Food and wine are matches from heaven at Birkenhead

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

I have never before been formally introduced to the head chef within five minutes of checking into a hotel. Turns out nothing could have been more appropriate at Birkenhead House, since Nico Verster's kitchen is the thing that tips this place from delightful to truly extraordinary.

The culinary style here is global fusion layered on a classical foundation, taking advantage of the abundant local larder of the Cape. Wine is an integral part of the meal, with each server having a comprehensive knowledge of the house wine list (at more than 20 bottles, no small task) and the confidence of a trained sommelier to recommend food and wine pairings. Whatever the meal, dining here is an experience. At breakfast, there's not only a buffet groaning with home made breads and pastries, gourmet muesli, exotic fruits, cereals, etc. and the option of a traditional cooked breakfast, but also the chef's breakfast of the day. One day banana crepes, another an omelette Florentine. At lunch, weather permitting, the whole dining room would be transported to the patio, complete with fine linen and crystal, so you could dine at the cliff edge.

And dinner! The magic started with the descent from our room, with each step of the marble stairs leading to the dining room illuminated with votive candles. (When you returned to your room after dinner, you found votives glimmering around your bed.) Before dinner there was a proper cocktail hour during which you could sink into the couches in front of the fireplace, talk to fellow guests, drink your fill (the staff didn't need to be reminded of your cocktail of choice after your first order) and nibble on passed hors d'oeuvres. You could linger here as little or much as you wished before crossing to the candlelit dining room to indulge in three decadent courses with plenty of fine wine. Then it was back to the couches, where you could linger over your choice from a wide selection of after dinner drinks, including a range of whiskys, cognac, armagnac, several grappas and sweet stuff like Cointreau and the local take on Baileys, Amarula cream.

One of the things that makes the whole experience so special is that costs are all inclusive. You're not left feeling guilty about whether or not you should get the more expensive wine, wondering whether you can afford another cocktail or feeling that dessert or that single malt after dinner is profligate. Another is that with every meal, whoever is running the kitchen comes out to chat about the menu with you, answering any questions and suggesting alternatives if there's anything you don't like.

Adjusting dishes is no problem. One night, when told about the magnificent beef the chef had received that afternoon, Piers ordered his steak "blu" (extremely rare), joking that he'd take tartare if they could do it. We would, but we don't have any gherkins, the distressed chef apologised. He'd get some on his way to work the next day, so Piers could have a rare steak now and tartare later. Another day at lunch, we were having trouble choosing from the range of intriguing starters, so the chef offered to create a combo platter for us. Not only was it one of the most beautiful dishes of the trip (see photo at right), but it delivered a range of extraordinary flavours, like Asian beef salad and mussels in a cream sauce.

As already mentioned, however, the real delight of eating at Birkenhead was the wine pairings. Your all inclusive deal includes any wine on the house list, and there are roughly 10 reds and 10 whites to choose from. After seeing the knowledge of the staff, however, we didn't bother making any selections ourselves; we left ourselves in their hands. Sometimes, we even reverse engineered the menus to match the wine. "I haven't had the pinotage yet. What should I eat tonight so I can try it?"

Memorable pairings included a luncheon main of grilled calamari salad with sun dried tomatoes, red onion and goat cheese, matched with a Bouchard Finlayson blanc de mer which was mostly riesling with a bit of semillon. I would not have thought of that combination of salad ingredients, but the meaty squid, salty cheese and sweet tomatoes blended well, augmented by the same sweet yet sharp notes of the wine. At the same time, Piers was eating a gnocchi with blue cheese and fig and cream sauce with a bit of dill. Once again, sweet and sharp flavours in the food picked up the wine.

Lamb with shavings of deep fried squash went with a South Hill cabernet sauvignon from the Elgin Valley. This was a classic Ellen wine; big, bold, rich with berry flavours. Sadly, I wasn't having the lamb, so only stole sips of this off Piers. I was having sea bass, heavy enough to carry a light red wine in the Newton Johnson Felicite pinot noir 2011 from the nearby Hemel-en-Aarde Valley. I can't better the tasting notes on this one: red berries, brambles and pomegranates on the nose; poised, elegant, smooth on the palate with a lingering finish. The next night saw it equally well matched with mushroom soup dressed with truffle oil.

One of the best matches came with a humble but delicious burger. Add Spookfontein Phantom, 2006, also from Hemel-en-Aarde. Ruby red in colour, with hints of mulberry, raspberry, red currant, cherries and vanilla. The tannins would be a bit much to drink on its own, but great with food.

For a lighter touch, there were the scallops and bacon with pea puree and a bit of garlic butter, served with Groote Post Weisser Riesling, 2010. Fresh and clean with simple, unchallenging flavours, Piers thought the acid, apple and crispness didn't necessarily give a roundness to the wine, but there was enough body beneath it to prevent acidity from overpowering. We thought it would be exceptional with curry or other spicy food. Another fine white was the Beaumont chenin blanc, 2009, from Botriver (an area you drive through on the way down to Hermanus). This was a fresh and vibrant fruit combination of lemon, green melon and tropical guava, paired with tempura crab claws that delivered incredibly sweet flesh in a very light batter.

