Whales, flowers, giant mice and a great hotel kill desire to wander far from Hermanus

I wrote this entry after returning from Honeymoon, but the posting date coincides with when we were actually experiencing what's described here.

And finally, south to the Cape. After the luxury of Mauritius and the adventure of the Sabi Sand, would this be a disappointing denouement? Happily not. Honeymoon Part III was distinct enough from its predecessors to deliver its own memorable delights.

We arrived in the glistening new Cape Town airport mid-afternoon and picked up our rental car. It was odd, after 10 days of being shepherded everywhere and waited on hand and foot, to suddenly be on our own, thinking for ourselves and reading our own maps. A good transition back to the "real world" that lay five days ahead, we thought.

Our objective was Hermanus, a coastal town 75 miles southeast of Cape Town. Getting there is a truly gorgeous drive. It takes about 30 minutes to get through the urban sprawl of Cape Town itself, then you're climbing towards Sir Lowry's Pass, with the whole Cape penninsula spreading away beneath you. Up and over, the views change dramatically. The landscape of fertile valley interspersed with dramatic hill and mountain stays the same, but now everything is agricultural. We pass mile after mile of orchards, vegetable fields, grape vines, with little more than the occasional farm shop or fruit packing plant to break the pastoral idyll. I get the same feeling that haunted me the first time I was here: It's California, before too many people mucked it up.

We reached Hermanus in 90 minutes and, despite having a car at our disposal, didn't wander more than about 15 miles from there until it was time to return to the airport. This is a place to slow down, linger and appreciate life. The town ... a cluster of low buildings, mostly galleries, tourist boutiques and restaurants ... sits on cliffs in the elbow of Walker Bay, famed as a wintering spot for the southern right whale. Spreading out from town on either side are neighbourhoods of gracious seaside villas landscaped with a dazzling array of exotic seaside flora; again, you'd think you were in California if it weren't for the abundant security around each house. (Every prosperous South African seems to have his own personal security detail; this place is a gold mine for ADT.)

There's a coastal path that runs along the bay, cutting up and down through black rock cliffs dotted with vivid flowers, sometimes falling straight into the sea, sometimes encircling pristine little beaches. Eventually, this path comes down onto Grotto Beach, a wide, flat stretch of white sand that runs for more than a mile. Last visit I spent a happy afternoon at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens but, honestly, this coastal path was just as impressive. Some 10% of all the world's flowering plants are found in South Africa; the Cape Peninsula alone has more indigenous plant species than all of Great Britain. I think I saw half of them on my hour long walk on the path between hotel and town; this could only have been improved with a naturalist to talk me through what I was seeing!

The whales have made this a major tourist site, but the sheer beauty of the place ensures its popularity. This is, according to a South African colleague of mine, the place to which every native of that country dreams of retiring, and many of the well heeled already have. The whole area reeks of money, with lovely architecture, wineries and an abundance of restaurants.

Birkenhead House started life as one of those luxurious beachfront homes, now expanded and converted to an elegant little hotel with just 11 rooms. These are arranged around a series of courtyards and public rooms stretching back from the sea. First, there's a white marble patio with an infinity pool and stunning views of Hermanus to the right and Grotto beach to the left. Staff magically switch out furniture as weather and time of day demand; sometimes there are thickly-cushioned sun loungers, sometimes dining tables. Behind that, through glass walls that bring the outdoors in, is the combined sitting room and dining room, open plan and with a large fireplace which proved most useful for keeping the chill nights at bay. Then a small courtyard with a burbling fountain filled with fish, then a much larger courtyard with a lap pool and lounging area ascending in tiers, sitting areas on one side that can be opened to the air or shut behind glass doors. Steps up to another lounge area, then another fountain-based courtyard, then finally an arched tunnel leading to the suburban street.

