The tenebrous sky threatened to unleash more rain on the verdant hills, thick with vegetation. Yet we remained fixed to our seats, cowering beneath our umbrellas on the upper deck of the boat, slowly chugging its way down the Umtamvuna River that marks the boundary between KwaZulu-Natal and the Eastern Cape. Encroaching mist cloaked the edges of the mountainous vista in the distance, erasing the outlying landscape, creating the impression that we were exploring the territory between two small islands.
Modest buildings located in front of small jetties lined one side of the river. A number of thatched rondavels were dotted along the upper reaches of the mountains on the other side. It wasn’t an unpopulated idyll and we were glad of it. We were keen to know of the local community outside the insular and glitzy world of the Wild Coast Sun hotel. Two fishermen standing on the banks of the river waved at us as we glided past. Mostly, our gaze was fixed on the horizon, which offered a pleasing view of mist-covered mountains meeting at the river’s edge.
The man driving the boat was ensconced in a small glass booth, a buttress against the inclement weather. He had done the journey twice that day, perhaps even the days, months or years before, but he seemed to, as we did, relish each moment. The variations in weather must shift the landscape’s appearance, so no journey down the river would ever be the same.
He was listening to music on a small radio. At one point The Chordettes’ 1958 song Lollipop was playing. It’s not a song of my youth – I looked up the group’s name on Wikipedia – but this quaint, infectious tune somehow made the experience distinctive, memorable. Not that I want to deconstruct each element of that boat trip – to do so would somehow rob it of its elusive magic.
If things are going your way, there comes that moment on your holiday when you truly feel transported elsewhere. It is this intangible quality that we crave when we pack our suitcases and climb into cars, trains or planes and travel long distances. We don’t just want to be elsewhere, we want to feel like we are somewhere different.
In this sense, travelling is the pursuit of the new, the undiscovered. It is not just a foreign environment that engenders this sentiment; it’s a heightened awareness of everything around you that allows you to see the world with fresh eyes. Giving you the ability to identify and value a seemingly arbitrary moment that sometimes only lasts a split-second, though you know it will live with you forever.
This sensation washed over me while journeying down the Umtamvuna River. That this moment would stand out from our trip to the Wild Coast seemed improbable. Wet weather typically puts a damper on any outdoor experience. The setting wasn’t completely new to me either; I had explored the river before, though I had only gingerly paddled around its mouth decades earlier.
Yet everything seemed to be conspiring to make this experience unique, everlasting. I attempted to take a few snapshots of the scenery. I wanted to capture the thick, tropical vegetation with its banana and pineapple trees that impart the island-like character of the landscape that has earned this region the name “wild coast”. As if underscoring the transience of the experience, the angled and persistent sheet of rain that grew harder as we ventured deeper into the river covered the camera lens with water droplets. I would have to rely on my erratic memory.
Eventually, the worsening weather forced us off the upper deck and we joined the rest of the passengers below. The barmaid was sleeping behind the bar with a blanket shielding her body from the wet weather. When the boat turned around and the driver gradually navigated it back to shore, the intangible delight of the experience slipped away. By the time we hit the shore and rushed down the jetty in a foolish attempt to evade the angled sharp drizzle emanating from the dark sky we had landed back in an all familiar world. As we huddled under beach umbrellas on the shore waiting for a shuttle to ferry us back to the Wild Coast Sun, I recalled crossing the bridge over the river days earlier, in much sunnier climes.
We were full of expectation and excitement as we looked down at the river and the unspoilt beach that extends from its mouth. The last time I visited the region and stayed at this Sun International hotel was in the late Eighties, when the area was known as the Transkei and the main attraction was the casino. At the time gambling was illegal outside of South Africa’s homelands, ushering in a number of palatial gambling dens that stood out like an oasis of wealth in mostly impoverished homelands. As the Wild Coast Sun is located almost on the border of KwaZulu-Natal, you weren’t ever exposed to the local communities as you are when you travel to Sun City, which was situated in the heart of Bophuthatswana.
I recalled winning R700 at the roulette tables but it was the picturesque coastline that left a lasting impression. Few hotels are located on the edges of a pristine and unpopulated beach. The hotel is the only large edifice that is visible from the beach – though I noticed a cluster of new homes on the hilltops at the Umtamvuna River’s mouth.
I had memories of waking up, opening a sliding door and taking a few steps before feeling sand between my toes. It was a memory I was keen to relive. When we checked into the hotel and opened the door of our room I immediately realised that this experience was going to be different. We had been given a room facing away from the beach – that a hotel situated near such a magnificent coastline boasts rooms facing inland is an unforgivable architectural faux-pas. The room didn’t overlook a garden but a dump site where a large rubbish skip was located. As quickly as I opened the curtains, I closed them.