Back with the reds, Gabrielskloof's "The Blend", 2009, also from Botriver, was a Bordeaux blend on par with any of the big, traditional wines from France. This went with those lovely fillets, served with aubergine puree and red wine jus. This was a really magnificent red meat wine, deep and rich with hints of liquorice and chocolate. And the next day, when the fillet returned as the custom-created tartare? The Beyerskloof pinotage from Stellenbosch was fruity, a touch peppery, and very reminiscent of a good Rioja.

If ever you need proof of the sacred match between great food and fine wine, plan a trip to Birkenhead. At every meal we were presented with beautiful elements that could have stood alone, but were so much better together. What a great way to end our honeymoon. Because two becoming better as one is what marriage is all about, right?

Hemel-en-Aarde winemakers have their eyes on becoming the next big thing

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

In most of the world's wine shops, you'll find South African varieties grouped under the label "New World". Rarely has a title been more inaccurate. Europeans made wine for the first time here in 1659, and South African vintages were in head-to-head battles with the French 150 years ago, when Constantia was the dessert wine of choice for the Victorians. There's no other country outside of the European/Mediterranean block with this kind of wine history.

But, as with so much in this country, apartheid stunted the wine industry's growth. With no export markets, the industry shrank. With no global competition, winemakers weren't prompted to the modernisation and innovation that characterises newcomers like Australia. So when South Africa re-joined the world markets in the late 1980s it came with a unique, yet bizarre wine industry: venerable history and vineyards, arrested development in wine making skills. One thing never changed. The Cape is a phenomenal place to grow grapes and make wine. Potential was writ large.

In 30 years, the South Africans have exploited that potential with gusto, while investment money, purchases and tourists from the Old World have poured in to help. Stellenbosch and Franschhoek are now words as familiar to most wine lovers as Burgundy and Bordeaux. But here's where the South Africans are acting very new world. They're expanding beyond the historic, established valleys, realising that almost every valley in the Cape offers combinations of soil and microclimate that could make a great wine.

A vivid example of this is the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley, the entrance to which lies just a few miles west of Hermanus. There are a few established winemakers here, Bouchard Finlayson probably being the best known. But most are small, little known outside of South Africa and ... in many cases ... new. Vines have had their feet in the soil for less than a decade, wineries are freshly crafted beauties of sleek modern design. Even the road through the valley is new. So new, in fact, that it's still graveled dirt for one bumpy stretch. This is a place to watch.

Creation embodies the young, bold spirit of the place. Arable fields just five years ago, this is now a high tech winery with beautiful marketing and dining facilities, built in a circle of lush gardens with sweeping views of a lake and mountains. The vineyards provide the full range of grapes, allowing them to produce everything from a light, sharp sauvignon blanc (notes of passion fruit and pineapple) to a syrah grenache mix with soft fruit, spice and wood. We didn't taste anything worth the expense of shipping home, but there were wines that I'd happily buy if they turned up on our local shelves. Our favourite white was the sauvignon semillion blend, better than the sauv blanc alone due to more complexity and roundness, the green notes of the second grape variety rounding out the fruit of the first. Of the reds, we liked their Bordeaux blend best, a classic mix of merlot, cabernet sauvignon and petit verdot that was full of black currant and blackberry notes, with a bit of smokey oak beneath. We suspected this one could be laid down and improved with age.

Suspected, because Creation let itself down on its staff. Pleasant enough, but entirely uncommunicative on any fine point of the wine. Our smiling server would pop over every 10 minutes to bring us a new glass and pour from a new bottle, but said little beyond "and this is our vigonier." When we tried to strike up a conversation to ask about details, she brought us a lovely coffee table book about the winery with tales of the founders (two couples who wanted to work together) and tasting notes.

Knowledge and conversation doesn't make the wine taste different, but it does help you to appreciate it and consider the nuances of what you're tasting. Which does, honestly, make the wine taste better. Case in point: La Vierge.

We went to this winery just after Creation. It is in a truly spectacular position just at a crest of a hill; the valley falls away before you to the sea, with mountains on each side, the bowl made by the sloping hillsides dotted with wine estates. They've built a glistening, high tech winery, through which you cross on a catwalk to get to their tasting room and restaurant, which has glass walls to take advantage of the remarkable view. Like Creation, the vines here are mostly new plantings, but unlike the winery deeper in the valley, La Vierge has its marketing tuned to perfection.

