranger, but acknowledges the well-known fact that females (and blacks in general) face discrimination in the climb to the coveted position. While listening to her stories, I look at her animated face and see the conflict in her eyes. Certainly she feels fortunate to work at such a prestigious safari lodge, and most likely she makes more money than her fellow villagers… but she’d like to be a ranger like Mark. Dudu has never owned a camera, film or digital.

By the time we finish individual desserts and the final plate of truffles, it’s very late and I’m very drunk. A porter is waiting to walk us back to our suite, and along the way, he points his flashlight into the face of a giant kudu hidden in the brush! The porter whispers that the animal is very scared and to just keep walking. Though I’m extremely tipsy, I can clearly see how enormous the kudu is, much larger than it appears when we see it from several feet away in a Landrover. I now realize why guests must be escorted at all times.

A romantic surprise awaits us when we open the door to our suite. The bath is drawn with floating candles… votives next to His & Hers slippers… rose petals placed in heart-shaped patterns… a bucket of champagne on ice. The accompanying note: “Dear Mr/Mrs Kim, Congratulations on your Anniversary.”

“Congratulations on your anniversary, Mr/Mrs Kim”

Our first giraffe sighting! They are majestic up close, so tall and regal with rich, sumptuous coloring. One male and one female graze on some leaves. Mark says that giraffes have the highest blood pressure of all the animals, nearly double that of humans, and give birth standing up. Tiny black birds flock around the two giraffes, and we find out that as larger animals move about, insects fly out of the way, which become food for the birdies. We learn that giraffe means “swift” in Arabic.

Other sightings:

• mongoose
• 2 white rhinos
• female antelope
• a dazzle (herd) of zebra
• wildebeest
• leopard in a tree!

The last sighting is the most exciting of all! The leopard is notoriously difficult to spot as it is very sly and mysterious, moves stealthily among trees, and flees swiftly once noticed. Before we can snap a picture, he scrambles down from the tree and hides in the bushes. Mark is radioing the other rangers, alerting them of our leopard sighting and our approximate location. All the rangers are in constant contact with each other for this very purpose. We wait 40 minutes for the leopard to emerge (sounds boring, but it’s really quite fascinating!), and finally give up after Mark tells us that it is probably very nervous and waiting for us to drive away.

Still, we can’t believe our luck! We arrived only yesterday but we’ve already seen the Big Five: lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, buffalo. Known as the Big Five because they are the most dangerous animals to hunt & track, Mark turns around and tests our group, “But what really is the most dangerous animal of all?” My smart husband answers correctly: “The human.”

Back at the lodge, it’s breakfast time. I take one look at the menu… and the standing buffet… and realize I’m in a world of hurt. Will I fit into my jeans in five days? Jackfruit, papayas, melons, kiwis and berries are heaped in bowls next to four different yogurts and homemade granolas. Every day the kitchen bakes no less than five different loaves of fresh bread (fennel parmesan, apple raisin, cucumber dill, pumpkin squash, 9 grain) and serves them alongside fabulous cheeses. Could I really eat gouda & camembert with cucumber dill bread at 8:45am? My stomach said yes. And let’s not forget the feature pastry of the day. Today’s blueberry banana walnut muffins are served in adorable, individual clay planters garnished with blades of chive. Martha Stewart would weep with joy. Peter declares his eggs benedict the best he’s ever had (and he’s the expert on that brunch item); I decide to carbo-load and order the mixed berry crepes drizzled with honeyed dark chocolate and creme fraiche. I’ll swim some laps later…

An assortment of cheeses at breakfast	Fruits, cereals, yogurts, granola
Blueberry banana & walnut muffins a la Martha Stewart	Peter declares, “The best eggs benedict in the world…”

A warning from Singita

With your early afternoons free, you can pretty much do anything… except walk alone. Singita is on an open range where wild animals roam free. Lions, giraffes, and kudu have all been spotted on the grounds. No one is allowed to walk unescorted between the lodge and village (where the spa and African Trading Store are located), even though the distance is about ¼ mile and it’s daylight. When night falls, you must be escorted by a porter/bodyguard to your room. If you decide at midnight, you’d like a drink at the bar, you must call the front desk for a porter to pick you up from your suite.

