BUDGET FAMILY BREAKS
It’s possible to have a weekend away for R3 000. Two KZN-based families show uss how
Of course, within 15 minutes in the car, one child says: ‘Is there anything to eat?’ No, I say, we’ll stop on the way. Thankfully, before they got too ‘hangry’, there on the side of the road sits Claude Timam, chilling in a wheelbarrow, fiddling with his phone, low-fi South Coast style. Balanced carefully next to him are piles of fruit. Mangoes for Jack, avocados for Thea. Lots of bananas. Sorted for padkos. Except now the children are trying to stroke a cow, happily snacking on the grass between the N2 and the R103. ‘The cow is not for sale,’ said Claude. ‘It’s okay. We only eat meat we don’t recognise,’ Jack says. It is difficult to keep me away from going down the South Coast. So close to Durban but still far away. There is something magical about the very green hills and dense tropical foliage, with views of homesteads and the ocean as you drive. ‘It’s like the wood between the worlds – you can almost feel the trees growing … and the bananas,’ says Jack. This is not a place inhabited by the rich, and generally it offers weekend breaks many can afford. Tidal pools are this coast’s answer to the North Coast’s infinity pools. And after Richard Carstens, awardwinning chef at Lynton Hall, took his thyroid clouds and mushroom ice-cream and headed for the Western Cape, most restaurants offer seafood baskets, ribs and milkshakes – perfect grub for children. There are a few posh, gated exceptions but basic beach cottages are the best bet for a chilled family holiday, as are chalets and camping at self-catering spots. Camping at Rocky Bay is right on the beach. So, unlike many parts of the world, the cheapest accommodation here has the best sea view. We opt for a one-bedroom (four beds) wooden bungalow on stilts, a frisbee throw from the ocean. We have a view of the lagoon, and there’s a boardwalk that takes guests under the railway bridge and onto the beach. ‘This is the best place,’ says Thea, reading the instructions for the DStv, which she can watch from the top of her bunk bed. ‘It says Never Ever Turn Off
The Television.’ Unfortunately it is true; the sign explains that the sea air interferes with televisions. We throw a towel over the telly and head for the beach. Rock pools, clad with mussels and anemones, are the main feature, perfect for clambering on with nets, perfect for fishing off. Jack and I meet James Mac here. ‘I come here every day,’ he says. ‘From Maritzburg.’ ‘For the fishing?’ I ask. ‘I come to heal,’ he replies. I nod in sympathy. Even on a family-focused weekend, opportunities abound for tired parents to stare into the ocean in a trance of cathartic blankness as their offspring build castles and chuck sand at each other. ‘It’s not emotional healing,’ he clarifies. ‘It’s my foot. I accidentally hammered a nail all the way through it with a mallet. The salt water is helping the wound.’ Jack and I go for a swim to heal our wounds. The sea is warm and not too rough. There are no shark nets. ‘No one has ever been eaten,’ says a lifeguard, ‘but you mustn’t go too far out. We have saved three people today.’ Thea is collecting shells to make a necklace. Despite it being a site for launching boats and a long weekend, the beach is not crowded. A short walk further north, I find Preston Beach, a massive tidal pool and people happily chilling, braaiing and playing cricket. By the end of the day we’re all so in the South Coast vibe, we can scarcely be bothered to put on our flip-flops for dinner at the Sugar Baron, Rocky Bay’s bar and restaurant. Luckily we don’t have to. The only enforced dress code here is that patrons should not be wet. Over fresh prawns and spaghetti bolognese, we decide there’s been enough lazing about – tomorrow is action day. There are many options. All along the coast are some of the world’s best surf spots, and much of the ocean is a protected marine reserve. Aliwal Shoal is just down the drag for snorkelling, and from Rocky Bay you can go shark cage-diving, which Jack opts for. You will find crocodiles at Scottburgh and we were told a python was once spotted in the Umdoni Forest. Thea and I decide to go and look for one. ‘We have to take Jack’s pen knife,’ she says. ‘Remember what Colwyn said: If you get coiled up in a python you must breathe in a very shallow way. Then the python will think you are dead and loosen its grip enough for you to get your knife out your pocket and stab it.’ Colwyn is
‘You can almost feel the trees growing … and the bananas’
a friend of ours who has surfed this entire coast and walked all of its jungles. We don’t find pythons in the forest, where paths meander magnificently through umdoni trees and milkwoods, but an overgrown trail leads down to a river where we find an otter’s tracks, porcupine quills and a small snake slithering out of the way. This is enough to keep a less-than-keen-on-hiking child interested. Back at Rocky Bay we explore the trail running and cycle tracks through the sugar cane, at child’s pace. Putting coins on the railway line is our last adrenaline activity. The children admire their squashedness in the car before, completely and happily worn and sunned out, they and their dad close their eyes and with mouths open and the occasional snort, sleepily dribble all the way home. I wave to Claude in his wheelbarrow and slowly, reticently recalibrate for real life.
