Remembering La Residence

 

 Meandering through my matted mess of pink knockout roses, purple passion flower, and giant yellow sunflowers -- once lovingly cared for, now seemingly forgotten -- I felt myself drifting away, drifting back to the home of the white iceberg roses and flowering purple salvia and golden grape vines. Drifting back to the mountains with the green-striped fields, fields that looked like God had personally raked and manicured the yard himself. Drifting back to the peaceful valley of impeccable charm – charming hosts, charming home, charming gardens.

La Residence in the Franschhoek Valley, and our residence for the last days of our South African trip, was the peak of grandeur, yet oddly, its grandeur didn’t make me feel small or insignificant, but important and invited. And oddly, when my own garden is a less-than-grand, tangled mess of weeds, I’m not inspired to write; yet today I soon lost myself in one delightful memory after another of the time we spent in the fragrant land of the white roses.

I thought my friend Gana had prepared me for the elegance of La Rez, one of her favorite places, and my friend Gana is the most travelled friend I know. But she did not. I thought my son Reid had prepared me for its grandeur. He hasn’t travelled as much as Gana, but he’s travelled a great deal over the past eight years he’s worked for Ker & Downey. But he did not. And then there’s the La Residence website, which I thought had prepared me for a fabulous treat in the wine lands of South Africa. But it didn’t either.

La Residence is more than beautiful, the staff is more than gracious, and the food is more than delicious. Delicately dropped in the Shangri-La setting of the fabulous Franschhoek Valley, La Rez is indeed more than grand. And even though we were traveling Americans on vacation, we were treated more like invited guests visiting friends who wanted us to enjoy their incredibly elegant, yet warm and welcoming home. And what I soon discovered was that friends nor words nor pictures are able to do it justice; La Rez is a personal experience I had to have for myself to understand how special it is. And regardless of how hard I try, my flowery prose won’t do it justice either for La Rez is a poem waiting to be penned.

La Residence was all about the details -- consideration for our personal needs and interests -- and from the moment we alighted from our car and were greeted by Evan and the staff, the world revolved around us. Whatever we showed an interest in, they were interested in it, too. When I mentioned I loved gardens, Edward, the general manager, guided me through the spectacular rose gardens where in addition to the blinding-white icebergs, there are 27 varieties of roses. (I think that’s the number he said.) From our balcony the glistening, white roses seemed to hover mistily against the blue-hued mountain tops; close up, they were even more heavenly. More than once I exclaimed to Ian, “Now that’s what I want my garden to look like!”

And as we strolled by the prolific, pink bougainvillea, our cameras in hand, I’d forget to take pictures because I was so enamored with the vision, a vision reminding me of the Antique Rose Emporium back home, and a vision that left me hopeful, hopeful that my own garden might speak one day as this one does. And also a fragrant reminder that even though I was visiting South Africa from the United States, we speak the same language, the language of nature and beauty, even if we live on opposite sides of the world.

Later, when I inquired about a specific fruit tree in the garden, Edward had the fruit cut, demonstrating its unique qualities and leaving me wondering why I hadn’t paid attention to quince before. From a small tree, quince -- a golden pear-shaped fruit with a glue-like sticky center -- is the fruit Edward called “a confused guava.” Which opened another opportunity for me to learn as Edward also had a guava cut so I could compare the quince to the smaller, rounder, and greenish guava with a reddish center, an apple-like fruit that some people think, I found out later, might be the fruit referred to in Song of Solomon 7:8 when the bridegroom hopes that the fragrance of his love’s breath will be like apples.

And then before we left, as I once more complimented the staff on the amazing eclectic décor, including the marbled black and white floor and the high, rough ceiling beams, Edward explained it was all about East meeting West. I, for one, was glad I had come from Texas to experience this merging myself.

The apricot-peach Just Joey roses, the Ethiopian-blended coffee, the buffalo fountain’s gurgling water, the caramelized pear French toast, the occasional squawk of a duck, and the overall serene stillness made me forget myself even as the staff did not.

And when it was time for us to catch our flight back to the states, leaving La Rez was like leaving family. They didn’t want us to go, and we didn’t want to go. And even as we reluctantly climbed in the car, friendly banter and camaraderie -- an antique crystal chandelier that needed “hosing down” and the miniature Yorkshire terrier named Miela who belonged to one of the staff and talk about emotional goodbyes while in the midst of an emotional goodbye -- was still going on all around us. And then, a friendly kiss on both cheeks from Edward, Evan, and more of the fabulous staff, cold bottled water perched on the seat in our departing car, and two Shetland ponies galloping to us at the gate as if to say, “Don’t go!” permanently sealed the contented smile we wore during our perfect, peaceful visit at this grand villa, one whose sweet-scented gardens I hope to meander through again one day. Until then, I’m quite sure I will repeatedly drift away to La Residence as I meander through my own.