While I only managed to peek into four or five rooms, I have to assume that the footprint of the public spaces is at least 50 per cent greater than the rooms themselves. This is, quite simply, a great place to loiter. Augmented by a magnificent staff that got to know you quickly and anticipated every need. Why stray far when you can collapse into the overstuffed white couches with one eye on a good book and another on the whales outside, the lovely Marius appearing at your elbow a few minutes later to ask if you're ready for a G&T? Or you might linger over a multi-course meal on the sunny patio, or curl up for a nap on the round, tented sun loungers; or settle between fire and television in the pool-side lounge to watch rugby. If you're tempted to walk the coastal path to town, you simply need to pop into the Marine Hotel and ask them to call Birkenhead for you; a driver arrives in 10 minutes to whisk you back home.

Because Birkenhead started as a private house, rather than being purpose built as a hotel, there's a big difference in size and layout of various rooms. We were given a choice when we arrived: Room 11, a decadent space with a four-poster bed, a dark, sexy boudoir style and a big bathroom, or Room 2, a small double with gentle, white decor and a lovely but equally small bathroom. I chose No. 2. Why? It was the room with the view. No. 11, for all its opulence, had a small balcony screened by trellis work that looked over a suburban street. I could have been anywhere in middle America. No. 2, positioned on the front corner of the building, had sliding glass doors on each side, separated by just a small pillar at the corner, giving a panoramic view of sea, the coastal path and Hermanus itself. Our balcony hung over the patio and cliffs, the sea below and whales regularly visible without much effort. (In fact, I spotted my first on our first morning before I even got out of bed.) We got a peek into No 1, just across the landing from ours. Similar view, much bigger, additional balcony looking over internal courtyards. This is the room to which I dream of returning.

Birkenhead is a fabulous spot to base yourself for a holiday, with plenty of activities both nearby and within an hour's drive. I can easily imagine spending a week or more here, although my waistline couldn't tolerate it. (For more on Birkenhead as a culinary hot spot, stay tuned.) The simple pleasures of walking and whale watching could fill several days on their own.

The whales come to this area from June through November to give birth and mate, before returning to colder waters for the rest of the year to feed. Massive (15-16 meters long, on average), predictable and docile, their name comes from the fact that they were the "right" ones to hunt. Easy and profitable. With most hunting now banned, their population is healthy and Walker Bay is a top gathering spot. In three days, I don't think we ever had to wait more than 15 minutes to spot one, be it via the distinctive double spouting of their blowholes or impressive breaches. They're much more fun to watch than the Hawaiian humpback whales. While those just teased us with an arch of body and a fluke of tail before diving, the right whales seem to enjoy being on the surface, wallowing in the sunshine and slapping their fins on the water. Evidently, the sunnier and the calmer it is, the more the whales are likely to come close to shore and bask in the shallows. No wonder the poor things were easy fodder for hunters. Today, mostly protected and with life spans of 90-100 years, they're making a different contribution to the economy by pulling tourists from around the world. Hermanus even employs a whale crier, whose sole job is to keep a lookout and blow a horn whenever he spots the animals.

The whales aren't the only wildlife worth watching around here. This coast is rich with bird life, there are some colourful lizards basking on the rocks and it's not unusual to spot seals lounging on the rock promontories jutting into the surf. If you take a drive down to the Cape of Good Hope (about two hours, something we did the day we returned to the airport) you can see penguins, baboons and even wild ostrich. My favourite animal of this part of the trip, however, was far less showy. I didn't even know it existed.

Imagine my shock to be walking the coastal path, come around a corner and come face to face with a giant mouse sitting atop a wall, staring at me with a placid expression. I thought I'd stumbled into Narnia and come face to face with Reepicheep. Nope. It was a rock hyrax, also called a dassie. On closer look, they're more like oversized guinea pigs, and so adorable you want to pick them up for a cuddle. (They'd be a comfortable armful.) But they're skittish creatures who dash for the undergrowth quickly so, while abundant on this coast, you're likely to see them for just a moment before they run for cover.

After exploring the flora and fauna, the obvious sightseeing here is all about appreciating another kind of plant: grape vines. Of that, more in the next entry.