 
Evening Game Drive #2

Tonight we see:

• bushbuck
• elephants
• giraffe
• baboon
• cliffspringer
• zebra
• water buffalo
• sleeping male lion

Elephants observed from our patio

Lion taking a nap

When we return from the evening game drive, the bartender has freshly moistened hand towels and a tray of tropical cocktails ready for the guests. Two new friends named Dominic and Hayward ask us to join them for dinner tonight. We accept! They live in Dolores Park in San Francisco, and Peter and I bond with them over cocktails. During dinner, we polish off two bottles of wine and chat about our backgrounds: Hayward is an anesthesiologist and Dominic is a pharmacist from France. We talk about our love for San Francisco and how it’s the perfect city. Pretty soon the dining room is empty, and our requisite rangers venture over to our table to discuss tomorrow’s plans. Peter and I opt to skip the morning game drive and sleep in; we arrange a 10:00am bushwalk/hike with Mark and Dudu instead. It’ll be interesting to view the bushveld on foot and take notice of the smaller animals, insects and plant life we tend to pass by while riding in the Landrover. I’m looking forward to seeing some animal tracks up close!

Oh nuts

Being the nervous flyer that I am, I struggle to maintain composure during the turbulent hour long ride. But it isn�t easy when passengers� faces are inches from yours and their fingers are gripping your seat, and accidentally your hair. As the noisy plane dips like an old-school roller coaster on wooden tracks, I look out the window and imagine what the crash will be like�probably quick because we�re low to the ground and probably painful since I�ll be pierced by all the tree branches. No need for a burial�the animals will take care of my mutilated body.

Oh nuts again

Once we land, I�m horrified to see another smaller, even more fragile looking plane waiting on the dirt runway. The reps from Singita tell us about the second 25 minute flight which we�ll be boarding with the last remaining couple. This plane looks more like one half of a helicopter rescued from the junkyard. I�m near tears by now and ask about riding in a car instead. �You could,� the pilot says gently, �but it would take much longer. Over 3 hours. I know you can do it!� His name tag reads �Oliver,� and he looks all of 18 years old.

Another harrowing chapter in my life comes to an end when we finally touch down. A South African ranger named Derek greets us in a car for the 40 minute drive to Singita Lebombo. We really were going to the middle of nowhere. I need a drink, a big one. But the drive is our first exposure to wild animals roaming in Kruger National Park. A beautiful ostrich struts down the road in front of us; there go zebra, giraffe and kudu. Suddenly the trials and tribulations of getting to our destination seem worthwhile.

Peter and I marvel at our accommodations for a full hour after we check in; we take numerous photos of the outdoor shower deck hanging over the river, bathroom buried into a tree-trunk, sunbed that converts into a mosquito-netted nightbed. An interesting chandelier made of interlooping glass rings hangs from ceiling to floor (Peter calls it the �Funion� chandelier after the tasty snack chips), and a minimalist desk hides the best stocked mini bar I�ve ever seen (artisanal cheese, half bottles of Stellenbosch wine, bientong, Belgian chocolates). In the sitting room, the modular coffee table is strewn with serious looking art books, dominoes, chess set, paints, brushes, and an artist�s pad should you feel inspired by the African sunset.