The Kindness of Kwandwe

Regaling us with colorful tales of local, tribal circumcisions, performed with a spear on young men of 18, and sharing her obvious love of the Addo Mountains, the Alexandria coastal dunes, and Grahamstown, all places along the route to Kwandwe, our driver was the perfect host to usher us to our first safari experience. By the time we entered the vast reserve, we felt more familiar with the customs, the people, and the land, all equally important in South Africa. So it was with appreciation that we said goodbye to our knowledgeable guide as the staff at Kwandwe warmly welcomed us with kindness, serving delicious lemonade and sugary biscuits before escorting us to Ecca Lodge, once more a place I immediately professed never to leave.

Kwandwe is a place where warm towels and a hot fire always awaited us after a chilly game drive and where the sun came up mid-morning, daring anything to darken our day. A place where an evening walk on a gravel path spiraling through the private suites (which is a feat in itself if you’ve recently run the Comrades!) required an escort and reminded us we had replaced roaming cells with roaming animals.

A place where Reid found a sharp, black and white porcupine quill, but no porcupine, proof that what we can’t see is still very real and very present.

Kwandwe is a land of contrasts – refined, elegant human surroundings in wild, restored animal country. A place where freshly squeezed orange juice is served each morning on a hanging, silver platter outside the door where animals had prowled the night before, obvious from the paw prints on the path we then padded each morning.

A place where individual lap pools and outdoor showers graced the teak decks of each suite, yet wild animals freely laze under those decks and drink from those lap pools.

We saw neither, but we were careful, and on the day we departed, one huge angry-looking elephant seen earlier on the road charged his way to the lodge lap pool and drank his fill to the entertainment of the respectful guests inside who did not have to be told to stay put, but who now have a fabulous story to tell.

And the fabulous stories we heard. The tale of the wild dogs that once herded antelope against the electric fence just because it was fun and because they could, dogs who have since roamed elsewhere. The tale of a white rhinoceros that ambled to a ranger’s vehicle and stared him down, nose to horn, before he eventually roamed away, leaving the guide with a story he considers his most frightening.

And the fabulous stories we now have to share. The amazing lion entertaining us for hours on the road, but who had lost his territory to a younger male so was somewhat lost himself. The white rhinoceros calmly standing in the thicket to our right while we’re staring off in the distance with binoculars trying to find others. The hippopotamus ambling in and out of the water before finally disappearing, leaving us grateful for having seen such a creature. And then there was our first encounter with the cheetahs when our ranger quickly backed up the open-top vehicle and hid behind the thicket so the tracker, who rode in a seat out front, could hop back in and not alarm the animal. And then the excitement as we stalked that mama and her two cubs for 30 minutes as she moseyed on down the road with hardly a backward glance.

Attentive to the animals on the reserve, Kwandwe is also a place of personal attention to its guests. After a morning of pecking notes on my phone because my laptop was not working, I was frustrated and concerned that I was going to forget too many unique experiences, so I asked Bongi for some paper of any kind. Two notebooks immediately appeared in my room. Then, after four days of using a comb and not a hairbrush (pack lighter, I had been told), I asked Bongi if there was a way to get a larger hairbrush. One large brush appeared shortly in my room; the manager had sent for one in the closest town at least an hour away. And then, after celebrating Ian’s birthday on our last night, we returned to our room to find champagne and chocolate waiting for us. And always, personal notes from the staff. Kwandwe’s kindness and personal attention to the details won’t be forgotten.

In the heart of South Africa’s Eastern Cape, Kwandwe is a land to learn from, to listen to, and to love. And it’s also a land where there’s much to see and to appreciate. A land where the life of the animals is not interfered with by man unless it’s a problem caused by man. So we listened, we learned, we loved, and we quickly grew to appreciate the land, the customs, and the people. The emotional look on Ian’s face as he held back tears while Bongi and the other Kwandwe staff sang and danced for his 59^th birthday proved we had learned that lesson. Singing us goodbye was yet another symbol of a land that doesn’t ask, but freely gives.

And as we, yes tearfully, said goodbye, we didn’t need souvenirs at a gift shop to remind us of Kwandwe for we left with the gift of our unique experience at this incredible place on God’s earth.

For more information on Kwandwe: www.kwandwe.com

Top of the Rock, Eagle's Rock, that is...

