Peace, quiet and serenity at a historic Cape Dutch Farm
I believe it was Mark Twain who said, "The two most important days of your life are the day you're born and the day they figure out why." As the sun set in Simondium, behind a thumbnail-sized Table Mountain, it became clear that I was created to appreciate the finer things in life (and to write about them so you're moved to do the same).
Mischa and I arrive for check in at 2pm sharp. Our drive from the Mother City has been filled with witty quips about being misunderstood millennials and nuanced creatives, so the 42km stretch has been a hilarious blur. The claustrophobia of the city has spread out across citrus farms, manicured lawns and rolling hills.
We almost miss our turn-off into Babylonstoren because our laughs bellow louder than Siri's instructions. But my chaperone for the layover manages to deflect the car in the right direction at the very last moment. After reporting to reception, Kieth loads our bags onto the back of a golf cart and drives us towards our cottage. Rows of ripening orange trees flank either side of the gravel road we are going down. Not after long we arrive. The lodgings look modest from first glance but having never visited Babylonstoren, both Mischa and I don't know what to expect.
As I open the door, my jaw drops.
Not shying away from the farm style of the exterior, the tastefully decorated room feels homely with an undeniable touch of sophistication. The warm earth tones and pops of vibrant colour honor the landscape of the farm, while the clean lines and crisp white finishes add a modern flair.
Kieth introduces us to the space and explains how everything works, but I hear nothing but muffled words because I have turned all my attention to the freestanding bath.
Sensing the distracting, Kieth laughs as he admits, "our baths really are a highlight for a lot of the guests' stay."
I walk further into the bathroom to inspect the tub. As I am reaching for a wrapped bunch of twigs and leaves, there is a knock on the door. Simone Russouw, the Food and Beverage Manager at Babylonstoren, pours into the room with a smile as big as the fireplace. "Oh, you're showing them the bath? Ya," is all she says before we erupt in a fit of giggles. It's clear my reaction is something they are used to, yet never gets old.
After making sure we are settled, both Kieth and Simone leave Misha and I to our own devices.
In the kitchen lays a delicately decorated crate of soft citrus and jade plant. Next to it is a bottle of house wine, homemade tea and a welcome note.
"There's wine," Mischa announces. Before I respond she asks, "white or red?"
I'm confused. The only wine I can see it the bottle wrapped in front of me. When I turn towards my enthusiastic friend, I see she's holding two more bottles of Babylonstoren wine.
The giggle that escapes me is a mixture of delight and nerves. Having both attended Rhodes, the bottles we find ourselves in the company of pose more of a challenge than anything else. "A chilled white during the day is always nice because it cools things down," I begin, attempting to maintain composure, "red works at night because it's warming and filling."
While we nurse our respective glasses of wine, we use the warm sunlight spearing through the trees to take as many pictures as possible. We've opened the floor-to-ceiling glass doors of the immaculate kitchen nook and are using the natural surroundings as a backdrop.
Though we don't get a chance to finish our first glasses before dashing across the farm for our first activity, it is a cellar tour so we agree that a tasting will be the finale.
We arrive at Babylonstoren's Tasting Room as the tour is about to start. From their accents, we gather one pair is from America, another is Eastern European, while the last couple is from either Spain or Portugal.
Randall guides us out of the tasting room where he gives us a brief history of the farm.
After an olive and olive oil education, our guide takes us back to the cellar where he explains the wine making process. Though he is being incredibly informative and comprehensive, there is a palpable impatience because all we really want to do is drink.
Poor Randall encourages us to take a swig of a unlabeled beaker in the 'Laboratory' which turns out to be a concentration of lavender essential oil, so he quickly offers the farms mampoer for us to wash our mouths out with. When we look at the time, we realise we need to dart back to the hotel reception for our scheduled farm drive. It's a pity we've missed the wine tasting, but the home-brewed moonshine is beginning to take its effects.
We arrive to familiar faces. The Eastern European pair had ducked out a few minutes before us and they appeared to be sitting waiting for the same lift we are expecting - so we strike up a conversation. By the time Kobus has herded us into his safari vehicle, we know that the ladies are from Switzerland and that they've come to South Africa, especially, for the unique experience Babylonstoren offers.
Mischa and Kobus keep the foreign travelers entertained. I am frozen in fear because the car is climbing up a freshly leveled dirt road at a 100° angle. When I'm convinced we cannot climb any higher, we come to a stop. Kobus points to a viewpoint a little further up and I'm relived when he asks us to walk the rest of the way.
Once our chauffeur and sommilier has finished setting up, he explains that he has organized some of the farm's wines to be paired with an assortment of nibbles which have also been prepared at Babylonstoren.
