Highways and Byways to Hoedspruit. Places We Saw And Friends We Met

Maun isn’t my favourite place, possibly because it feels neither here nor there. It could also be the flashbacks to our off-road caravan’s demise and the dreadful trip back to Cape Town. Our poor caravan was in dire shape, like a sardine tin with a rolled-up lid, except ours flapped and crabbed home.

We found a very comfortable one-night stay at Sitatunga Camp just outside town. The central open Lapa is colourfully decorated with a mish-mash of African prints. Tourists arriving in Overland trucks were parked under the trees, where the driver and his assistant set up tables to prepare supper for their guests. The weary guests lazed on cushioned day beds, stretched their aching legs, and caught up on world news. Butch and I joined them and connected to the communal Wi-Fi.

I wasn’t going to cook, so we had supper and went to bed early. We headed to Elephant Sands and then to the South African border, which was quite a push.

Our campsite was great, and the private ablutions worked like a charm.

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After Elephant Sands, we had a long day’s drive and only stopped to refuel the Honey Badger and grab a hamburger from the Wimpy in Francistown; we pushed on to make it in time to cross the border at Stockpoort—easy peasy, no hassles.

We crossed the Limpopo and were back on home soil. Just a few kilometres from the border post, we spotted a sign inviting us to turn in for the night. Stockpoort Border Lodge. An excellent choice, too. The manageress, Sophia, and the chef, Vuli, were both delightful. The chef greeted us at the door, flour dusting his hands. He was busy kneading bread dough.

Our campsite, next to a bungalow, was all we needed. We had access to the bathroom.

The menu offered a good, reasonable selection; Butch wouldn’t braai, but sat down to a delicious steak and veg from the kitchen, delivered to our table.

The orange sun had a calming effect on us. It was an early night, and we planned to leave early the following day.

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The landscape changed as we approached and climbed the Waterberg Mountain range in Limpopo province, which feeds the Mokolo River. Lush trees carpeted the valleys in shades of green. With our to-do list in hand, we headed to Vaal Water, a village in Modimolle (Place of the Spirits), the larger nearby town.

With many shops and workshops bustling, we had nets made for our ceiling hatches and the large window—a recommendation from Alan and Sue, whom we’d met months earlier in Upington. Much water has flowed under both our bridges since then.

Gift, from Malawi, runs a thriving business making canvas accessories for lodges, campers, or, like us, a few mosquito shades. He told us there are over 800 lodges in the area and that he has serviced many of them. His workmanship is excellent; he's always on time and reasonably priced. Butch and I can recommend him. We’ve noticed a remarkable decline in the number of insects flying inside after sunset—a joy.

Vaalwater is a small village with a vibey central hub, featuring gift shops, a lovely decorating boutique, and art galleries. The courtyard coffee is trendy, but Carla’s bakery and bistro steal the show. Carla, the owner, is a brilliant pastry chef, and her pecan pies are to die for. We enjoyed plenty of treats there; I couldn’t fault any. They were moreish and delectable, and we couldn’t resist buying a few extras to take home.

Like many farming communities, the villages are small, and businesses rely on the larger district to boost the economy. Wildlife and nature reserves contribute significantly, with lodges offering hunting opportunities. Soft fruit, table grapes, peanuts and maize also flourish here.

The climate is pleasant, with hot summers and mild winters. Vaalwater is an excellent stopover en route to various destinations.

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Our destination was Matamba Guest Farm. Without a reservation, we arrived at the gate of this lifestyle farm on a recommendation. Mr and Mrs Richard and Carol Pascall, the owners, welcomed us and escorted us to our campsite.

The Pascals, farmers and ex-Zimbabweans, have been in the tourism industry for years and are lovely hosts. While we waited for the men to organise our campsite, Carol and I chatted, and I learned more about their exciting life and the trauma of losing their farm in Zimbabwe.

Our three-night stay gave us enough time to recuperate after the distances we’d travelled. We took long rides along the farm’s game fence, which gave us a better sense of the lay of the land. On our second ride, we ventured out the gate and took to the rural road. It was nice but bumpy, and Butch felt his teeth rattle, so we turned around and headed back.

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I believe I’ve mentioned before that I’m inquisitive and try to observe and sniff out as much as I can wherever I am, and this time I was in luck. On a small signpost, I saw the name of a farm and, beneath it, the names Anneke and Johannes Kleinhans. I was sure I couldn’t be wrong, and when we returned to our campsite, I asked Carol whether the Kleinhanses were from Worcester. Sure enough, they were.

Butch and I are starved of familiar Boland faces. I sent an enquiry, and within minutes Anneke confirmed my suspicions. Yes, they lived just down the road. Soon after, a text arrived inviting us for sundowners.

Berchtesgaden Ranch, their game and lifestyle farm, is, as they say, a truly authentic African experience. But we weren't there to learn about the farm and its outstanding facilities; we were there to visit and reconnect with Johannes and Anneke.

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Reunions are always full of surprises; catching up on a decade of news makes you realise how time flies, how we’ve changed and grown, how our values have shifted, and, as we get older, how we prioritise our time. Family takes precedence over any other pastime, and we strive to create a space where our children and grandchildren feel grounded, safe and loved.

We spent a delightful few hours with the Kleinhans’, sharing our trials and tribulations, joys and disappointments, and agreeing that we were living our best lives and wouldn’t change a thing, even if we could. Before we said goodbye, we walked through their magnificent gardens and, with full hearts, set off for our campsite just before dark.

The Waterberg and Vaalwater were good to us. With our to-do list ticked off, a much-enjoyed camping stay, and the cherry on the cake being a meeting with old acquaintances from our shared past, we were ready to sally forth to Hoedspruit.

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Die Eiland near Tzaneen is a popular destination for many of my bowling friends from Hermanus, who pack up and trek here during the cold, wet winter months to spend a month or more at the resort. They all rave about it.

Here, they meet up with other like-minded friends, swim, strengthen their muscles in the gym, massage aching joints in the hydro pool, and then sweat out the nasty toxins (wine) in the steam room or sauna before returning to the outdoor heated pool, where they dangle or lie floating like lazy otters on their pool noodles. A swarm of sociable weavers couldn't be chattier.

Bowlers meet on the greens most days, armed with their woods, hats, and towels, for an afternoon of bowling. Rumour has it they celebrate successes, while some drown their sorrows when things go awry. Just before sunset, these fabulously fit fanatics return to their tents, caravans or motorhomes to light their braai fires or meet at the restaurant for supper. Before nine o’clock, it’s off to bed, and the next day it's all a repeat.

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We'd intended to stay in Magoebaskloof, but it was getting late, the winding roads were very wet, and the only campsite we could find wouldn't allow a truck to park under its heavy branches. Disappointed, we trundled on to Die Eiland, our other option.

Every word those bowlers said was true. We took part in all the water-based activities, including the Super Tube. Butch craved pizza at the restaurant, and we stocked up on supplies at the well-stocked shop. We did it all.

We arrived at a bustling campsite, but by midday the next day we were the only guests in our section so that we could enjoy the facilities almost exclusively. The December school holidays were ending.

Hot hydro spas, steam, and massaging spouts relaxed us and got us ready for the next leg of our journey. We were ahead of schedule and could squeeze in a few days in Kruger before our rendezvous in Hoedspruit. We managed a few cycles to get the legs going again, and voila, we passed the farm where those delicious Miami Boerie Tomato Sauces come from. As a welcome gift, we received a tin when we went through the gate for our ride. 

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