Reid on the Top of the Rock

I’ve learned to control – most of the time – the panic attacks I experience whenever I’m in an elevator, but I still avoid them, preferring to climb innumerable flights of stairs instead. I don’t really know why except when I was a young girl, one of my cousins enjoyed scaring us, stopping the elevators in between floors, pushing the red buttons with gusto, and sounding the alarms until we were eventually stuck. This same cousin once showed my two young sons a decomposed body in the funeral home during my grandmother’s viewing and then chased them around with his eyelids flipped up, Frankenstein-style. If I heard my boys screaming, I knew it probably had to do with my cousin, the comedienne, as we ironically, yet affectionately called him. Anyway, I don’t like elevators. Not one bit.

So, it was more than a little bit ironic when we bundled up in warm, winter clothes and resolutely travelled toward the herds of antelopes, grazing high in the mountain tops surrounding Samara, in an open-air vehicle with only a thin cloth top protecting our heads and hot water bottles warming our legs. Ironic because I didn’t panic, but relished the somewhat wet, windy drive as Shakemore, our trusty guide, confidently maneuvered up the narrow, one-lane, rocky road through the muddy and slippery slopes, roads with nothing to keep us spiraling over the sides except the grace of God and the skill of Shakemore. Perplexed, Ian was puzzled at how or why his somewhat skittish and sometimes fearful wife loved this wild ride so much. I think it was because this new adventure was too spectacular to miss, and if I’ve learned anything in South Africa, it’s that every moment can bring an unexpected gift of delight and that fearful respect is different from fear itself. Plus, Shakemore was trained, capable, and cautious, so we knew he was taking no chances.

After several hours, we reached the mountain top where we respectfully gazed with delight as the diverse herds leaped and jumped and bounded across the quiet, prairie plains. Black wildebeest, orange-brown eland, and white-faced blesbok sauntered across the red-grassed land, sometimes single-file, inspiring us to prayerful silence for we did feel, in fact, quite blessed to see sites so obviously blessed by the touch of God, spectacular sites that overwhelmed our son, who has been on countless game drives. And when one huge eland buck trailed a herd of graceful blesbok and then chased away a wandering wildebeest intent on joining their party, we understood the emotion behind the power of a simple three-letter word: “Wow!”

And even though we only saw two zebra, not the dazzle we expected, one more thing I’ve learned on this trip is that you don’t worry about what you miss because there are too many surprises in front of you to be disappointed. Ever!

And in yet another surprise, Shakemore-style, our fabulous guide stopped the land cruiser and once more pointed to a path for us to follow. The last time he did this, a perfect South African, culinary spread awaited us; this time the surprise was even more delicious for as we rounded the rocky corner, trekking higher up the mountain on foot, we soon found ourselves standing on top of a magnificent rock cliff called Eagle’s Rock overlooking the entire valley. And as we caught our breaths and reverently paused, immediately -- as if on cue -- a powerful black eagle soared by, spreading his wings and swooping past us so surprisingly that we missed an amazing photo opportunity for we were too overcome to unpack our equipment in time. We didn’t capture the moment on camera, but the majestic eagle captured our hearts and we’ll never forget that black eagle’s splendid, authoritative presence over this blessed land.

Before our Ker & Downey South African trip was over, we would have flown in six commercial flights, one small aircraft, and a helicopter, and yet our experience on top of Eagle’s Rock was one of the greatest highs of all.

La Residence in Franschhoek

Driving east toward Franschhoek, nestled in the shadow of yet more blue-hued mountains, we had to turn our backs on the spectacular city of Cape Town, the Mother City as it is called, and a city I hope to return to one day. We had to turn our backs on a colorful city that blends the styles of San Francisco with New York, according to one assistant director we met who was scouting movie locations, but is still distinctly unique and not just because of the seals and the penguins and Table Mountain. Experiencing Cape Town was like experiencing a fabulous dessert that awakened my taste buds to something I’d eaten before, but I couldn’t quite pin point what it was  for this delicious city has a taste all its own just like the rest of South Africa and can’t be imitated. I didn’t want to leave the animals of Kwandwe and Samara, but Cape Town is a city that makes me feel  equally happy to be alive!

But we had to turn our backs on the city, on the World Heritage site of the sleeping giant of Table Mountain, which is what it looks like from Robben Island, also a World Heritage site made famous by  Nelson Mandela.  We had to turn our backs on blue -- the blue sky, the purplish-blue haze of the mountains, the clear greenish-blue coastal water -- blue is the color I’ll always associate with Cape Town, a cheery and positive place with friendly  and helpful people everywhere. And it was bittersweet, this turning our backs on this fabulous city, just as bittersweet as the other places we’ve had to leave over the past two weeks.  But one thing I’ve learned from this incredible Ker & Downey adventure is that you have to turn your backs on what you love to discover a lovely surprise looming in front of you in this rainbow country of contrasts.

