Tranquillity at Clos Malverne
E are almost officially in winter, according to the earth’s annual journey around the sun; the solstice is on June 21, after which the days gradually begin getting longer.
It’s the saddest date of the year for me as I love these seasons, autumn in particular. There is so much to recommend. Not only does it herald the months of fabulous discounted specials in the hospitality and restaurant industries, but we get to dress in lovely layers of jerseys, coats, scarves, boots and hats – all the better to go tramping about in the outdoors, where the ground is soggy and squishy, leaves have been swept into piles which can joyfully be kicked up in a spray, the grass is crisply frosted, and the air is clean and cool in your nostrils.
Then there is the light, the very special light. With the sun at a lower angle, all day becomes that mystical “golden hour” which photographers seek out for the best pictures. Shadows and highlights give landscapes definition that is absent in summer, and nature is bathed in hues of orange, pink, brown and purple.
The vineyards of Stellenbosch – and all over the Winelands – are resting… many are just bare naked twisted and gnarled branches right now, while some are stubbornly clinging to their last leaves and
Weven at this point of their cycle they are incredibly beautiful. You’ll be surrounded by this kind of vista when you spend a couple of nights at Clos Malverne in the Devon Valley on the outskirts of Stellies. It’s a working wine farm, and the six rooms in the newish luxury accommodation block – which used to be a shed – are set slap bang in the middle of the vineyards.
The view extends across to large fields populated by cattle, and a distant tree line filled with noisy birds. What they have to carry on so persistently about from before dawn until lunchtime is a mystery.
Behind the sliding doors, my room was quiet though. When I woke up, I peeked through the curtains and was rewarded with a delightful pastoral scene of cows (including a baby) nesting in the grass while an eerie slowly-drifting cloud of mist draped the ridge above and behind them. The sun only comes up over the mountains to the east after 8am, so you don’t have to get up ridiculously early to see it. The vineyard trellises on my doorstep were decorated with sparkling strings of dew drop jewels.
Besides these rooms – each of which is named after a wine grape varietal, mine was Cinsaut – there are three more up the hill.