A welcome note

A bathtub with a view

Walls made of windows

Glass lofts embedded in the cliffs

In Shangaan, Singita means �the miracle,� and Lebombo, �in the cliffs.� It lives up to its name. The design team and engineers were inspired to create a lodge that merges the abstract and the organic, the indoors with the outdoors. Here, there are no walls like the barriers you know them. As you stand in your suite or �loft in the sky,� you feel the sensation of being continuously close to the elements. Your room is really a translucent glass tent (the walls are windows that look out into the bush), and the roof is a canopy of intertwined branches to let in the sun, moonlight and shadows. When we stand outside on our private patio to gaze at the bushveld and Nwanetsi River, they seem to go on for acres and miles. There�s a wild, savage feel here, but I think I�ll sleep well tonight.
Evening Game Drive #1

While the early morning game drives begin with a 5:00am wakeup call before the sun rises, the afternoon drives start at 4:30pm with coffee, tea and freshly baked goods in the outdoor bar/living room area. This afternoon we meet our South African ranger, Mark Macneillie, and our female Zulu tracker, Dudu. There are four other people in the group�a couple from Italy who speaks no English, and a couple from Johannesburg who are veteran safari travelers. As we roll along in the open Landrover, I start to adjust to the territory. It�s just after winter in Africa, and the trees are barren, the grass is lacking color. The tires crunch over brittle branches and dust flies up everywhere. Soon, Mark is pointing out kudu (type of antelope), impala and elephants! Peter and I start snapping away as we get super close to a few male elephants chowing down on a dinner of leadwood trees. The first official game drive sightings are exhilarating!

Kudu

Elephant

Peter and an elephant

As the sun sets, Mark pulls the Landrover off-road to a safe, animal-free spot. He and Dudu open the trunk and display a cooler full of refreshments (beer, wine, hard liquor) and light snacks like dried jerkey made of gamey meat, bruschetta, and fruit. Part of the dusk game drive ritual is to stop for a �sundowner� and enjoy the phenomenal sunset with a drink in hand.

Landrover hood turns into instant bar table

On the way back to the lodge, Dudu, with her incredible sense of sight and sound, locates a pair of lions! A male and female are slowly moving in the dark among the tall bush. You can see their eyes glowing as Dudu shines her special light on them. Mark tells us they are about to mate, playing hard to get with each other. We creep along with the pair in the Landrover as they stop and go, but after 35 minutes of waiting for them to �get it on,� we give up and head to dinner.
Serenaded in Shangaan

Dining area at night

After a quick trip back to the suite to wash the dust and grit off my face, we sit down for our first dinner at Singita. You can choose where you�d like to dine�by the pool, in the bar, in the main dining room with the glass doors slid open�but wherever you sit, you�re sure to be astounded by the food. We choose the candlelit dining room and glance at menus that rival ones found in New York�s and San Francisco�s finest restaurants. First courses offer seasonal salads with native fruits or grilled jumbo prawns caught off the African coast. Mains include a bounty of fresh fish options, grilled to order, or local meats that lean toward the exotic, gamey variety. Singita�s sommelier is available during each meal�even at breakfast and lunch!�to personally help you select the wine you�d like to drink. The lodge�s wine cellar holds thousands of South Africa�s rarest bottles, and since all beverages are included during our stay, we indulge. We are reminded by the sommelier that wine and cheese tastings can be arranged any time for a more personal tour of the cellar. Something to think about�

In the distance we hear the approach of local women singing traditional Shangaan songs. They arrive in the dining room in brightly colored shawls and headscarves, clapping, singing, swaying, and laughing.

Serenaded in Shangaan

After an incredible meal, we sit on the outside sofa facing the pool for a nightcap of cognac. It�ll be an early night� we�ve been flying all day and tomorrow�s wake up call will be a rude awakening at 5:00am. I can�t wait to draw the mosquito net curtains and test out the bed.

Backlit pool

Enjoying a nightcap

gooseberries, papaya, guava & mango juice

First stop: Greenmarket Square, the central flea market, to pick up souvenirs like masks and figurines. Peter is on the hunt for wooden giraffes for his co-workers (apparently an inside joke), and I’m scouting for fun jewelry for my girlfriends. After much bargaining on Peter’s part, we take our goods and walk a few blocks to the Pan African Market where I have a field day. The market is a large emporium set up bazaar-style with vast numbers of rooms filled with antiques, crafts, clothing, jewelry, and general ethnic curios. We spend a few hours walking through, doubling back to make sure we hadn’t skipped any rooms, and finally break for lunch.