Motoring through a bouquet of wineries that were at first miniscule dots on our map waiting to be discovered, the roads lined with green pine trees reminiscent of home invited us to travel through a land that beckoned and welcomed and patiently waited for our arrival. And after a brief stop at Spier, a very green landscaped vineyard with picnic sites and terraces and where we sampled and snacked on wine and cheese, in particular the goat cheese which I consumed with embarrassing fervor, we ventured out once more through the green vine-covered hills as we moved closer toward our ultimate destination of La Residence, and as I soon discovered, the pièce de résistance.  

Franschhoek, less than an hour away from Cape Town, is a place where it’s easy to lose sight of your ultimate destination for there’s so much to enjoy along the way. In fact, my suggestion is to get a little lost. We didn’t, as Reid had a visual on La Residence before we saw it, but meandering through the side streets against the background of yet more majestic mountains allowed us a feel for this charming village, host to the fabulous villa which was our ultimate destination. And as we meandered down Elandskloof, the private road lined with breath-taking, fragrant white roses and then alighted at the villa where we were greeted by  Evan, my heart was captured as I was presented with flowers and refreshed by smiles from the staff. And then after a leisurely stroll before we were led to our suite, I decided, once more, that I was not going home!

At La Rez, grandeur outside meets grandeur inside -- just as the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean collided in Cape Town -- and an explosion of beauty occurs and with that experience, my heart moved.    God doesn’t just give us words, he gives us emotions, and for me, this final emotional experience of our trip  is a merging of all that we’ve experienced so far. And just as I felt yesterday, I’m saying it today: I can’t wait to see what this day brings! But for now, my latte’s arrived, the windows are open, and God’s world awaits.

For more information: www.laresidence.co.za.

Cape Town by Helicopter

Five days is a week of work back home. Five days of teaching high school students the dynamics of writing. Five days of encouraging the love of literature. Five days of bells ringing, instructing me to begin a new period of instruction. So before we began our trip, I wasn’t sure that five days of actual safari was enough to experience an adventure of this magnitude. And of course, it wasn’t for safari is more than the animals; safari is experiencing another way of life which celebrates life under every shepherd’s tree, around every corner of sweet thorn, and at every moment in a spec boom forest. Safari is a life far removed from the ringing of bells, but a life lived close-up to nature, a life lived in a constant state of epiphany, and a life lived celebrating the constant new surprises which await each day. And I didn’t want those surprises to be over!

So when we left the Eastern Cape headed toward Cape Town, a part of me – the part crying to stay! – assumed that the best was over. I knew from my friends who had been there that Cape Town was fabulous, but for crying out loud -- which I did a lot of by the way -- it wasn’t the amazing game reserves of Kwandwe and Samara that I had become so infatuated with. But our surprises were far from over as we soon discovered when a driver appeared at the Cape Royale Hotel to pick us up, a driver wearing a black jump suit with orange trim, a huge smile, and a helicopter embroidered on his back.

I had already been blown away, not just by the wind at the reserves, but by the pilot who materialized to fly us from Samara to Port Elizabeth in a small four-seater aircraft, a surprise Reid had arranged for us instead of the three-hour drive, but this one was beyond! Ian kept repeating, “Boy, Boy, Boy,” a favorite term of endearment he has for our two sons now 29 and 32, and I kept thinking, “Beyond, Beyond, Beyond,” my new favorite term of endearment for our South African experience. And this new surprise was certainly beyond what we expected.

After a brief weigh-in, which we won’t discuss as my collar bones have disappeared in the ten days we have been gone, and another too-brief instruction on emergencies including how to tie the life vest Just in case!around your waist and how now to walk into the blades, we practically pounced in the helicopter, strapped ourselves in, and fitted the headphones on our head so we could talk to each other and listen to the pilot. And then we were off in a lift barely noticeable to me as the pilot made it seem effortless. And as we hovered slightly and lifted gently, the spectacular view of Cape Town was -- not surprisingly – breathtaking!

Circling past Table Mountain we saw the famous cable cars moving slowly toward the top, the majestic mountains of the Twelve Apostles and the stunning ocean. Well, two actually, for at one point we could see where the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean merged. I missed that as I was too preoccupied with the Table Mountain cable cars. Then there was a view of Robben Island where Nelson Mandela spent many years of his life, and the place where we are visiting today. Gazing from on high, the beaches, the waterfront, the sites of the bustling city -- a city known for being one of the best in the world -- overhwelmed us just as our safari adventure had done.

Everywhere we went for the past week, we spent time admiring the sky – the beautiful sunsets and sunrises, the rainbows and clouds, and the birds, the birds, the birds. And now, we were soaring through the sky over Cape Town, looking below, another surprising treat in our adventure beyond what I thought it would be.

And now we’re off once more, not by helicopter but by ferry, and I can’t wait to see what surprises this day brings!

View of Table Mountain from the Robben Island ferry