The room was comfortable and luxurious enough to divert our attention from the dismal view outside. The hotel has undergone extensive refurbishments and the rooms have benefited the most from this endeavour. With large white headboards, soft white duvets and modern renditions of Victorian slipper baths in the bathrooms, the accommodation is contemporary and plush. The adjustable French shutter door between the bedroom and bathroom that can be pulled back to turn the room into an open-plan space is a nice touch, particularly for couples.
As inviting as the room was, we didn’t spend too much time in it. We were here to enjoy the ocean – or at least views of it from the shore. On the day we arrived it was swelteringly hot – a staff member suggested a heatwave had taken hold. But the weather quickly turned and by that afternoon a thunderstorm had quelled the heat and served as a barrier to enjoying the beach. As did a message on a large sign on the path down to the beach, which advised that you shouldn’t walk on it alone.
The following day the weather remained wet but, undeterred after a sturdy three-course breakfast at Chico’s, we hit the beach with aspirations to reach the so-called Petrified Forest further south along the coastline. The persistent rain buoyed by a strong wind foiled such attempts. Walking away from the wind was the only practical course, so we headed down the other side of the beach along a rocky coast that leads back to the Umtamvuna River mouth towards the hotel’s so-called Waterworld, where you can engage in a variety of water activities, including the boat trip we took down the river. The regeneration of the hotel has yet to extend to this end of the establishment. The beach chairs looked tattered and worn, beaten into submission by fluctuating weather conditions.
This left me with a sense that the Wild Coast Sun hasn’t quite moved into its new era and is struggling to recapture its old glory days, when it was a popular destination. The casino is no longer enough of an attraction to lure visitors to this end of the South Coast. The water park, which has been built on the south-west side of the extensive property, will bring in the crowds over December, particularly children who fancy themselves as semi-aquatic creatures, navigating their way along tunnels of water that rise and fall like rollercoaster rides. This should attract a new clientele to the hotel, but they may be put off by the prices.
The food at Chico’s, the main restaurant for guests, is overpriced, particularly given the quality of the fare on offer. Breakfast is not included and is dear at R125 a head. There is quite an extensive buffet on offer but the food was less than satisfactory – the pork and chicken sausages were cheap and nasty. Undoubtedly, it’s not the kind of fare befitting a four-star hotel. The dinner buffet at Chico’s (R184) was even more disappointing – the roasts looked dry, the pasta dishes were uninspiring and the lamb curry consisted of bones with barely a sliver of meat attached to them. The cuisine at Chico’s seems outdated – there seem to be no concessions towards contemporary gastronomy. Updating a hotel should encompass the cuisine. On the second night we ate dinner at Squires Loft, where we enjoyed classic steakhouse fare and, much to our surprise, our best meal was at Fishmonger, where we got stuck into fresh calamari and a plate piled with prawns, while we watched the rain batter the glass windows, obscuring views of the beach in the distance.
On our last day the sky was grey and overcast but, determined to see the Petrified Forest, we headed back onto the beach. There was no rain and the cool temperature proved ideal for a long stroll along the shore. Once again, the beach was deserted except for a few local fishermen. Had hotel guests been put off by the warning? Given the threat of danger it alluded to we weren’t surprised to encounter a security guard, who volunteered to show us the location of the Petrified Forest.
We would never have spotted the forest on our own. This isn’t a vertical forest, but a hidden, unseen one, characterised by empty cavities in the shape of tree trunks that washed up on these shores millions of years ago and became embedded in the rocks. The trees are thought to originate from as far afield as Australia during an early phase of the earth’s development when that continent was more closely connected to Africa. Apparently, this was first discovered in 1820 but it wasn’t until the 1980s that technology was available to give an accurate reading of the date of the trees, which had turned to stone. Fragments of these petrified trees are still embedded in the rocky shoreline but largely it is the outline, the negative recess, of these stone trees that remains. This makes it a subtle, though quite poetic phenomenon.
This end of the beach is quite magnificent. Like elsewhere, the thick vegetation encroaches onto the sand and protrudes over caves shaped by water that has run off the land. Followed by a cynical laugh, the security guard told us that this unpopulated area was popular with filmmakers searching for locations of rural or abandoned African scenes.
As we strolled back to the hotel we encountered a husband and wife with sunburnt faces, who were setting up for a day of fishing. Where were the hotel guests? A spate of muggings – and a fatal attack on a tourist – committed mostly by locals, said the security guard, have curbed visitors to the beach. He suggested the criminals are locals who prefer to scavenge off tourists, rather than work. I suspected the problem might be more complex.
This piece of paradise is troubled – like every other. When you step into the air-conditioned lobby of the Wild Coast Sun hotel, which is adorned with Hawaiian motifs on the carpets and tapestries on the walls, you feel as if you have entered a different realm. And you have.
But you are never far from the world that exists outside. Such as when you take a stroll across the casino floor at night and encounter anxious-looking faces crowded around roulette tables or hunched over slot machines, ordinary working people waiting to hit the jackpot.
l Mary Corrigall was a guest at the Wild Coast Sun. Call 039 305 9111 for more information or reservations, or visit www.suninternational.com - Sunday Independent