It began early on a crisp Friday morning — one of those mornings that smell like possibility and coffee. We packed up and left Plettenberg Bay behind, bound for a weekend escape, just 180 kilometres down the coast. A short drive, really, but the kind that feels like an adventure.
The road was pure South African magic — the N2 winding along the coastline, flashing us glimpses of sleepy seaside towns and glinting blue ocean. We decided to pull off into one such town, drawn by hunger and curiosity, and ended up at the Sea Shanty Restaurant. A better decision we couldn’t have made.
The Sea Gypsey sat right on the old wharf — tables so close to the sea that you could lean over the wall and see the blacktails darting beneath the surface. We ordered fish and chips and a loaded seafood basket. And let me tell you, it was proper. Golden batter, flaky fish, the works. We tossed a few scraps into the water, and the sea came alive — a flurry of fins in a saltwater frenzy.
We joked with the waitress, asking if we had to catch our own fish next time. She smiled like only someone who’s heard that line a hundred times can, and said, “Ours is just as fresh, promise.”
After lunch, we strolled through the old part of the town — sandstone buildings still standing proud. Some were converted into shops or boutique hotels, others still looked like they belonged to another century. It felt like a place where stories hung in the air.
By late afternoon, we arrived at our destination, deep in the countryside. The campsite welcomed us with quiet air and long shadows. We unpacked like pros — tent up, chairs out, mattress blown up, topper on. That’s when my fiancé tapped me on the shoulder and said, “We’ve made a hell of a mistake.”
We’d left all the bedding at home. On her daughter’s bed. Neatly folded and completely useless, 180 kilometres away.
Now what?
A minor crisis was averted by a phone call and a family member just 45 kilometres out. Not exactly around the corner, but worlds better than turning back. Blankets and pillows were secured, and the whole mission took just a fraction of the time it could’ve.
Back at camp, bed finally made, fire crackling, we sat with steaming mugs of coffee and laughed. Laughed at ourselves, at the chaos, at the fish frenzy, at the forgotten bedding. Day one — unpredictable, a little messy, but undeniably ours.
And that’s what a camping weekend is really about.
Day Two – From Frosty Mornings to Fire-Side Feasts
As day two dawned, so did the cold. The kind of cold that wakes you up more than once in the middle of the night, wondering where your other sock went and whether your nose might just freeze off. By 3 a.m., the temperature had dipped to around 5°C — possibly even lower. We huddled in and waited for the sun to do its job. And it finally did… around 9 a.m., bringing a bit of warmth to thaw our fingers and spirits.
Breakfast was a proper South African spread: “Boerewors” Farmers Sausage, from a recent hunt my fiancés son had been on, fried eggs, toast, and, of course, that all-important camping coffee. There’s just something about sipping that first mug while standing in the morning sun that makes the chilly night worth it.
With dishes done and gear packed into place, it was time to move out — today was “Game Drive Day”.
A short trip from camp brought us to a Big 5 reserve. We arrived just before 11 a.m. and were swiftly ushered through the formalities — indemnity forms signed (because in Africa, even the paperwork can kill you), and off we went to meet our ranger.
A quick safety briefing later, we climbed aboard the open vehicle and headed into the bush.
First up, two African Elephants — magnificent creatures, each weighing around 3 tons. The ranger dropped a fun fact: these gentle giants consume 4–7% of their body weight in vegetation daily. That’s one way to keep the grass trimmed.
Next, we spotted Waterbuck — known for their unique, um, “toilet seat” marking on their rears. Add in a heart-shaped nose and they’re practically cartoon characters. Then came Zebra, or as the ranger called them, “horses in pyjamas.” We learned their manes can indicate health — upright when healthy, drooping when not — and that their skin underneath is actually grey. The stripe debate? Still unresolved.
Then, a special moment — Rhino with a calf. The ranger explained how even rhino horns can hint at gender: the females’ horns are long and elegant, the males’ shorter and thicker, built for brawling. Like fingernails with purpose.
