Born and raised in Durban, South African Verne is a writer and editor. She and Roy met in Durban in 1992, got married four years later, and moved briefly to London in 2000 and then to Singapore a year later. After their 15 or 16 years on that amazing island, Roy retired in May 2016 from a long career in shipping.
Now, instead of settling down and waiting to get old in just one place, we've devised a plan that includes exploring the waterways of France on our new boat, Karanja. And as Verne doesn't do winter, we'll spend the rest of the time between Singapore, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand - and whatever other interesting places beckon.
Those round-the-world air-tickets look to be incredible value...
As Roy and I prepared to head off to Modimolle in Limpopo Province (previously Nylstroom in the Northern Transvaal) for Mathilda and Leon’s hugely enjoyable wedding a few weeks ago, I found myself questioning my cultural identity as an “English” South African. What does that strange expression even mean?
For white, English-speaking Durbanites, an invisible yet undeniable divide lies to the west of us – somewhere between 100 and 200 kilometres, I reckon – that separates us from the mainly Afrikaner hinterland. Julie Simpson calls it “the boerewors curtain”. (That’s why the Limpopo game-farm buck in the photo look so nervous; they know they’re only a stage away from biltong.)
There are occasions – even for a generally unholy lot like us – when it seems that only a church will do. For those times, our venerable institution of choice is the Parish Church of St Peter in Coughton, Warwickshire.
St Peter’s was where Roy’s sister Lyndsay wedded John Clemmow more than 30 years ago – both Lyndsay and her sister Cheryll had sung in its church choir – and it was there that our daughter, Wendy, was christened in 1980.
Durban’s not just about sun and surf – it’s also less than a two-hour drive from an agricultural hinterland that bristles with dozens of more-or-less-chi-chi farm stalls, handicrafts and cottage industries, craft breweries, hostelries, spas, cafés and restaurants. This bucolic wonderland is called the Midlands Meander, and what better destination for a couple of nights’ R&R with my sister Dale from London and our mutual BFF Julie?
At Rawdon’s Hotel, Balgowan – the home of Nottingham Road Brewery
Day One – of pork crackling, dental disasters and craft ales
Can you even remember what we did before TripAdvisor and Booking.com? – and one has to wonder, how did small, good hostelries get the promotion they deserved? A case in point is 44 on Ennis, where we spent one night en route to a wedding in Modimolle (previously Nylstroom).
Though it’s my first visit to Ermelo – and probably the last, to be honest – I do have a link to the area. My maternal grandmother, Christina Painter, née Louwrens (“Stienie” to her peers, “Ma” to us), grew up on a farm in nearby Amsterdam in the early 1900s, along with 12 older siblings, before her parents retired to the small town of Newcastle in what is now KwaZulu-Natal. So I was keen on visiting Amsterdam (around 77km from Ermelo), but our B&B host, Peter Maherry, most earnestly advised us not to; it has a church, a liquor store and one stop street, he warned; “You will be disappointed.”
This is the only photograph I have of my maternal grandmother as a young woman; she grew up on a farm in Amsterdam, near Ermelo. This was taken circa 1931 with my grandfather, Jack Painter
Peter and his wife, Nikki, built the place themselves about six-and-a-half years ago. It’s a pleasing hotchpotch of pebbles – lots of pebbles! – slate, tile and glass mosaic; she’s an artist, and all the paintings are her work.
Apart from the food, it’s the extraordinary intimacy of Peter and Nikki’s service that makes 44 on Ennis so memorable. After pre-dinner drinks with several other guests in front of a cosy fire in the courtyard, the couple cook and serve everything themselves from a short but interesting menu that changes every two days.
Sanele (right) came to 44 on Ennis as an accountant, but soon developed a passion for the kitchen – and for customer service, says PeterThere’s nothing like a sundowner G&T in front of a crackling fire
Eating
My super-thick fillet of beef tenderloin (R189, US$14) is cooked directly on the courtyard fire along with its coal-baked jacket potato, and comes perfectly medium rare, just as ordered. Roy’s kingklip* (R220) is baked to just-done perfection in the West Coast oven – similar to a pizza oven, and built around a 50-gallon drum – that is Peter’s latest baby. Both dishes come with a gorgeously rich tagine of mixed vegetables. (Other main course options include an innovative rooibos-smoked sole, and flame-grilled prawns.)
