Numbi Numpties

Position: 25°09’20.4″S 31°11’53.4″E

Leaving Kruger National Park via the Numbi Gate isn’t recommended. At least not for foreigners. A result of its proximity to the hard-knock township of Numbi and the 2022 murder of a German tourist in a carjacking gone bad. Blissfully ignorant of these facts, we drove through Numbi and its neighbouring villages on our way to Hazyview, just up the road.

After a mile or so you are flanked by orderly rows of concrete bungalows. Smoke rises slowly from a thousand wood stoves. A dense web of electrical wires feeds power to each dwelling. Kids, handsome in their neat school uniforms, lined both sides of the wide streets, adding to the hustle and bustle of the place. Like kids anywhere, there was lots of chatting and laughing and dawdling taking place. And as soon as the uniforms changed colours from blue to red or green we knew we’d entered another district. Looking in the rearview mirror I noticed we were being tailed by a rent-a-cop car. Turns out it was part of the local effort to make the area safer for tourists.

Hazyview

Smoke clung to the trees and lay heavily in the valley around Hazyview. I wondered if smoke were the reason for its name, or if there were a more natural phenomenon in play. Like the terpenoid mist rising off the Smoky Mountains.

Adding to the sense of having entered a security compound, our hotel had a long list of Don’ts in its welcome packet:

• Don’t get cash from an ATM alone
• Don’t walk alone after dark
• Don’t stop your car for strangers, no matter what.

The list went on. Like so many towns in South Africa, poverty gives rise to local gangs and criminal opportunists. Our (benign) shakedown experiences were more frequent at weekends, when petty criminals are off work and looking to supplement their income.

Hazyview was unremarkable. If it weren’t for an exceptional breakfast at the Kuka Café we might have forgotten the whole thing. “Omelette” has become a broad term for anything egg-based and flat that surrounds something more three dimensional. More often these days they are nothing better than a thinly fried pancake without the flour. It’s probably a lack of cream that does it. A good, fluffy omelette needs cream. The chef at Kuka’s served up the fluffiest omelettes of our entire trip. It was also Carol’s birthday week, so cause for double celebration. It is, after all, the simple things that bring us the most joy.

Sabie

Stuffed and caffeinated, we set out with high hopes for Sabie. Advertised as another wanna-be town high up in the mountains, it promised good restaurants, quirky accommodations and microbrews. It fit the mould. Having negotiated a Marne-sized run of potholes, we began climbing. As we did the landscape changed from low scrub and grass to neat stands of commercial pine and eucalyptus trees. It wasn’t the first time we’d seen forests on the trip, but these were the biggest we’d come across. Sabie is a logging town at heart, and has a sense of blue-collar ‘actually, we’re doing okay, here’ about it.

The Sabie Town House Guest Lodge sits behind a motorized key-coded security gate. Every hotel we stayed at was fenced in by barbed, electrical wire that reached up 10 feet. As an optimist I reasoned this was to keep animals out. Impalas can jump 10 feet in the air. Kudus manage similar feats leaping to the side, not straight ahead; dekeing out their enemies with surprise and strength. The pessimist in me thinks the fencing is to keep humans out. Or in.

The Sabie Town House is a quirky place. Each generous room is themed. Ours was Marrakesh, replete with pointy, rounded window frames and mirrored fabric throws. Our host warned us not to drink the water under any circumstances. Not even to brush our teeth. She had left a bottle of water for that purpose on our sink. Her warning was a first and we heeded it as best we could.

Schindler’s Lift

Venturing out we discovered the Graskop Gorge Lift Co., a combined eco-tourism centre and bungy jumping venue. The result is a surprisingly fun experience. Access to the floor of the teardrop canyon is by a large, Wonka-ready glass elevator. Dropping a couple hundred feet you bid goodbye to direct sunlight and walk out into a curated rainforest. Information boards and tags help you along your self-guided walk. The route is along a boardwalk with bouncy suspension bridges that cross large pools of water. We learned about medicinal plants, fungi, animals and birds native to the area.

The panels extolled the benefits of silence in understanding how a forest works. Shut up and listen – they admonished with the support of pithy quotes by long-dead writers. High above our heads we heard the squeals of bungy jumpers swinging back and forth just above the canopy. After all, the park needed something to engage the kids.

DINNER

Never ones to pass up a good beer or a good meal we paused first at the Sabie Brewery and sampled their wares. I like their IPA better than Carol, leaning towards a sour as it did. For dinner our host recommended the Woodsman, and, despite its roadhouse décor, it didn’t disappoint. Each night there is a long list of specials and Carol’s snoek (fish) was delicious.

Escarping Sabie

The surrounding ancient, worn and crumbling landscape is riven by deep canyons and waterfalls. God’s Window is as good a place as you can find if you’re into ancient rock formations. A short walk takes you right up to the edge of the 2,300’ (700m) cliff. It’s a sheer drop and the rickety fence didn’t look like it would take much to upend it. It hadn’t rained for days, and the distant air was thick from cane field burn-off. On a clearer day I’m sure we could have seen the coast.

Each natural viewpoint is a separate opportunity to pay a parking fee and buy handcrafted tchotchke. Some of which was quite lovely, but far bigger than our baggage could accommodate. In one corner I watched a woman sanding down and shaping a large bowl with a fistful of sand. Of course! Before 3M came along, that was how woodworking was done.

The road turned and twisted, and more signs beckoned us to see the next waterfall. In the rainy season I’m sure the trickles turn into torrents, but that was still a few weeks away. Further north the valley opened up and irrigated fields turned the red/orange landscape dark green. The population fell away. We were almost out of Mpumalanga and into Limpopo.

Dissociation

Limpopo is one of those mystical words like Timbuktu. A word you hear as a child, but don’t associate with anything physical. A metaphor, perhaps, for getting lost, or onomatopoeia for describing the denizens of hippos. Turns out Limpopo, like Timbuktu, is a real place. A whole state in fact. And like many American states, the quality of the tarmac changes as soon as you cross the border. Never for the better.

More potholes, more opportunities for testing Kiki’s suspension while figuring out where in the landscape ahead of us to expect problems. That would be anywhere water pools or flows under the road, or where heavy vehicles put extra stress on the surface. Following local minibuses proved most helpful. The drivers know the roads and have a lead foot. If they slow down, you know it’s for a good reason. You should, too.

*For more on numpties, click here: Numpty

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