Eshowe is the historical heart of battlefields where King Shaka’s men, armed only with short spears and an incredibly progressive military strategy, took on the guns and cannons of the Imperial British army, and confounded them. It was therefore fittingly dramatic that the first time we passed through, blood was spilled! We were en route to visit the Xaba family ancestral land in Vryheid. A quick stopover landed us in the emergency room of the Eshowe hospital after our youngest got a deep gash on her knee from an uncovered tent peg. Sixteen stitches later, we proceeded on our journey. To distract the children, I made them call out the places of interest written on signboards along the road. A few caught my attention, and this is how, two years later, we ended up with the itinerary for our latest road trip. Going to the bush was our preferred option for this particular assignment, but the cost of game reserves seems more geared to Euro-flashing travellers and not so much to us little ZAR people. Also, the children were not keen to leave Rosie, our labrador, at home with a dog-sitter again, so we settled on doing ‘bush lite’ and basing ourselves in Eshowe. We broke up the drive there with lunch at Zinkwazi Beach, one of our favourites: pet friendly, fisherman friendly and home to the Ski Boat Club, a lovely log cabin on the beach, serving the soggiest fish and chips ever consumed by man. The location is so gorgeous and the beers so cold you just have to forgive them the food. On arrival at Mphushini Falls Resort, they knew nothing about our booking (in spite of the e-mail confirmation) and had no rooms. The sun had already set so we hit the internet feverishly looking for alternative accommodation at the last minute. Many simply did not answer their phones. Long story short, we ended up at the cosy Abendruhe Guest House, which welcomed us and Rosie very warmly; owner Heinrich even brought a special rug for her to sleep on. We changed and rushed off to Shakaland for the evening performance – even though it was all staged, it was rich, informative and inspiring. Our three little chatterboxes were rendered silent for once by the audiovisual spectacle!
Early the next morning we entered the centuries-old forest in town. The tree canopy spread out beneath us as we stood on the viewing platform of the Dlinza aerial boardwalk. It was so breathtaking that we all instinctively fell quiet. Kulunga eventually broke the silence, whispering, ‘Everything is a photograph here.’ And it was. We had not requested a guide and regretted this. It would have been very interesting to learn the names and habits of all the birds and creatures we came across, instead of this type of city-slicker conversation that occurred more than once – Kulunga: ‘Oooh! What a beautiful bug!’ Zakithi: ‘Like a mosquito with giant spotty wings! What IS that?’ With three Zulu ‘princesses’ in tow, it was only fitting that we pay our respects by visiting Queen Nandi’s grave, mother of Shaka Zulu himself. Our online research promised that we’d find a special grave designed by a cultural committee to honour her memory. Imagine our shock at finding her resting place in a shambles. The signage to the location was extremely poor and we had to depend on helpful locals to redirect us. Finally, our Sahara Wrangler was able to tear across the overgrown hillside to stumble upon what can only be politely termed a heap of large stones held together by concrete and ‘protected’ by a broken, rusty fence. A piece of wood bore the words ‘Nandis Grave’. Tapiwa noted aloud that it was ‘even missing an apostrophe’. Were it not for the exquisite and breathtaking landscape of the surrounding mountains and valleys, I’d say we burnt fuel for naught. To add salt to the wound, we got a puncture in our front tyre. I’m not one for superstition and whatnot, but I still can’t shake the feeling that it was a message from the Great She Elephant for me to relay to the nation at large that she is bitter at how neglected she is. The puncture put paid to our
plans of visiting Bulawayo battlefield and the Lone British Soldier’s Grave, so we returned to Eshowe. It’s a wonderful place – warm and inviting, like the town I grew up in. There is the main road that leads everywhere, the business owners who all seem to know everything about the town and its inhabitants, the tourist attractions that locals sheepishly admit they never visit. And one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever had, at The George Hotel: lashings of bacon, English Breakfast tea, and exquisite colonial ambience (I know, not very PC, but it really took me back home to the Gymkhana Club in Malawi). A giant image of Dame Helen Mirren on the wall above the reception desk, from when she stayed here while filming; the library suffused with the pleasant smell of aged paper and old leather, the alfresco dining space, the brilliant staff… it’s just special. The rooms are charming and, with a slightly bigger budget, we all would have loved to stay here. Interesting side note: no one asked for the Wi-Fi password, Eshowe was that interesting!