ALTHOUGH the surrounding mountains were still wearing their russet winter coats, the village of Rhodes had already welcomed spring, which had arrived in a glorious burst of pink and green..
After leaving Mokale National Park early that morning, we were heading home via the Eastern Cape, our original intention being to drive the celebrated ‘Route 56’, the scenic R56 that skirts the most westerly section of the Drakensberg.
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It is a seriously under-valued potential tourist road that meanders through magnificent but almost completely uncommercialised mountain country and the pretty towns of Elliot, Ugie, Maclear, Mount Fletcher and finally, Matatiele.
It would be the last night of our three-week road trip and we had decided we’d find somewhere to spend it around Elliot. We’d just reached Barkly East and were about to proceed to Elliot when Bill had a brain wave. Instead of heading towards the Barclay Pass and Elliot, we turned left onto a gravel mountain road and headed for Rhodes.
Kilometre-wise it would be a shorter route home but the going, via rough gravel roads through the rugged mountainous terrain, would certainly be slower. We didn’t care. Road trips are all about taking it slowly and following, when possible, the roads less travelled.
Also, Bill and I just love Rhodes, a harming hamlet surrounded by the most majestic scenery, yet remote enough to keep it unspoiled and unpretentious.
We had certainly experienced some extreme weather on our previous visits to this picturesque hamlet. One of the earliest of our frequent visits to Rhodes had been during summer but we’d driven there through cold, driving rain, slipping and sliding down the infamous Lundin’s Nek, a rough, muddy excuse of a mountain pass.
It had rained on and off for most of the long weekend we’d spent in Rhodes and we’d had to keep a close watch on the rising river bordering the camping area. It said a lot for the village that, since then, we’d happily returned there again and again.
We’d also once driven there at the tail-end of winter, via a scary, snow-bound Naude’s Nek, arriving after dark and waking up the next morning in a sparkling but icy, snow-capped village.
It had also been September and officially spring on our most recent visit but the weatherman had not yet been informed and we’d spent a couple of days in a frosty campsite, wrapped in our warmest camping gear. This time round, though, Mother Nature was kind, welcoming us to Rhodes with a burst of glorious September spring weather.
“Shame, you missed the snow by a week,” a local commiserated but we’d seen enough frost and snow in Rhodes. We were only to pleased to encounter the village in a sunnier mood.
Spring had certainly sprung. Alongside the dusty gravel roads, the brown, frost-ravaged verges were overlaid with a wash of bright green and in the fields, fresh shoots were making their way through the long brittle winter grasses.
The street trees and the shrubs in all the cottage gardens were starting to put on their spring finery, the leaf buds already beginning to sprout. Along the water ways, weeping willows were already trailing bright green foliage and, perhaps most eye-catching of all, the blossoming fruit trees were covered in a froth of pink, cerise and white.
Best of all though, the late afternoon was positively balmy, perfectly suited for outdoor activities like a stroll through the town’s dusty streets.
We set up camp in the municipal camping ground, quite the most delightful spot, right in the centre of the town, next to a spring and the commonage where horses and cows grazed. Here, too, were signs that the season of renewal had arrived.
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The adjoining herb garden was waking up after its long winter sleep and in the garden beds decorating the camping area, bulbs were pushing new leaves through the winter-dry earth.
We needed to book in and pay camping fees at a pleasant local hostelry with the quaint name of Walkabouts Inn but we took a long, rambling detour there, enjoying a pleasant stroll along the dusty town streets, admiring all the adorable little cottages.
Rhodes being so picturesque and such a perfect spot for a long, leisurely stroll, it took us quite a while before we reached Walkabouts Inn where we paid the ridiculously low camping fees.
It was a perfect spring so we found an empty table on the fairly crowded terrace and joined the friendly locals for a craft beer, enjoying the golden evening sunshine and a view of what must surely be one of the prettiest towns in South Africa.
We were back in camp before dark and soon had our little braai fire going, ready to cook a nice fat rump steak we’d been saving for the final night of our holiday. A couple of horses trotted past and, as the shadows lengthened, we waved at a bunch of children reluctantly wending their way home after a long outdoor play session.
Then the cows came home – a small herd of them, slowly making their way to the milking shed. More noisily, they were soon followed by a substantial flock of sheep, their shepherds also waving to us as they passed.
How privileged we felt to be able to celebrate the advent of the season of renewal by spending such a beautiful spring evening in such a charming village watching the local
livestock wandering home through its dusty streets. In South Africa it is still
possible to find places where time has slowed down to a more gentle pace.
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