Walking down Long Street, a small black boy dressed in rags stops us to ask for change. He keeps repeating, “Please, I am very hungry.” I rummage through my pockets but realize my husband is carrying all of our rand. Peter reminds me of what the cabbies, hotel concierge, and guidebooks warned: street kids are commonly addicted to drugs, especially sniffing glue, and it’s best not to hand them money. We keep moving and the kid persists. He’s pressed up against me and I look down at his shoes. They’re riddled with holes and his toes are sticking out the top. I feel sad.

fishy fishy at two oceans aquarium

We wander through a few boutiques on a sketchy-looking street before Peter and I duck into a creperie / gelateria / salon / clothing store to grab a simple lunch. After purchasing a blouse designed by a South African local, I ask the sales clerk to call us a cab. We stop by the Radisson to drop off our shopping bags and take the hotel shuttle service to the Two Oceans Aquarium.

Tomorrow’s flight to Johannesburg leaves at 6am, so we decide to eat an earlyish dinner at the hotel restaurant. After a few “sundowners” on the outdoor patio, we move inside to the glass-enclosed lounge to watch a soccer game (big fanatics here in South Africa) before being seated in the dining area. Though fearful of the ungodly wake-up call tomorrow morning, we relax with a bottle of wine… after all, it’s our last night in Cape Town.

whales!

Hermanus is a quaint, picturesque village on the southern coast that is famous entirely for its advantageous whale spotting. September happens to be peak season for southern right whales to flirt, mate and calve in the warmer waters off the coast. You can view these playful giants from land, just standing along the craggy cliffs that run along the shoreline. We don’t spot any whales from the tour van, but once we arrive in Hermanus, Peter and I join clumps of spectators standing on the rocky cliffs. Everyone points at clouds of mist and spray water that erupt from the whales’ spouts, is the easiest way to locate them. The money-shot is one of a breaching whale—when it lifts itself out of the water and performs a brief little show. Too bad we didn’t get one.

lunching inside bientang’s cave

We lunch inside a cave! The restaurant Bientang’s Cave is built directly into the rocks just above the sea, with a fantastic view of Walker Bay and whales at play. We order fried calamari and giant queen prawns with chips.

The only town in the world to have a “whale crier”: a self-appointed native community man strolls around town blowing a kelp horn when he spots a whale, letting the village’s inhabitants know they have company.

The drive back from Hermanus to our hotel is a sobering one. Along the highway I notice for the first time the townships or “shantytowns” where blacks were forced into segregation during apartheid. Even with the end of apartheid ten years ago, these permanent communities are where the majority of blacks still live today in totally dilapidated “houses” made of tin, broken pieces of wood, even cardboard paper. No running electricity or modern plumbing. How these structures hold up during South Africa’s rainy, windy winters is a mystery. I witness blacks walking on foot along the freeway. It’s a heartbreaking scene. Some hold up signs with written destinations, hoping for the generosity of a passing motorist. The lone pedestrians project signs of defeat: mostly on their faces, in the slump of their shoulders, a hopelessness in their gaits. Without education, jobs, not even proper transportation, many in the townships resort to crime. Our whale-watching tour guide begins a discussion on the profitable business of security in South Africa… how private residences, shopping malls, banks—all establishments, really—are equipped with razor sharp fences, stone walls, high-tech alarm systems, gun-toting security guards to ward off burglars and robbers. I recall the shopping mall at the V&A (no less than 100 employed armed security guards mixing with the shoppers), the bank ATM (armed guard standing next to the entrance), small boutiques on a safe-seeming street (iron-gated door where you need to be buzzed in), parking lots (armed parking attendants watching cars), so heavily guarded it brought feelings of nausea. Even the most amazing beachfront homes lose a bit of allure when surrounded by iron gates. It’s a reminder that separation and fear exist here, and some people want to keep certain others out.

