Road tripping the Transkei - Wondrously Wild – Mdumbi backpackers

Mdumbi Backpackers is one of the few places that make me feel as if I’m in another country. The people are cool, the weather’s divine, the landscape is so different from ours, and even the history is different.

Many people find themselves drawn back to their homes in the Transkei, where the community's warmth and familiarity make them feel truly welcome. Given half a chance to return, they’re off like a shot. Like most “immigrants”, they believe home is where the heart is.

As our travels took us further north, the roads grew busier with overcrowded taxis, split suitcases, bags, furniture, buckets, brooms, and basins. The excitement of being home with family and friends was palpable. Ladies in colourful turbans, wearing the latest fashions and brilliant jewellery, stepped graciously from packed taxis, and bare-chested young boys ran alongside the road, guiding their bicycle rims and old tyres with sticks as they imagined driving fast cars too.

In the chaos, we dodged livestock, which always have the right of way. Many roads are poorly maintained, with potholes and dongas, so plan for slow travel. Recent rains have worsened conditions, so consider a sturdy vehicle or local advice for safer routes. This helps readers understand the travel challenges and prepare accordingly. 

Patience, consideration, and respect are inherent in Transkei DNA and among the isiXhosa people, making travel stress-free but often slow. Learning a few isiXhosa phrases or greetings can enhance interactions. Towns are community hubs, and activity is frenetic, so embracing local customs enriches the experience and shows respect.

Traffic jams, jaywalking, queues, pavement stalls, informal trading, and meeting and greeting are par for the course on the bustling streets. Trade is brisk, and there’s money to be made. I watched in awe as a young butcher, wielding a machete, dismembered a hog. He looked up, caught my eye, and smiled, the widest, toothiest grin I’d seen all day. 

I longed to put out my hand to feel the velvety sheen of the landscape, which stretched in all shades of green, evoking tranquility and wonder.

Like colourful Smarties tossed onto a lawn, the Rondawels speckled the landscape. Here and there, busy farmers were hoeing, tilling the red earth, harvesting, planting and carting their crops. Shepherds and cattle herders would wave sticks at unruly herds but largely left them to roam freely. Occasionally, we spotted horse riders gallop across the plains on small, hardy ponies, bare-backed, one arm swinging aloft, egging their mounts on. An exquisite sight, one I rarely witness.

After a full day’s drive, we finally reached our destination, Mdumbi Backpackers, where we would camp for two nights.

I felt lucky with our decision to stay at a backpackers where all things wild and wonderful happen. This is my friend Tweet’s favourite place to stay. She says everyone is chilled out and relaxed, with the best advice on what to do and where to go, plus experienced travellers willing to share their expertise. We pulled in and found our online booking had been botched.

We hung out with everyone in Python mode, checking out the scene while the relief receptionist found someone to assist her. Finally, just before sunset, we were assured there was no problem; we could stay put on the lawn. Our truck was too large for the campsite anyway. Cool. We pulled out our chairs, unfolded our table, and had drinks while listening to the waves roll in. Some soothing Peter Tosh and Bob Marley floated our way: “Don’t worry about a thing; every little thing was going to be alright. Don’t worry. Baby, everything will be alright.” We were free as birds. The message was simple.

Cool mists rolled in over the hills. Pancake weather and the occasional showers forced us to relax, pick up our books, and lie in late. It was time to take a breather. We ordered our meals from the chalkboard, put our names on the list, and later we’d congregate with other Packers, catch up, while classic Raw blanks would appear from pockets and small bags, be packed, rolled, and lightly licked before being lit—all very boho. The cloying, skunky odour of Durban poison does not appeal to me.

Looking out over the beach took me back to Tofo in Mozambique: the same unspoilt white beach, protective cove and bay. On the slipway, anglers were cleaning an enormous fish caught by a large fishing vessel. A few curious onlookers, like us, seemed interested in the catch of the day. After a chat with the Skipper, we’d drift off. My thoughts turned to fish cakes, crispy fried fish, curried or cured fish for later, lovely tacos perhaps, and a cut for the freezer. I’m sure a cheerful crowd would enjoy fish from the braai that evening.

Mdumbi offers self-catering bungalows, dorms, and campsites, all in traditional rondavel style. I recommend booking early, especially in peak season. Free Wi-Fi and sumptuous meals, including delicious roosterkoek, make it a top choice. This guide tells you what to expect and how to plan your visit.

With directions scribbled on a scrap of paper, we set off after two nights. We had a luncheon date with Mary-Anne in Howick. 100 km to go, 3-4 hours, Butch reckoned. By now, we knew we shouldn't hold our breath.