And then the wild cats — sleek, powerful cheetahs. One reserve resident had previously suffered from a house-cat-transmitted eye infection, but thanks to tracking collars and early treatment, it hadn’t affected its sight or speed. Thank goodness, because these creatures are pure poetry in motion — even if their actual average speed is lower than their famous sprint.
Hippos were up next. Tubby? Sure. Slow? Definitely not. 30 km/h on land, 50 cm tusks, a mouth that opens 150 degrees, and a real grudge against intruders. They may look like floating blobs, but they’re Africa’s most dangerous animal for a reason.
Among the birds, the secretary bird stood out — tall and proud, with head plumes that make it look like it’s late for a Victorian board meeting. A snake-hunting specialist with a unique flair.
And finally — lions. A small pride: two females and a male. All ex-circus animals, now retired into the reserve. While still fed occasionally, they were clearly adapting well — relaxed, healthy, and finally free of cages. It felt right seeing them there, living a life closer to what nature intended.
Back at the lodge, we said our thanks, snapped some photos, and began the slow, scenic meander back — this time hugging the coastline. We explored small fishing villages, admired rocky outcrops, and found a few picture-perfect seascapes to stop and savour.
After a long day out, hunger called. A quick Google search landed us a restaurant nearby. Walking in, it looked… well, posh. Too posh, we thought, for a budget dinner. Rows of tables, 200 seats, and an engagement party already underway. We half expected the bill to include a loan application.
But what a surprise — the meal was both divine and affordable.
My fiancé went with the ribs: juicy, tender, falling off the bone, accompanied by chips and onion rings. I had the Asian-style pork belly — perfectly crisped, served with buttery mash, veggies, and a sticky soy glaze that was honestly next-level. First class all the way, and still kind to the wallet.
Bellies full and hearts warm, we returned to camp for a quiet nightcap by the fire. Embers glowed. Stars winked above.
Day two: wild, delicious, and utterly unforgettable.
Day Three – Wild Roads, Wild Creatures, and a Feast Fit for Legends
Sunday morning greeted us slowly — no alarms, no urgency, just the lazy drift of cold air and the comfort of knowing it was a day made for taking things slow. After a bone-chilling night (yet again), we decided to keep breakfast light. A mug of strong coffee paired with some trusty bran rusks was more than enough to start the day. Besides, we had booked a proper lunch at the reserve’s restaurant — and by the sounds of it, it was going to be worth the wait.
We took a scenic detour before lunch, heading down to the bottom of the reserve to explore the “wild camping” area. Getting there was an adventure in itself — through a manual gate designed to keep the wildlife in (and tourists, hopefully, still in one piece), then onto a stretch of river sand that looked suspiciously like beach sand. We parked at the riverbank, surrounded by silence and natural beauty.
From our vantage point, we could see three remarkable bridges spanning the gorge above us:
- The 1977 road bridge, still in use today.
- The 1890-1892 stone bridge, proudly aged and full of stories.
- And the 1931 rail bridge, once a lifeline for steam locomotives and carriages.
It was here in the early 1990s that bungee jumping first took off in the area — long before it moved to the famous Bloukrans near Tsitsikamma.
While admiring the view, we were lucky to spot a sub-adult Verreaux’s Eagle perched on the train bridge crossbars, perfectly poised for a photo. Wild camping down here, with no electricity, donkey boilers for hot showers, and the river murmuring nearby, would definitely be one for the bucket list.
Back at the lodge, we were ready for lunch — and what a feast it was.
A true man’s menu, starting with focaccia and labneh cheese balls, crispy pork crackling (“kaiings” as the Afrikaners fondly say), and a bright, punchy chimichurri made with pickled onion, garlic, olive oil, vinegar, and just a touch of chili. That alone could’ve been a meal.
But the main course was legendary:
- Six sheep tails
- Six sticky pork ribs
- Six fish goujons
- Six crumbed chicken strips
- Hand-cut chips and crisp onion slivers
- Served with BBQ and tartar sauces
We tried, we really did, but there was no way we were finishing that mountain. So, a well-earned doggy bag came with us for later. Dessert? Oh yes. A rich baked chocolate pudding paired with soft serve and a final cup of coffee to seal the deal.
