At home in the Wild
There are parts of South Africa that never change, writes Jim Freeman of the Eastern Cape’s Wild Coast
IWAS sitting in a pub the other day, watching rugby with my friend Sandile from Queenstown and comparing notes on the Eastern Cape in the way that only those who have roots in the province can do. Talk turned to my recent visit to the Wild Coast and some of those three-star family hotels that dot the coastline at places such as Haga Haga, Qholorha, Morgan Bay, and the Qhorha and Mbashe river mouths. Many of us remember them from our youth; the places to which parents and children would decamp year after year for a week or more.
They were – and still are, I found – places of great innocence… places where, Sandile agreed, the spirit of ubuntu still lives.
Yes, the little settlements have grown and in some cases have become gated retreats where upcountry ultra-rich seek seclusion, but the friendliness and lack of pretension on the part of the locals is unchanged from when I started going there nearly 50 years ago.
Do not make the mistake of thinking that the establishments are inferior because they are three-star. They might be inexpensive but the rooms are modern, clean, well-appointed and generally have views of the sea. Most are within a 30-second walk from the beach.
They provide outstanding value-formoney at the best of times, but most also have winter specials. The Eastern Cape, it should be noted, has a very temperate year-round climate, though it can get quite windy.
My visit was a right old trip down memory lane.
I remember my dad and I being kicked out of the Haga Haga Hotel (I must have been six or seven) because my father had forgotten to bring a bottle opener – no screwtops in those days – and got me to hold his beer bottles while he shot the tops off with a .22 target pistol. The manager took umbrage when a bullet whistled past his nose.
Then there was the practice of “borrowing” bar trays from the Morgan Bay Hotel and skimming them across the river mouth to see who could skip them furthest. My father couldn’t swim, so I had to dive to fetch those that sank.
It was there that I stood on a sand shark one evening and nearly drowned in fright.
Kei Mouth was where my dad used to head with his mates for a long weekend. He’d always invite my mother and she always refused: she knew there would be more drinking than fishing, and she had no time for male shenanigans.
Late last year, I went back for the first time (a two-night stay at a five-star spa in Chintsa a few years ago doesn’t count) to photograph the Wildcoast Wildrun, a 112km trail run over three days to Hole in the Wall. I spent much of my time in a small helicopter and was captivated by the beauty and majesty of the area – huge rugged cliffs and long unspoiled beaches against which the runners appeared minuscule. I vowed to return on my own time as soon as possible.
The roads are, for the most part much, worse than I remember travelling in my father’s Peugeot 404 station wagon. Perhaps that’s why hordes of tourists aren’t flocking to the area.
However, the tougher-than-tough 2017 Volkswagen Amarok I was driving was more than up to the task of traversing the severely potholed roads leading to the coast from the N2. Most people visiting the Wild Coast drive down in their double-cabs, SUVs and 4x4s with all their fishing and holiday paraphernalia on board.
While the hotels have canoes, boogie boards and all manner of things for hire, they’re mainly for youngsters’ entertainment.
And that’s what a family holiday is all about, isn’t it? Keeping the kids occupied while mom and dad do their thing?
Not at all, says Daan van Zyl, who has been managing Kob Inn at Qhorha Mouth with his wife Violet since 2004.
“Most of our guests have been coming here for years because we provide them with the environment to reconnect as families.
“They come mainly from urban areas and one or both parents work throughout the week. Over weekends they are too tired and stressed to spend meaningful time with one another, let alone their children.”
Van Zyl’s sentiments are shared by Haga Haga’s Sandy Chemaly and Richard Warren-Smith at Morgan Bay.
While the latter two are listed as hotels, Kob Inn is classified as a “country house” by the national tourism grading council because, says Van Zyl, even three-star hotels have to provide flat-screen televisions in each room. This is something he refuses to do.
“If you want to spend the day watching TV, stay at home. There’s a television in the adults’ lounge – which is exactly that, no one under the age of 18 – and one in the teenagers’ chill-out room… where there’s an adult presence at all times.”
Everywhere I go on the Wild Coast, I discover the same thing: families are encouraged to bond but the youngsters quickly begin to gravitate towards each other, affording parents time and space to do their own thing. The younger guests seem to revel in the space and openness available to them and, because they have no electronic option, they make friends with one another.
In some cases, these are friendships that last a lifetime.
And another thing: there’s no master-and-servant relationship between guests and Inn staff.
“People build up a very strong relationship with the front-of-house staff,” says Van Zyl. “Aggie’s been here 36 years, starting as a child-minder and now as manager of the bar – which she rules with an iron fist,” he says, adding: “There’s one 15-year-old boy who’s been coming here a couple of times a year since he was a baby when he used to be carried around on Aggie’s back. We worked out the other day that he’s spent a year and a half of his life at Kob Inn.”
On my first night at the inn, I was enjoying the hearty three-course set menu when I noticed a young girl – probably around 14 and clearly a “mall rat” when she’s home – crying inconsolably and hugging every waitress. She was leaving the next morning after being there a fortnight.
During the day, many of the waitresses double as child-minders or baby-sitters.
On the Wild Coast, attention to detail does is not about providing fancy coffee-makers and bar fridges in the rooms. It’s about simpler, more meaningful things.
At Morgan Bay, a pre-teen boy caught his first (fairly large) fish. That evening, not only did the kitchen prepare it for the family, mention was made on the
and everybody cheered and clapped as it was carried to their table.
Morgan Bay is the most accessible of the southern Wild Coast destinations and can easily be reached by passenger vehicle. This makes it a preferred destination for people flying to East London and hiring a car.
A word of warning: don’t go to the Wild Coast if you hate spectacular dawns and sunrises.