The woman running the tasting bar was knowledgeable, witty and conversant, not just telling us about what we were tasting, but joining in discussion about how the wines compared to others, what food you'd match them with, etc. All the names and labels are beautifully designed and relate closely to the location. Hemel-en-Aarde means "heaven in Earth", la vierge is French for "the virgin". Most of the wine names have something to do with the Adam and Eve story or other mythological explorations of love, temptation and desire. Original Sin was a sauvignon blanc tempered with 9% semillon, with tones of gooseberry and granny smith apple. Jezebelle a lightly wooded chardonnay that was nutty and lightly fruity. Nymphomane a lovely, fruity, balanced red with loads of tannins that would be worth laying down for two or three years to get a richer flavour. Again, we didn't taste anything so extraordinary we wanted to pay for shipping, but we'll be looking for British sources.

The Temptation restaurant here doesn't have its act quite so polished as the tasting operation. It's a stunningly beautiful room; basically just a lofty, open space with glass walls that let the view do all the work. It's a suitably foodie menu. I had springbok sausages followed by baked kingclip (both classically South African), he chose crayfish tails and chicken almondine, both came with a chardonnay, fig and honey sorbet between courses. All competently done and well presented. As you would expect, the menu has lots of suggested wine pairings, we went for the pinot noir, an excellent middle-of-the-road wine to match both the chicken and the fish. Service is cheerful and upbeat, but painfully slow. Our two course lunch took two hours, with the first food not hitting the table for an hour and it taking them half an hour to get us some drinks. This was probably because a bus tour had occupied three long tables at the front of the restaurant.

But bus tours don't just pop in; they book. Which means someone did not staff properly for the day. And the restaurant was still half empty. Lord knows how they cope with a full house. It was the only meal we ate away from Birkenhead, mostly because we didn't feel like the 40-minute drive home just to get lunch. A pleasant meal, overall, but one that could have been really memorable if served with a bit more speed.

Speaking of meals at Birkenhead, come back for the next entry, where I'll tell you why the hotel deserves to be known as a foodie destination all on its own.

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.

Sabi Sand offers remarkable density and variety of African game

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

Safari, of course, is about the animals. Forget the luxurious lodge, the adventure in arriving, the dramatic landscapes. A safari's success is determined by the quality, quantity and variety of photos you carry home.

We were armed with unexceptional cameras; basic point-and shoots with a maximum 10x zoom, a Flip video and the still and video features on my iPad. And this, honestly, is all we needed. The Sabi Sand is so rich with wildlife, and the animals are all so used to game trucks settling beside them, that just a single drive will probably bring you within 20 yards of more African animals than you've seen in all of the zoos in your life, combined. Our photographic game bag, after deleting all the average stuff, is more than 600 files.

We saw "the Big 5" in the first hour of our first drive. Elephants loping along in family groups, from the grizzled old matriarch to adorable infants. Buffalo streaming to the water hole in a herd so big it stretched beyond the horizon. A rhino, placidly grazing in a grassy copse, not the least bit disturbed as a sleek leopard strolled by casually. (We, however, were stunned.). Best of all, a pride of lions, the male sitting majestic and aloof while several lionesses kept a close eye on a pack of gambolling cubs. We sat in between them, papa lounging elegantly just six feet to my right, three cubs chasing each other up and down a tree perhaps 20 feet to Piers' left.

I was so entranced I didn't even consider the fact that any of these gorgeous felines could take me down for dinner with a few swipes of their huge and lethal paws. The animals completely ignore the trucks, however. We were under strict instructions to keep hands inside and not stand up; evidently, as long as everyone stays in an even line, the animals just see the truck as another, single animal, too big to bother with.

In the lethal but beautiful stakes, it's hard to pick a favourite between the lions and the leopards, both of which we saw in multiples every day. The leopards have a lithe elegance that's hard to beat. One night, just before sunset, we watched a male in his prime stroll across a meadow towards our truck and circle it. We then followed him for about 20 minutes as he wandered through the brush and up the road. Even at a slow pace, his power was obvious. Muscles rippled beneath that exquisite skin, everything moved with elegance and a restrained power. It is surprising, actually, that lions are more associated with monarchy and power since, when you get close to those tawny beasts in the wild, it's hard to shake the feeling that they're just oversized house cats you want to scratch behind the ears and curl up with.

We only encountered the pride with the male and the cubs once. The rest of the trip we tracked a group of five lionesses. At rest, they were gorgeous and dozy. These animals have mastered the art of expending only the energy needed for the necessary jobs; otherwise, they lounge. I like their style. But the lounging is deceptive. This was a group of voracious hunters. One morning we encountered them finishing off the remains of the impala they'd taken down over night. The guide doubted they'd move again, as they'd finished off a buffalo the day before. And yet, by 8:30 we found them crouched beneath bushes next to our watering hole, watching as a herd of buffalo came to drink. Still, silent, rigid with concentration, they sat there for hours. After the large herd had drank their fill and left, a smaller bachelor herd arrived.