While at the restaurant, a flash of colour caught our eyes — a Brown-headed Kingfisher perched just long enough for us to snap a few photos. A little gift from nature.
No rest for the wicked, though — a 2 p.m. game drive awaited.
The Nyalas were first up, their yellow legs and spots giving them away. Another kingfisher sighting made us feel doubly lucky. We then spotted Sable Antelope, their curved, ribbed horns like polished scimitars.
The giraffe ambled in — massive, elegant, and just a little awkward. Their gait, right legs then left, always gives them away. A 50-centimetre tongue lets them strip leaves while dodging thorns. One even turned to stare at us, as if to say, “Yes, I know I’m fabulous.”
Next came the Eland, stately and strong — the heaviest antelope on Earth. Then Black Wildebeest, unmistakable with their white tails and tough expressions. We were also fortunate to see Bontebok, a conservation success story — their numbers once below 200, now thankfully climbing above 3,500.
A “faux waterfall” had us fooled — from afar it looked like it was still flowing, but up close, it was just mineral deposits, white and solidified like frozen time. Not far from it, a heated mineral pool for guests invited long soaks and sore muscle relief.
Kudu peered at us from a distance, ever shy. Their large ears and majestic horns catching the light. Aloe Vera and Aloe Ferox grew wild, their spiked rosettes waving like ancient healers.
We stopped at the Boerboonboom (Farmer Bean Tree), whose red flowers attract sugarbirds and sunbirds. The birds, feeding on nectar, get dusted with pollen across their heads and necks, becoming accidental couriers of life. Nature, at it again — quietly doing miracles.
As we returned to the lodge, the last stop was a quiet chapel on the reserve. Small, perfect for intimate weddings. A bell outside bore a plaque: Bethany Mission Station, Free State. A final piece of history echoing through the air.
Back at camp, the fire was already going — our Bush TV. We pulled up chairs, poured a glass of South African fortified wine (because “Port” and “Sherry” are now strictly for Portugal), and let the warmth sink in. Not just from the drink, but from a weekend of nature, laughter, wildlife, and lessons learned (like: always pack your bedding).
The borrowed pillows and blankets served us well that final night. Wrapped in comfort, full bellies and happy hearts, we drifted off with the sounds of the veld outside and the soft whisper of another story well lived.
Day Four – Breaking Camp and Rolling Home
We woke up long after the sun had made its appearance — a luxury after three brisk, early mornings. The night had once again brought a biting cold, and the day ahead promised even cooler weather, maybe even rain. A reminder that nature doesn’t do farewells, only seasons.
Still wrapped in layers, we stepped out of the tent one last time and breathed in the crisp air of this quiet sanctuary. Birds calling, trees whispering, and the sound of zip ties and tent poles being unsnapped.
It was checkout day, and time to break camp — carefully, respectfully, and in the spirit of true campers: leave no trace, only footprints.
As we packed up, we took a last long look at our campsite — the fireplace that warmed our hands, the trees that sheltered us, the stars we’d stared at. This place had given us a story, and a special kind of peace.
On the road again, our first stop was to return the loaned bedding — a favour that saved our entire weekend and will now live forever in family lore. Another laugh was shared, of course. That oops moment of forgetting the bedding has firmly entered the Hall of Camping Fame. We’ll never live it down — and honestly, we wouldn’t want to.
The journey home was slow, scenic, and savoured. A coastal drive, one final gift from this part of the world. The wind carried salt and memory as we pulled over to enjoy coffee and leftover “Padkos” — still-delicious bites from Sunday’s feast, now repurposed as road trip gold.
One last indulgence — a soft serve with caramel dip and a flake — sweet, nostalgic, and the perfect send-off from a weekend that had fed our souls.
And then, the final stretch home. Unpacking. Cleaning. Folding. Restoring everything to its place, ready for the next trip. Because there will be a next trip. The kind of weekend like this doesn’t end — it just patiently waits to begin again.
So, from all of us, and especially from me, Stof-fel, the Escaping Badger — thanks for tagging along. We hope you’ll join us again on the next great escape.
Until then,
Warm roads and wild skies,
Stof-fel 🦡