*Kingklip is a distinctive local fish, a member of the eel family, that was virtually fished out for a couple of decades before it made its recent comeback to sustainability
All the artwork is by Nikki
I photograph food only in daylight – it tends to look drecky otherwise, unless you’ve got proper lighting equipment. So you’ll have to be content with this breakfast photo (below): poached eggs, bobotie (a traditional South African-Malay dish of minced meat, onions and breadcrumbs flavoured with dried fruit and spices and baked with a creamy egg topping) and baked beans with fresh basil. Splendid!
For breakfast, you “build your own feast” – mine is poached eggs, bobotie, and baked beans with fresh basil
Accommodation
A big, comfortable room with two beds; perfect for the partners of blanket-hoggers
Our spacious room (number 4) had two double beds, a proper wardrobe, two comfortable armchairs, a desk and a shower-room. The free Wi-Fi worked well, including in our room. Maintenance could be improved, however: non-functional electric adaptors fixed or replaced; noisy plumbing attended to, and loose tap fittings made secure. Air-conditioning would be nice, and we’d also suggest thicker curtains to block out the bright security lights outside.
Value
Excellent: R625 (US$45) for the room; R750 for our G&Ts, two courses each and a nice bottle of red; and R75 for two breakfasts!
If you cannot finish your enormous fillet tenderloin, never mind – Lyla will have the rest for breakfast
Mkuze in northern KwaZulu-Natal is the sort of place you might not choose to stop, but the decision was made for us. Our rental BMW’s info screen was warning of low tyre pressure – Roy suspected a slow leak – and we still had about 400km of N2 to go before our overnight stop in Ermelo.
Roy wasn’t particularly keen on driving down the main (read only) street of the bustling metropolis of KwaMbonambi – and one can’t really blame him – but he did, and even stopped for me to snap a couple of photos.
A highlight was the roadside barber, wielding his tools under a shelter of transparent pink plastic, but I didn’t want to intrude my camera on the customer in such an intimate moment.
Finally, I’ve done my first Umhlanga parkrun – those free, timed 5K runs that are held every Saturday morning in hundreds of cities all over the world. The Umhlanga one starts from the grassy area just opposite the pier, no more than 500 metres from the front door of our flat in The Oysters. So, why has it taken me so long to get around to doing it?
All ready to go – at the start of the Umhlanga parkrun in McCausland Crescent, just opposite Umhlanga PierPhoto taken by a friendly and chatty co-runner after my first Umhlanga parkrun
It doesn’t look as if we’ll make it up to Mozambique this time round, but we did go for lunch at Mo-Zam-Bik in Florida Road with my mother and BFF Julie Simpson. One of a chain of pleasant-but-not-great “family restaurants”, it’s down the same alleyway where the great Gaby’s Portuguese restaurant used to be.
Sheila Maree, Julie Simpson, me and Roy having lunch at Moz-Am-Bik in Florida Road, Durban
Now I’ve had my first Durban bunny chow, I know I’m back home. Don’t be alarmed, any bunny-huggers out there – this is not about eating rabbit, though I confess I have nothing against that either.
There’s nothing that says “Durban” more conclusively than a bunny chow, also known simply as a bunny. Indeed, Rocky Bunny café (27 Lighthouse Mall), just up the road from us in Umhlanga Rocks, would have us believe that the bunny is becoming South Africa’s most popular meal. (Must be true – it’s printed on their quarter-bunny take-away box.)
Saint-Malo, in the province of Bretagne, is a wonderful destination to visit and revisit – apart from being the home of our daughter Wendy. This time, we were there to drop off our Renault Twingo for the winter and spend the first part of Wendy’s birthday with her.
Hôtel de la Cité in Intramuros, the walled city of Saint-Malo