At 1:30, while we were sitting down to lunch just across the lake, they made their move. One lioness to taunt someone out of the herd. Others to circle around and behind. A dance of death. Because slowly, surely, by a step here and another there, they eventually coaxed one foolish buffalo out of the herd. And once he was separated, our guide told us, the game was over. There was still one hell of a fight ... one of my enduring images is one of those lionesses being head butted up into the air between the horns of the buffalo ... but eventually, the tawny huntresses got their claws and teeth into his neck and head and drew things to a close. It was the spectacle of our trip. It would be two or three days before the lions would have their fill and give up the carcass to the secondary predators like hyena and the vultures who were already gathering, by which point we had moved on.

There's far more than the Big 5 to see, however. Impala are abundant, roaming in small herds and quick to dash off. And why not? They are the McDonald's happy meals of the bush. We saw almost as many water buck, and a fair number of the more majestic kudu with their beautiful spiral horns. Herds of zebra were skittish, but even more attractive as they galloped away. The giraffe are fascinating as they graze their treetops and, when startled, lope off with such an odd gait due to their shape you have to wonder about the logic of Darwin's theories.

I find it a bit mysterious that buffalo are considered part of the Big 5 but hippo are excluded because, honestly, they're much more fun to watch. Fascinating in shape, adorable in youth and remarkably loud; the haunting bellows of the family in the water just outside our room woke us in the middle of the night. One of my favourite afternoon pastimes was to pour myself a G&T, settle on the deck and watch the hippos slow and stately interaction in the water below. Yet these giants can move at high speed when needed. We saw those voracious lionesses chase a hippo the afternoon after they'd taken down the buffalo and I couldn't believe how fast those stubby legs got the animal back to the lake. But not before she whirled around and faced off with the lions. Maybe this speed was what the Greeks had in mind when they first named them "water horses".

It's not just the big, showy zoo stars that grab your attention. The more drives you go on, and the more you get used to seeing the iconic creatures at your elbow, the more you turn your attention to smaller and more unusual things. Like the elusive honey badgers we tracked in circles around the scrub until they finally made a dash for their dens. Or the side striped jackals, who were far more attractive, and dog-like, than my jackal expectations, which had been entirely set by ancient Egyptian gods. There were monkeys in chattering social groups in big-canopied trees, crocodiles occasionally surfacing in our waterhole and warthogs who epitomised the concept of "so ugly it's kinda cute". Even the bugs were fascinating; a red dragonfly held my attention for ages as it hopped amongst lotus flowers in the lodge's water garden.

But when it comes to the small and unexpected, the guides told us that multiple Safari visitors often end up most intrigued by the birds. And this is no surprise, as the variety, colour and sound of these bush dwellers makes me understand the allure of bird watching. The fish eagles at our watering hole were just as majestic as their bald American cousins, and entertained us regularly by fishing their dinner out of the water as we watched. Burchell's starlings look like your bog standard blackbird until they wander into direct sunlight, where they turn a metallic blue. Vultures are quite a bit more majestic than their cartoon image, and come in many varieties. In fact, we saw one juvenile version ... evidently a highly unusual spotting for that part of Africa ... that looked far more like a hawk. Three Egyptian ducks put on an argumentative show, chasing each other in splashy circles, every time we came upon them at a small neighbouring waterhole. Flocks of guinea fowl often ran alongside our truck. But the most miraculous vision of all had to be the lilac breasted roller, which our guide told us has 14 distinct colours in its plumage. We watched it sitting on a branch for nearly 10 minutes, utterly fascinated. When an approaching truck frightened it away our disappointment was mixed with awe, as watching it in flight was like seeing a rainbow condensed and set in motion.

For most of the guests, this was a rare adventure. For a few ... usually those kitted out with the most impressive camera equipment ... safari was a regular holiday destination. And I can see why. The spectacle of the animal world, from the biggest elephant to the tiniest dragonfly, is a show that changes daily, and never ceases to amaze.

For luxury in the African bush, it's Chitwa Chitwa

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

Camping has never been for me.

Don't get me wrong, I love the great outdoors. Looking at it, taking pleasant strolls through it, watching David Attenborough talk about it ... but I have no need to forgo pleasures like hot water and good linen to get close to it. In recent years there's been quite a trend for "glamping" ... tents, but with all the accoutrements of a luxury hotel. It's a movement that started in the African bush, and there's plenty of opportunity out here for upscale roughing it. But that is not, thank heavens, what we got at Chitwa Chitwa, where the only rough item in the place is probably the exfoliating scrubs in the spa.

Chitwa Chitwa was once a family home, the centre of a vast private game reserve. As times changed and safari tourism took off, the Brink family followed the pattern of many in this area, expanding their lodge with guest accommodation and building a pattern of activities around game drives. The Sabi Sand region is filled with lodges like this, most fairly small and working together to expose their guests to the animals criss-crossing this enormous, fence-free land.

While I have no real comparison, only seeing the other lodges from the outside, I suspect the Sabi Sand experience doesn't get much better than Chitwa, whether we're talking luxury, quality of the staff or the proximity to animals.