The abandoned white left in cottage is avenged. I pair my first glass of drink with the cured beetroot medley Kobus provided, then I try it with the blood orange slices in a separate beaker. Feeling a little ambitious, I pour myself a generous glass of red. "Now I have one rule," Kobus warns as I bring the glass to my lips, "you don't open a bottle you cannot finish."
I go cold. Surely I can't be expected to drink an entire bottle alone. Mischa has resigned herself to white wine and the Swiss ladies are sticking to sparkling grape juice.
Thankfully Kobus' poker face fails him and his laugh relieves both of us.
The droewors is delicious and pairs well with the red blend I'm drinking. As the sun slowly lays its head to rest behind the Mother City's sleeping giant, the weather drops drastically. Kobus packs the table up in record time and we make it back to the hotel reception with about 45 minutes before our Babel reservation.
Hightailing it back to our cottage, my roommate and I hope to drape ourselves in dinner attire. I spend entirely too long on my make up, trying to hide the sins of the afternoon. Before leaving, Mischa and I make a pact to enjoy the bathtub when we've concluded the day's activities as we are already running late for supper.
Leaving our room, we are consumed by the dead of night - the only reprieve being the soft lighting in the restaurant at least 200m away. My fellow millenial whips out her phone instinctively and uses the torch to guide our way. We arrive at a locked gate we don't remember crossing and accept that we might be lost. But the lights on the other side of this barrier are our only priority.
I gather my dress in one hand, and protect my hair with the other, then I stagger through the gaps in the gate until I stumble out the other side. Mischa manages better because she is more appropriately dressed for the obstacle.
When we make it to Babel at Babylonstoren, we have a spectacular meal.
Mischa and I roll ourselves back to our cottage with our bellies and spirits full. She peels off and into her pyjammas while I run a bath. I am not leaving Babylonstoren having not soaked in the tub. Tomorrow's itinerary is also choc-o-block so this might be my only chance.
I eventually climb into bed well after midnight, Mischa is fast asleep. Drowsy from the aromatic bath bouquet I slip into a coma as soon as my head hits the pillow. It is Mischa's frantic call that pulls me to recovery. Already, we are 10 minutes late for breakfast and neither of us has showered - Mischa still wants to take a bath.
We eventually sit for breakfast with Simone, picking her brain about the Babylonstoren's farm-to-table ethos.
The breakfast buffet is a brag of all the seasonal harvest this farm cultivates. Fruits and vegetables I've never seen before nor know how to pronounce are waiting to be enjoyed. Avoiding all the fresh produce I'm used to eating, I hazard a few feijoa fruits with the savory and Babylonstoren yogurt. The shushu also looks new to me, so I grab a few slices of that too. I'm used to yellow pea-sized kumquats so the oversized, over ripe ones are added to my bowl.
Simone mentions that the farm makes its own cheese and that's all I need to hear. I return to the harvest table for a few slices of seeded bread, ricotta cheese, and the fior de latte which is a yogurt cheese the kitchen has been developing. I add a spoonful of blueberry preserve and return to the table to enjoy the moistest bread I've ever tasted in my entire life.
"I need this recipe," I moan and Simone beams with pride. "That's a bread we developed here ourselves too. I'll happily give you the recipe; it's gluten friendly too which is great," Simone shares.
I wash my mammoth breakfast down with the red juice, freshly pressed on site for us to enjoy, while Misha tries the yellow juice. We say goodbye to Simone, pop past to greet Trish, and quickly catch up with Kobus on our way to the Garden Tour with Arne.
The comprehensive guided tour includes the various perma-patches and insect hotel. We follow the snake's tail all the way up to it's stomach and out through its mouth (you'll have to go and visit to see what I mean) - arriving at the legendary Greenhouse restaurant to end the tour.
But it's time to checkout. Mischa and I take a few pictures with the gorgeous flower arrangements budding inside the greenhouse before sneaking into the healing garden to grab a few homeopathic herbs and spices to brew a tea with when we get home.
We eventually make it back to our cottage and pack up the last of our things. Checking out is as seamless as check in, and it's all over. The reality of our return to Cape Town sinks in and we decide to remedy this by stalling. Mischa and I head to the Farm Stall, the Butchery and the Sweet Shop to see what souvenirs we can take home to always remember our wonderful experience by.
Our drive back to the Mother City is much slower than our drive up to Babylonstoren. We've had such a wonderful time, and Mischa dropping me off in Woodstock means it's all over. But even good things must come to an end. The space we enjoyed on the farm needs to be replaced by bumper-to-bumper traffic again.But knowing an oasis lies less than an hour away makes the bitter pill a little easier to swallow.
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