Safaring in Style in South Africa by Rory Spowers

People often say that there is something unique about an African sky - the light, the clarity, the regimented rows of puffy white cloud, calibrating the vast scale of the landscape as they recede into hazy horizons like balls of cotton wool. That was certainly my first impression of Africa when, exactly ten years ago, I flew into Botswana with three friends. Inspired by a cocktail of cheap red wine and headstrong enthusiasm, we had chosen to cycle 10,000 kilometres back to London, on the original tandem used by The Goodies on BBC television, using a mountain bike as our support vehicle. I remember landing in Gaberone, staring at the endless canopy of sky, feeling the enormity around us and the daunting sense of distance that lay ahead.

We had little idea of what to expect. Our combined naivety about the most basic rules of cycle touring was made even more apparent by the last minute purchase of the Readers Digest Bicycle Maintenance Handbook. We had also arrived in Africa with more equipment than most people put in a caravan - fishing rods, 16mm film equipment, tape recorders, a medical kit to equip a small army and enough tools to open a roadside garage. We even had a guitar.

As the months and the miles clocked up, the contents of our trailer and panniers were dispersed to African villages until we arrived back in London with little more than a toothbrush each and the clothes we stood up in. The bizarre escapades that punctuated this trip through the Dark Continent became the subject of my first book, Three Men on a Bike. We were offered boiled mice for dinner, fought off attacks from panga-wielding madmen, starred as extras in a Clint Eastwood movie and shared ten bouts of malaria between us. By the end of the journey I was suffering from a painful complaint in a rather sensitive area, having spent eleven months on a hard leather saddle .

The intention had always been to cycle from the Cape to Cairo. However, the political situation at the time made this impossible and, together with our sponsors, we had taken a position against apartheid. It was therefore, quite a shock to find myself in South Africa, exactly ten years later, watching the landscape waft by as I sat within the refinement of my compartment on the Blue Train. In some ways, sitting in my sumptuous armchair and looking at Africa through tinted windows, felt even more surreal than sitting on the back of a 1930's tandem.

We had arrived in Johannesburg the day before and were swiftly installed in the opulence of the Westcliff Hotel, a cascade of pink terracotta, white doric columns and wooden pergolas, sprawling across a hillside above the exclusive northern suburbs like an extended Mediterranean villa. Blue-tiled pools lapped at the edges and we lay on wrought iron recliners with white padded cushions, shaded by cream canvas umbrellas. Jacarandas, bourgainvillea, and ornamental palms line the cobbled road that winds up to the pool, bar and restaurant, while a team of liveried bell-boys take guests up and down the hill in a fleet of electric golf buggies. The degree of luxury almost made me laugh, reminding me of the time when I spent five minutes hugging a white towel when we first landed back in Europe ten years ago. My television rose from a mirrored cabinet at the foot of the bed, like a model of the masterplan on a James Bond set, while the power shower pounded my body like the Victoria Falls.

The Blue Train experience does not come cheap. However, there is little doubt that it ranks as the most luxurious train journey in the world. The attention to detail is quite astounding. Each compartment is equipped with television, electric blinds, a writing desk and a telephone. They even offer free calls to the value of five pounds. Adjoining bathrooms are lined with golden Italian marble and many are fitted with a decent sized bath instead of a shower. I was served by Nelson, my personal butler, resplendent in his embroidered waitscoat, who pressed my crumpled clothes into presentable attire within minutes. Considering the limitations presented by a jolting, mobile kitchen, the food was superb - smoked marlin, fresh tomato soup, shellfish in crisp filo pastry, slices of medium rare ostrich and, for dessert, an ingenious chocolate cauldron spun with golden thread. The whole meal was beautifully presented and proficiently served. Not bad, considering that the swaying motion of the train had thrown me to the floor before I even sat down for a drink.

This recently opened overnight journey, from Pretoria to Hoedspruit, takes one into the Northern Province and Mpumulanga, the perfect departure point for Kruger National Park and a variety of private game reserves. We woke to spectacular views of the Drakensbergs, the folded shapes of the dragon's wings mountains streaked with burnt russet orange and lime green lichens. Hiring a car from Hoedspruit, we climbed into the mountains and over the Abel Essman pass. Short detours opened up panoramic vistas of Blyde River Canyon, where the Three Rondavels, cylindrical towers of red rock strata, stand guard like giant mud huts topped with a conical green thatch. At Bourke's potholes, the confluence of the Blyde and Treur rivers, clear crystal waters tumble over the smooth polished stone, reminiscent of Henry Moore's organic bronze sculptures, scooped from the surface of the gorge. On a clear day, God's Window provides some of the most breathtaking views in Africa, while moisture in the rising cool air sustains a small patch of rainforest on the crest of the ridge, a prehistoric micro-climate of moss-covered boulders and branches, draped with wispy green lichens and seething, primeval vegetation.

There is wide choice of accomodation in the region, from which one can explore all of the above, as well as the obligatory Kruger National Park. The modestly priced Casa do Sol, a whitewashed complex covered with terracotta tiles, is built around rambling cobbled walkways. It feels like a Mexican hacienda, or a small Andalucian village, air-lifted into a fertile forested landscape. It has a friendly, unpretentious atmosphere and, to enhance the sense of displacement, the gregarious staff are dressed in North African kaftans and white skull caps. For the ultimate in style and sophistication, head for Cybele Forest Lodge. The old farmhouse is surrounded by stunning gardens, scented with Frangipani, Gardenia and Buddleia, shaded by African flame trees, Jacarandas and Bluegums. The English owners, Barbara and Rupert Hunter, have let the lodge evolve over the years and each room has a distinctive feel, from the deep decadent scarlet of the dining room to the soft green baize of the bar. The rooms are luxurious and tasteful, never ostentatious. I was greeted by a complimentary decanter of sherry, a thick towelling dressing gown, crisp white linen and an open fireplace. Some of the suites have private swimmining pools, one with sauna and jacuzzi. The food is exquisite, the river stocked with trout, the paddock with beautiful horses. Helicopter flights take one over the Kruger towards the Mozambique border, or into the mountains of the Eastern Transvaal. It is hard to envisage a more romantic destination for honeymooners.

The private game park of Kapama was opened two years ago and the thirteen thousand hectares are densely populated with the proverbial Big Five. Kapama Lodge, in the middle of the reserve, overlooks a perennial waterhole, covered with flowering lotus lillies. The room tariff includes two game drives a day, one at dawn, the other at dusk. Skilled Shangaana trackers work with the rangers to bring you as close as possible to everything from elephant, lion and giraffe to buffalo, zebra and hippo.

Sometimes these encounters get a bit close for comfort. One evening we were searching for white rhinos after dark. Sepu, our tracker, was scanning the bush with a searchlight when we turned a blind corner, separating an adult rhino from its young. Mother was far from happy and Sepu had to strike the side of the vehicle to deflect her aggressive advances. A two tonne rhino can easily flip a Land Rover and the adrenalin amongst the group became quite palpable. Our ranger manoevred the vehicle back through the bush and onto the track. I sat nervously on the edge of the rear seat, which hangs precariously over the back. As we set off down the track, at thirty miles an hour, I could hear the snorting exhalations of a very large animal, breathing through the darkness. The rhino was pounding along the track, hot on our tail and closing.

"It's still coming," I kept saying, trying to suppress the panic in my voice as the rhino pursued us for half a mile through the bush.

Back in the safety of the lodge, sipping a sundowner to calm the nerves, I suddenly felt rather relieved that we had been travelling by Land Rover rather than tandem.