The lodge is actually more of a village; a cluster of thatched buildings spread around one side of the biggest watering hole in the area. That fact alone provides a game-watching advantage. We watched families of hippos, herds of buffalo and elephant, and even lions, from the comfort of our own deck. Each of the nine suites is its own detached building. All are different in size and decor, yet share features like private decks and plunge pools, king-sized beds under cathedral ceilings wreathed in mosquito netting and high-concept modern bathrooms, with all of the walls facing the watering hole of glass to make the whole suite a viewing platform. Ours was particularly enormous, as it's actually two bedroom suites, each leading off a comfortable sitting room with overstuffed couches and piles of coffee table books, sharing a deck big enough to host a cocktail party for everyone else in the lodge, if you were in the mood.

The decor here, and throughout the lodge, is a quirky mix of traditional African and modern art. Our suite had black walls, abstract paintings, rich upholstery (including a faux fur bedspread), rococo gilt mirrors, an enormous silver candelabra next to a cocktail tray crowded with crystal, polished spirals of kudu horns and a towering carved tribal figure. A strange, dark mixture, but it worked. Probably because during the day, the glass walls drenched everything with light and spectacle, and at night the staff let down the mosquito netting, transforming the bed into a giant, rose-petal strewn white tent. Given the odd sleeping patterns necessitated by the drive schedule, we spent more time in this room than in any other on honeymoon. It deserved and rewarded our attention. And that's probably one of my top tips for safari; you'll spend the middle of every day in your room, so make sure it's nice.

Of course, if the room hadn't been quite so beguiling, we might have spent a bit more time in the public areas. All of these continued with the modern African rococo style, distinguished in many places by skulls and bones of former occupants of the reserve, gilded and transformed into chandeliers or striking objets d'art.

At the centre of things is the main game lodge. Its primary room is a combination sitting room, bar and dining room, one area flowing into another, all continuing the place's oversized proportions. We gathered every night here for cocktails and conversation. The guests ... affluent, well educated and from a variety of countries with a range of fascinating jobs ... were an interesting bunch, bringing almost as much entertainment to the evenings as we'd had on the game drives. The night we ate in the dining room there were more than 20 of us at the table. Another night we ate as couples at lantern lit tables on the wide decks, and our third night our individual tables were arranged in a 3/4 circle around a bonfire in a wooden walled, roofless enclosure called a boma, set up behind the main lodge.

The bar and living area opens up onto a thatched, open sided veranda as wide as the building behind it. Clusters of thickly-cushioned couches and armchairs sit here, separated by yet another bar; this one used for morning and afternoon coffee and tea. Around the corner, also under a thatched overhang, is a check-in desk backed by some oversized tribal masks. Off here, there's a luxuriously appointed library with the only television in the place (necessary for some people checking rugby world cup results) and a shared computer with internet access thanks to a slow but steady satellite link.

Between all of that and the watering hole, there's a field of decking, part including an infinity pool that overlooks the watering hole, the rest just wide-open area for strolling, lounging and watching the animals. Across that, continuing along the arc of the watering hole, is the dining pavilion. Here, with gravel crunching under your feet, thatch cooling you above and white gauze curtains blowing in the breeze, you settle in for breakfast and lunch, indulging in delicious food and copious wine as the watering hole puts on its own show. (Of that, more in the next entry.)

A path of wooden decking runs from here, away from the water and up a gentle hill. There are gardens and ponds here, taking partial shade from a high stone wall and a few trees. A thatched cottage off to one side is the spa. At the top of the little incline is another large, thatched pavilion, holding a gift shop filled with tribal arts and crafts, and Chitwa Chitwa clothing on one side, and the business office on the other. There's a towering breezeway dividing them in the centre, dominated by a chandelier of elephant bones and framed by sculptures of cheetahs on each side. This is the portal through which we depart for game drives, and where Dino welcomes us back each evening with the signature cocktail of the day.

As night falls, the hippos bellow, strange things splash in the night and we stick close to Andreis as he escorts us from lodge to suite. We are in the lap of magnificently African luxury, but in one respect, this is no different from camping. We are visitors here. The land belongs to the big things prowling the darkness.

Game lodge routine brings structure to some extra-ordinary days

And now, it's time for the excitement and adventure part of the trip.

It had already been a long day of air travel (four hours from Mauritius to Johannesburg, a two-hour layover in Joburg's sleepy local terminal, another 40-minute flight from Joburg) when we touched down at Kruger. The landing was an adventure in itself; don't look out the window if you're a nervous flyer. Nelspruit Airport sits on a flat plateau high above the town of Kruger. Beyond the end of the airstrip is what looks like some impressive cliffs down which an over-shooting plane could tumble. Our landing was smooth, however, despite the recent cool front and clouds heavy with rain. It wasn't the weather I'd been expecting.

