WE’LL MEET AGAIN, MAGOEBASKLOOF
There’s this thing about certain places. Before you’ve ever set foot there, sometimes as you first hear about them, they possess a strange charm. It’s like you’re familiar with the landscape even though you have no idea where it is on the map. Shortly after booking accommodation for a family road trip in late 2018, I happened to casually mention to my friend, art dealer and collector Warren Siebrits, that one of the stops on the way would be in Magoebaskloof. He lit up immediately and told me how, 25 years before, his father had accidentally taken him there on the way back from the Kruger Park. “The area’s remarkable spiritual quality stayed with me,” he recounted. “I went back with my girlfriend, Lunetta, in 1999, and we’ve returned there at least 15 times since.”
Hearing how a wrong turn had led to a lifelong connection reminded me that some of my most memorable travelling experiences started out on a whim. Fresh out of school, I spent years country hopping and soon learnt that to get to the best destinations all you need is a hunch. Maybe it’s something in the name or the image it conjures up, but these special places are already part of you, lying deep within your subconscious, waiting to finally meet you face to face.
When I eventually did roll into Magoebaskloof, carefully navigating the dirt road that took us to the gates of Glenogle Farm, it wasn’t quite like I’d imagined, but was certainly unlike anywhere I’d been before. A blackened forest, dark, shady and full of adventurous opportunities for our five-year-old boy, surrounded our cottage on this rambling, secluded estate. A path led down to a gorgeous dam where water lilies and reeds rustled as unseen shadows rippled the water around them. It was mysterious and enticing, unknown and familiar. Warren’s description made perfect sense: “Our very own Twin Peaks experience.”
Earlier this year I returned to Glenogle for a fashion shoot, where we used its enigmatic backdrop to paint a somewhat prescient portrait of isolation. Then, as luck (coincidence/fortune/destiny) would have it, I travelled all the way back up there with my husband a few days later, on my birthday, to attend a wedding at Minas Art Café.
Now the way I’ve described this forested mountain town might make you think it’s all goth and gloom. But it’s not. It’s way more surprising, less obvious than that. And this became clear when lunching at the lovely Mountain Café. There was singing to mark my special day and, through this, I discovered that another diner was also celebrating. Turns out Marloe Scott Wilson and I were born on the same day.
Known as The Pink Lady in the ’80s, a popular singer with hair to match her name, Marloe now lives in neighbouring Haenertsburg, where she paints, rescues animals and grows an organic garden. She was warm and welcoming, and is, apparently, always ready to burst into song.
She let me in on her best local spots — for fresh rye bread, for lamb curry, for cheese-and-garlic focaccia.
Our wedding weekend was wonderful.
We stayed at the stately Magoebaskloof Hotel, entranced by the spectacular views over the valley and witnessed vows being exchanged in a pine forest before dancing the night away under the stars.
I had my list in my hand as we drove back home, silently promising to check each item off when I returned. Soon.
We passed The Ranch Resort where, the day before, 122 South Africans had been repatriated from Wuhan, China. That night a state of disaster was declared. Then lockdown. Now, a month later, I’m thankful that my last outing was to such an astonishing, atypical part of the country and comforted by the knowledge that it’s waiting for me.
Like it always has been.
Do you have a funny story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photo of yourself.