Instead of sleeping in on my birthday, I get up at 5:30am, throw on yesterday’s jeans/hoodie/baseball cap, grab the camera, and dash to the hotel terrace to capture some sunrise photos.

rise and shine	early bird gets the worm	morning dew

After Peter wakes up, we walk over to the Victoria & Albert Waterfront to catch a boat ride to Robben Island. The waters are choppy and I’m feeling quite vomitocious. Visiting the prison where Nelson Mandela spent the bulk of his political imprisonment—a mind-numbing 27 years—is a powerful experience. Our black tour guide is a former anti-establishment prisoner who returned to Robben Island to make a living on the very island where he was held captive for ten years. As he shows us the leper cemetery, church, limestone quarry, mess hall, Mandela’s cell, etc., our group begins to grasp the magnitude of the atrocities committed here. We hear that white prisoners were given a full set of clothing: long-sleeved shirts and pants, proper shoes. Though they weren’t well fed, they were given at least enough to sustain themselves.

penguin colony on robben island

The coloreds, people of Indian or Malay descent, were allotted only a portion of what whites received; blacks made do with t-shirts and shorts, even during the bitterly cold winter season, and subsisted on meager diets while toiling away in the quarries. Still our guide divulges at the end of the tour, that after he was freed, one of the first guests he invited to dinner was a former prison guard. Like Nelson Mandela, this man stunned South Africa and the world with his lack of bitterness and huge capacity for reconciliation.

fresh shellfish lunch at camp’s bay

When we break for lunch at trendy Camps Bay, a beachy enclave referred to as the ‘Cape Riviera,’ our cabbie points out multi-million dollar houses hanging off the cliffs. Wealthy Capetonians people-watch on restaurant terraces with superior beach-front views, sharing shellfish platters and drinking imported beers. No sign of Third World country here. In fact, Cape Town vaguely feels like Nice, France, and Darling Harbour in Sydney, two other captivating cities on the water. Peter and I sit under an umbrella, order Bloody Mary’s and a shellfish platter… and take in the trendy, very gay-friendly vibe.

atop table mountain

Next stop, Cape Town’s most prominent (and most photographed) landmark: Table Mountain. Instead of burning excess calories on a six hour hike, we opt to take the rotating cable car up to the top for awe-inspiring views of the City Bowl and Table Bay. It’s considerably windy up there–even the tripod trembles–but we manage to spend the next hour photographing the jagged coastline, yacht-strewn bay, midnight blue waves and rolling fog. There’s something to be said about literally standing on top of nature, sensing it swirl around you, feeling mighty small up against it. It’s both exhilarating and serene. When we descend the mountain, the cable car is no longer buzzing with anticipation and conversation as it did on the way up; everyone seems calm and mystified by what they just saw.

When you turn 30, do you take portraits?
Before a super grown-up, ultra-elegant dinner at the Mount Nelson Hotel’s Cape Colony Restaurant, Peter subjects me to the camera.

Driving up the isolated, tree-lined driveway to The Mount Nelson Hotel, we are saluted by a uniformed guard. The landmark hotel is unabashedly colonial, a more historical version of ‘Tara’ from “Gone with the Wind, and suddenly Peter and I feel the need to polish our manners and act graciously proper. A pianist dressed in a tux plays Andrew Lloyd Webber on a baby grand. The server knows it’s my birthday and glasses of champagne are paraded out. Fennel & chevin tart, seafood bisque with crab flan; confit of salmon with rhubarb compote & Cape Malay prawn curry; bottle of South African Pinotage. As we linger over gingerbread pudding and truffled milk chocolate praline, the restaurant turns romantically sedate. Capetonians dine early, it’s only 10 o’clock. A quiet German couple sits at a table to our left and a party of distinguished-looking locals idle in a booth. On the pianist’s cue, our server presents a whole chocolate birthday cake complete with candles to the tune of “Happy Birthday.” But after two individual desserts (I finished both), there isn’t space for even a bite and the cake is packaged up for us to take home. Forget room service breakfast, I’m eating cake. I couldn’t have asked for a more memorable 30th…

birthday cake: mine, all mine!