The airport, however, left no doubt we were in the African bush. It looks like a big game lodge, thatched and cozy with just a single long atrium for arrivals, departures and a cafe. There was nobody to meet us on arrival so Piers went wandering to try to find our rep from Odie Air. Soon one of the locals offered to call her (Odie, it turns out, is a woman and a company) and we were told to sit tight, the plane was on its way. Not long after, our pilot James turned up, grabbed our luggage, took us back through security and onto the tarmac. His plane was a six-seat Cessna, and we were the only passengers.

If I'd been excited before, I was now at fever pitch. This was a real "Out of Africa" moment, leaving the airstrip in a tiny plane and flying so low as we headed into the bush. From this perspective you can see the web of game trails, criss-crossing the bush like a network of nerves, veins and arteries with the occasional human road intersecting them. The landscape, which looks a dull brown on first glance, is actually a wonder of subtlety, with a rich variety of pale greens, tans, golds, browns and blacks. Our route took us over Kruger National Park, mostly a vast, flat expanse, with drama added by the odd river (mostly dry beds at this, the end of the dry season) or towering plateau. Nearing our game lodge, James pointed to the dirt airstrip running up a gentle hill between the leafless trees. He couldn't speak over the noise of the propeller, but I remembered his grin back at Kruger when he'd said "this is as tough of a bush landing as you get!"

We were on our way in, got close to the ground, then pulled up and circled again. I realised James was buzzing the runway to clear it of warthog and giraffe. Animals pushed back, we came in again for a landing that was gentler than many a jumbo jet on smooth tarmac. Just a stone's throw from the plane's stopping point sat one of the game lodge's trucks, and next to it our tracker, Rodney. Tall and slim, kitted out in classic bush khaki, with skin the tone of black velvet, a musical accent and a grace of movement shared with the local wildlife. He bundled us in the truck and drove us a scant 300 yards to the lodge entry, where the manager pressed glasses of champagne into our hands and told us it was time to move fast. Afternoon game drive was leaving now. Grab warm clothes and your camera, tell us what you want for sundowners (cocktails as the sun sets) and scramble aboard.

And thus began the pattern of game drives that would mark our days at Chitwa Chitwa.

5am wakeup call. Throw on clothes. Pile on the layers, as it could be bitterly cold at dawn. But bring the sun protection, as it will be blazing by 8am. Gather on the veranda for coffee before climbing into our game vehicles at 5:30. You're assigned a vehicle when you arrive, with tracker Rodney perched on a seat bolted to the front left corner, and our driver and guide Andreis behind the wheel. Three tiers of seats rise behind the driver, 10 guests at the maximum ... but we never had more than eight. (I sense this is one of the advantages of Chitwa, as vehicles from other lodges looked more crowded.) About half way through the morning drive, our team would find a spot safe from animals, pull over and set up morning coffee, with some baked treat from the kitchen to hold us over until breakfast.

We'd return to the lodge and a hearty breakfast around 9. After which a walking safari is usually available, but not an option on our days due to lions in the area. (Of them, more later.) The hours until the afternoon game drive featured much needed naps, lounging in our luxurious suite, watching the hippos and other wildlife interact at the watering hole and indulging in multiple-course al fresco lunches with matching South African wines poured by Dino, our ever-present bartender who kept us well hydrated, from that first 5am coffee to the last scotch before bed.

At 3:30 pm tribal drums would summon us back to the main lodge for afternoon tea or coffee before the next game drive. Off we'd wander into the late afternoon, taking in abundant views of game until the sun set and Rodney and Andreis pulled over to set up camp for sundowners. After cocktails, we'd drive back to the lodge with the assistance of Rodney's high beam spotlight, which often picked out nocturnal animals. Without the sun, the nights were bracingly cold; we quickly realised the heavy wool blankets in the trucks weren't just decorative. Above, a night sky free of light pollution glimmered, the long smudge of the Milky Way clearly visible while the Southern Cross proclaimed we were most definitely in a strange place.

We'd arrive back at the lodge about 7, now needing to be escorted to and from our rooms. Nobody walked alone after dark, a precaution that ... even if I hadn't seen the sense in it immediately ... would have become logical on our first morning when I could see clear, large feline paw prints in the sand outside our door. After an hour to freshen up and enjoy a cocktail from the all-inclusive mini bar, the drums would sound again and Andreis would materialise out of the darkness to take us to dinner. Up at the main lodge we'd talk with the guides, trackers and other guests, making a comfortable and conversant party of about 25. By 10:30, most people were letting guides take them back to their rooms, ready to slip under the impressive canopies of mosquito netting and get a good night's sleep before it all started again.

And that, quite simply, is what we did for three glorious days. But each day varied, distinguished by the variety of animals, the meals back at the lodge and the arrival and departure of fellow guests. Three nights and six game drives was enough for us to settle into a routine, and perhaps to reach a level of satisfaction, though we certainly never got bored. Next, it's time to talk wildlife.

