Reconnecting with nature in the Cape Floral Kingdom
“...The forest breathes.
Listen.
It answers…
Stand still.
The forest knows where you are.
You must let it find you.”
David Wagner, When Lost in The Forest
It used to be so tough being a flower child in the 21st century; a tree hugger living in cities sprouting with skyscrapers. Friends would regularly avoid the rattling windchimes hanging from the dream catcher in my hair. Though my family never understood, they indulged the barefooted tie-dye tower they called their daughter.
Since becoming a professional I’ve had to swap out my sarongs and scarf tops for cigarette trousers and tunics.
It bothers me none because every once in a while, I slip back into my old skin and enjoy pleasures like the 20 hour digital detox I experienced at Oudebosch Eco Cabins.
Mother Nature seems to enjoy smiling on my trips. It’s the end of June and, following a three-day storm, the sun is beating down on the compact Hyundai a good friend has lent me for the two hour drive to the Kogelberg Nature Reserve.
The transcendence begins as I clear Gordon’s Bay. With nothing but a stone guardrail standing between me and the cliff down to the rocky shore below, I am enjoying an uninterrupted view of the South Atlantic Ocean that seems to ebb endlessly out in front of me. Smooth jazz is crooning from the speakers and I can feel the weight of stress slowly lifting from my shoulders.
I pass Kogelbaai, Rooi Els, Pringle Bay, and - after 1h40min - Betty’s Bay, before I start looking out for the sign to the nature reserve. Once I’ve manoeuvred onto the dirt road I miss and have to U-turn for, I’m ricketing towards the check-in building.
I park the car and walk up the stairs, passing a poster about mountain leopards that roam freely within the reserve. It’s a cause for concern.
“You’ve picked one of the stormiest nights to come stay with us,” Talia jokes and my stomach drops. “The wind is set to blow at 30kms, and in our little valley that can climb up to 45kms all on its own,” she continues and I’m convinced this is the start of my personal horror film. “Well I grew up in Joburg so thundershowers and storms are things I’m used to. I can fall right asleep…
I’ll be fine.”
Damnit Inga, I think to myself, did you really just say your famous last words?!
As I drive from the reception to the cabins some distance away, I’m tracking whether I’d survive fleeing from a bigfoot that breaks down my door in the middle of the night without being mauled by a wild cat that’s come down from the mountain to escape the weather. Luckily, I slide next to two parked cars which reassure me.
At least if I get attacked someone will hear me scream and rush to my aid right? So I get back to relaxing.
Lily Rose, my cabin for the evening, is as big as it is beautiful. Perfect for a small family, the main bedroom is ensuite while the second room has a bathroom right next door.
Across the courtyards and braai area, an open plan kitchen and lounge with a hospitably-sized fireplace lay. Just outside the glass-fronted cottage is a wooden deck with a teak harvest dining table I imagine said family whiling away warm afternoons.
For a moment, I regret not inviting at least two friends along with me. But the chilled Prosecco and worn Alan Paton novel patiently awaiting attention remind me why I didn’t.
Sliding open the teeth of my duffel bag, I take out my hammock and fasten it to two columns in the courtyard. My phone is getting no signal, and the WiFi isn’t working, so I connect it to the charger inside the lounge, and head back out with a glass, my bottle of bubbles, and the book.
There’s no way of telling how much time has passed during my boozy nap. I’d managed five pages of Cry, The Beloved Country before my heavy eyes succumbed to sleep, and when I wake, the sun has gravitated significantly. I get up and decide to grab a snack before popping back outside and enjoying the fleeting sun from the porch. It’s already incredibly windy, and I wonder if any large local felines have started to descend the mountain.
Within the hour, dusk has fallen. I decide to fix myself some dinner. Though I’d usually fire up my laptop and fill the silence with smooth jazz, the fury of the storm raging outside is loud enough. I have a modest bowl of avocado cream penne and then another, washing it down with what’s left of my Prosecco.
After a few more hours of thumbing through Paton, I decide it’s time for a warm shower before climbing into bed.
Feeling incredibly relaxed, refreshed and rejuvenated, I peel the duvet open and slot myself in. The main light is still on, and before I can decide whether to switch to the bedside lamp to my right instead, nature makes the choice for me.
The power cuts, and my phone - the only source of light - is at least 200m away from me; in the lounge across the courtyard.
Apart from the threat of wildlife, what keeps me from fetching my device is that I’m genuinely worried the storm might sweep me away. It’s torrential outside. But I’m terrified of the dark, and my anxiety has just decided it’ll be really funny to revisit the possibility of a native yeti roaming the grounds. Rather than scaring myself any more than I already have, I raise the roller blinds and let the moonlight dodging the storm clouds illuminate the room. I let out a sigh as I drop back into bed and my lights go out.
When I wake it’s 7:30am and the sun is rising sluggishly. Not wanting to disturb it, I watch silently and absolutely still. These last few hours have reconnected me so intimately with my natural surroundings that I truly feel like a guest too polite to disturb anything. The light peeking out from behind the mountain range Oudebosch is placed in is breathtaking, I am stunned.
Since the electricity is yet to return, a hot shower isn’t on the cards. I quietly begin to pack my things so I can tiptoe to the car, but Mother Nature hears me. As I untie my hammock, the heavens open up to mourn my departing. It’s really coming down. So much so that I’m reconsidering leaving because the car might not survive the muddy drive back to the tarmac. Heading to the kitchen to make myself a cuppa and consider my next move, I remember that there is no power.
Well that solves it, I say to myself, time to go. Though the forest has been incredible; it’s afforded me a peace I’d long forgotten, I’m experiencing a kind of techno withdrawal. The serenity, I am certain to hold onto; I know I can enjoy this feeling of calm and centeredness within the city - I’ll challenge myself to at least.
After dropping the keys off at reception, I’m back on the road. Driving through Betty’s Bay, I notice a full rainbow and know it’s the forest’s final farewell. Faithfully, it showers down upon me until I pull up to my apartment building in Cape Town.
I’m home now, back where I need to be. We (the forest and I) can both be happy.
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There's a great many hotels and lodges in Cape Town and the greater Western Cape area you can explore all year long. Here is my pick of Winter Warmer Accommodations.
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