Honeymoon Overview: Balanced, idyllic and adventurous ... the trip of a lifetime

This entry was written after returning from Honeymoon, but the post date is the day we left on the trip.

Any regular reader will know that I'm a compulsive travel planner. It's a trait I got from my mother. As soon as one trip concludes, I'm online researching the next. I am inevitably the organiser of holidays, whoever I'm traveling with. So it was completely out of character for me to follow the age old tradition of running the wedding show, but leaving the honeymoon to the groom.

I am delighted I did. Not only did he do a fabulous job, but I didn't have to lift a finger. I just let the wonder of every day wash over me, unconcerned about what was coming but sure it was going to be great.

For two weeks of primarily laid back relaxation, there's an enormous amount to report on. So we'll start with this summary entry before dipping in to a series of articles on the specifics. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it, while the writing will help me hang on to the sun, service and romance for a little longer.

The trip divided into three distinct phases. First, soul-reviving sun and sea in Mauritius. Second, stimulating outdoor adventure in the South African bush. Third, foodie delight on the coast near Cape Town. We had generally good weather throughout, though the second week was a bit cooler than expected (making the fleeces we both purchased at the game lodge our major souvenirs of the trip.)

Our home for the first week was the Constance Prince Maurice, on the east coast of the island. A retreat of almost shameful luxury, we were told the staff-to-guest ratio was four-to-one. And though there are more than 70 rooms, the place is so well designed, and the spaces so generous, we often felt we were two of just a handful of guests. The hotel sits on a long lagoon screened from the ocean by a coral reef, providing the advantages of a private snorkeling area, wide, shallow swimming beaches and multiple water views.

Like so many tropical islands, there's a melange of culture here that makes it a cultural experience as well as a beach holiday. French, English, Indian and Southeast Asian influences all blend here, influencing food, architecture and social traditions. It ticked all my beach holiday boxes.

The exotic beach holiday had excited me most in the planning stages, but in the reality of travel, it was safari that brought the trip's most extraordinary moments. Mauritius and the Cape held elements familiar from other holidays; safari was completely unique. From the moment our private bush pilot met us at Kruger airport, walked us out to his six-seat Cessna, flew us over a landscape that had The Lion King soundtrack pounding in my head and landed us on a dirt airstrip he had to buzz once first to drive away the giraffe and warthogs, I felt like I was in a film. I had been on safari before (see 5.10.09), but this experience was vastly superior.

We were at Chitwa Chitwa in the Sabi Sand, one of a network of private game reserves to the west of Kruger National Park. There are no fences for hundreds of miles here. Wildlife wanders free, is fiercely protected and accustomed to the safari vehicles that accompany them each day. We saw the Big 5 (lion, leopard, rhino, buffalo and elephant) daily, often from a distance of less than 10 feet. The experience was enhanced by a knowledgeable and friendly staff, the handful of other guests and a jaw dropping suite that resembled our own game lodge rather than a simple hotel room.

I feared anything after this would be a disappointment, but the radical change of scenery and the culinary delights awaiting us in Hermanus were magical in their own way. This part of the Cape is, I suspect, what California must have looked like before humanity paved it over. A narrow coastal strip bordered by rocky cliffs, boulders jutting into the pounding surf and beaches in picturesque coves. Seals basking on rocks, flowers cascading along paths, mountains framing the view inland. In between those mountains, lush green valleys carpeted with vineyards and orchards. You'd be hard pressed to design a landscape more perfect than this one.

The point of Hermanus isn't just scenery and wineries, however. (As if that weren't enough!) It's whales. Specifically, Southern Right Whales, who spend their summers basking along this coast, giving birth, rearing young and mating to produce the next generation. The bay on which Hermanus sits is so full of the animals that there's no need for whale watching excursions. Linger on any cliff path bench, stare out to sea and it's unlikely you'll spend more than five minutes before spotting one of these giants send up a plume of spray through its blowhole, lift its fin out of the water for a bit of sunshine or breach with a massive splash.

I doubt there's anyplace more luxurious from which to watch this spectacle than Birkenhead House. Essentially an extremely upscale B&B. What was originally a private home atop the cliffs is now an 11-bedroom hotel built around a series of courtyards with pools and fountains, with a glamorous sitting and dining room, looking out on a wide terrace with infinity pool hanging over the bay. The meals served in that dining room were the best of our trip, with fantastic wine pairings.

We had one of the two oceanfront bedrooms. Quite small, and therefore lacking some of the magnificent bed frames we saw in the other rooms, but I'm a sucker for a view and this one was hard to beat. I saw my first whale before I got out of bed in the morning. The sliding glass doors on two sides of the room opened up a wide vista of sea and coastline, and we were welcomed with flowers strewn across the bed and a bottle of champagne. I was happy.

I have never had a better trip. Magnificent locations, complete pampering, succulent food and wine, and all in the company of my adored (and adoring, he adds in the editing process) husband. Flowers and champagne showed up on all the hotel beds, in fact. That's part of the magic of honeymoon. I suppose that a few nights in Bognor Regis would have been just as wonderful, given the extraordinary celebration of sharing my life with the man of my dreams. But I'm glad I didn't have to test the theory. One of the reasons he is my perfect match: he orchestrated this magnificent holiday, designed to trip every pleasure trigger I have. I fear the travel reviews in this blog will now be setting a much loftier standard.

For more on our adventures, stay tuned over coming weeks as I go into detail on the hotels, the food and the sights.

Can it be three years since Cape Town? The memories are still bright as the African sun

Regular readers of this blog will think, now that it's October, reports from the annual Northwestern Girls' holiday must be on the horizon. Sadly, it's not to be in 2009. Between recessions, unemployment and family illness, there's no room for the trio's exotic romp through food, wine and historic sites this autumn. (Although, as a small substitute, we will be bringing you the NU girls' shopping weekend in Paris in early December.) Instead, my nose will be on a boring but rather intense work grindstone all month.

Without much to report on in the present, I thought I'd slip backwards. It was three years ago today ... before the inception of this blog ... that I stepped off a plane into the sharp spring sunlight of Cape Town, South Africa, about to embark on what is certainly still the most lavish trip of my life. Throughout the preceding year, my UK PR chief's post had been characterised by stunning creativity, fabulous results and shockingly long hours. The reward: Being named "marketer of the year" and sent on the company's annual sales incentive trip. Travel doesn't get much better than this.

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It was a long flight and we were back in coach. It would have been nice to fly business class on an event like this but, as the tour organisers explained, they decided to put the money into the programme instead.

We landed to absolutely gorgeous weather. Clear skies; a crisp, sharp light that throws everything into high definition; sunny and warm but not hot. As expected, the physical setting is terribly dramatic, with the mountains rearing up in close proximity to to water. In both this and the light, it actually reminds me of the area around Marseilles.

We arrived at the hotel to the first of those little extras that kept us out of business class. A full children's choir was on hand to meet the bus, performing intricate dance routines and delivering that wonderful a capella African harmony we've all learned to appreciate since Ladysmith Black Mambazo first hit the scene.

Cape Town has been a surprise. Everything looks robustly prosperous and is extremely clean. It's a city of 3 million with a downtown area of a few modern high rises and lots of mid-height offices from the '50s through '70s, divided by straight, wide and not particularly crowded boulevards. Reminds me of St. Louis or any other Midwestern city.

On the way in from the airport we drove past both shantytowns and the old segregated township areas. These, too, looked surprisingly clean and well-kept, despite poverty. I'll have to keep my eyes open to see if this initial impression holds true, but one gets the sense that poverty here is not accompanied by the abandonment of pride you see so often in the US and the UK.

We spent most of the day at the Victoria + Alfred waterfront area. This is a revitalisation of the old docks areas, a mix of Victorian architecture and very modern malls. It all feels very American. Lots of interesting little shops with native crafts and bars and restaurants with every cuisine you could imagine.

As this is a corporate event, a bit of team building bonding was in order. We organised into teams of six for a scavenger hunt through the area. I provided the chuckle of the afternoon when my friend Hillary and I struck up a conversation with some guys on the waterfront who turned out to be a Travel Channel film crew. We ended up getting miked up and doing interviews. Much mirth about the PR chief not being able to resist cameras. So anyway, later this year I might be on a Travel Channel show called "1000 places to see before you die." (I never did hear that anyone spotted me on this show, so I must assume I ended up on the cutting room floor.)

We did a very brief harbour cruise before dinner. The wind was extreme and the temperatures quite chilly, so it was only a half hour circle around the bay and back. A good chance to see the effects of the fading sun on table mountain, and a sea lion, but we didn't get far enough out to see the whales who are supposedly cavorting off shore.

The highlight of dinner was a local fish called a kingclip. Very firm flesh, like monkfish, and very tasty. We had a fun table of people; there are about 100 people here with winners, executives and a guest with each, and all are clearly ready to party. It's going to be a fine week.

The hotel is particularly lavish. I wasn't expecting much when I saw we were staying in the Sheraton (since re-branded the Westin Grand), but this place delivers on five star quality and is far beyond your standard corporate hotel. The lobby space is cool, functional and modern, with plenty of running water, open fires and clean lines. The room is gorgeous. Sleek and functional, elegant in its simplicity yet with creature comforts like heaters in the bathroom mirrors that keep them from defogging, a gorgeous lounger that's both comfortable and a work of art and lights inside the closets. The hotel designer's master stroke, however, was clearly making one entire wall a clear window overlooking the harbour. On the penultimate floor, and with no frames to the windows, it's as if you're floating over the edge of the city from any point within the room. The views are so stunning we could hardly bring ourselves to pull the drapes for the night.

Going to bed fairly early now, however, since we're promising ourselves a workout before breakfast.